The Sheikh's Triplet Baby Surprise (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise Book 3) (9 page)

FOURTEEN

Amity sat across the room from her doctor, who looked like blonde and busty Flora, only twenty years older, with more assurance across her face (and, ultimately, much more knowledge, Amity reminded herself). The woman was writing something on Amity’s files. It was clear her brain was calculating what Amity had told her about her health the previous few months, combined with the information from the tests they’d taken that afternoon. Amity shifted in her seat, nervous. She didn’t take kindly to being analyzed.

The doctor looked up at her, then, stitching her glasses from her face. She tapped them against her cheek. “And there’s absolutely no way you’re pregnant, you’re saying?” she asked.

Amity frowned. This had been one of the first questions the doctor had asked her when she’d arrived at the office. She brought her fingers over her abdomen, her mind racing. “Absolutely not. I mean, you have to have unprotected sex to be pregnant. You have to have sex, period.”

“And did you?” the doctor asked her. “Even once?”

Amity closed her eyes, feeling her lashes against her cheeks. She remembered the smell of Aziz’s skin. It coursed through her mind, making her crave him. “I mean, there was one time.”

“And you used protection?”

“Of course!” Amity said, her eyes snapping back open. “Of course.” Every day of her life, she’d been careful. Her career was always on the line.

“Well. I think we have to assume that your protection, in this case, didn’t work. Lethargy. No periods. And a positive pregnancy test,” the doctor said. “I’m here to inform you, you’re going to be a mother.”

Amity felt her heart drop into her stomach. She gasped, sensing the tension grow in the room. “That can’t be,” she scoffed. “It’s absolutely—”

“Trust me, I couldn’t be more certain,” the doctor said, slipping her glasses back on. “Now, we can schedule a follow-up appointment to go over your options. Amity, you’re twenty-seven, and you have all the options in the world.” She drew her eyes upward, to link with Amity’s. “Know that this isn’t the end.”

Amity swallowed harshly. “Could I see for myself?”

“You mean you want a visual? An ultrasound?” the doctor asked.

“Please,” Amity said. “If you could get me in right away.”

The doctor paused for a moment before reaching for the office phone. She dialed three numbers, sending beeps into the air. “Hello, Monica. I was wondering if we might get an appointment for an emergency client. Yes, we can hold.”

As the doctor arranged the screening, Amity turned her attention to her fingers, to her nails. She remembered hearing that after three months, the baby’s fingernails were developed. She assessed the tiny bulge that had grown in her business skirt. She’d thought, stupidly, that she just didn’t have time to exercise like she used to. She’d thought she was just getting a little bit fat.

Finally, the doctor hung up the phone. “You have an appointment in forty-five minutes on the fourth floor,” she said. “After your screening, if you so choose, you will have the option to speak with our in-house psychologist.”

Amity thanked her, feeling shaky. She rose from her seat and accepted the small slip which told her the screening room number. She thanked the doctor softly, hardly able to hear her words herself. Before she left the room, the doctor wished her good luck. “You might need it,” she said.

All the way up to the screening room, Amity felt as if she was walking through water. She couldn’t feel her legs, her arms, her face. She draped her fingers over her abdomen, imagining bouncing a child on her legs, holding a crying baby deep into the night—the countless ways in which she would show love to this human.

The technician’s fingers clumped up the “goop” for the screening. “Could you please lift your shirt?” she asked, her voice accented and lilting.

“Sure,” Amity whispered.

The goop was chilled, making her skin tense. She watched as the woman splayed it tenderly over her, over her pregnant belly. Turning on the machine, the woman placed the monitor over her, gliding over the goop, revealing a very human life on the screen before her.

Amity frowned, trying to make sense of the image. The lines were squirming, almost like a baby kicking in the life-fluid inside her. “Is that her?” she whispered.

But the technician didn’t speak for a moment. She cocked her head, holding the monitor over the span of her belly.

After several beats, Amity felt as if she was going to scream. “What is it?” she asked, her voice suddenly harsh. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Finally, the woman turned her head slowly, her eyes bright with humor. “Miss,” she said, giving her a wide smile. “What a wonderful day this is. You’re going to be a mother—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Amity said, rolling her eyes. Surely the technician saw babies on that monitor all day every day? What was she getting at? “I know I am. Does the baby look okay?”

“You’re going to be a mother,” the woman said again, “of three babies. You’re expecting triplets.”

Amity whipped her head back. She felt like all the air had been sucked from her. Her breath was caught in her throat. “I’m—I’m sorry?” she stammered. “Triplets?”

The woman nodded, maintaining that insane grin. “Three babies. Three babies at once.” She placed the monitor over Amity’s belly once more and pointed at the screen, showing the indentations in the darkness, the one-two-three. “Can you see?”

“I think I want a second opinion,” Amity murmured. Three babies. It was impossible. This woman was clearly insane. “Yes, I really do want a second opinion.”

But the woman shook her head, removing the monitor and beginning to sponge off the belly goop.

“Please. I want someone else to examine me.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Winters, but we’re on a tight schedule here. If you want a second opinion, you’ll have to book another appointment.”

Amity spun her legs to one side of the chair, leaning heavily downward, looking at her shoes. Inside her, three babies squirmed. She felt like she was going to throw up. She slid onto the floor, hoping she could trust her feet.

“I’m not sure what to say,” she whispered.

“I would recommend having a chat with our in-house psychologist,” the woman said gently. She opened the door, whisking her arm into the hallway. “I’m sorry, but I really must prepare for my next patient.”

Amity felt like she was being dumped. She marched into the hallway, all of a sudden feeling like the loneliest person in the world. All she wanted, in that moment, was to call Aziz—to tell him that she hadn’t been able to quit thinking about him; to tell him that she was pregnant with not one, but three of his heirs. She wanted to explain that she hadn’t tried to trap or hoax him; it was a beautiful, wretched, life-changing, amazing mistake.

Amity opted out of meeting with the psychologist, choosing instead to rush back down to the street and hail a cab. All she wanted was to curl up in her apartment, cinched off from the rest of the world, to abandon herself to her reckless thoughts. She bit her fingernails as the cab whizzed through the city, finally coming to a halt in front of her apartment building.
Imagine raising three children here
, she thought grimly.

She felt outside of her body as she mounted the steps and entered, seeing every square inch of the well-lit, shabby place with new eyes. Besides her own, her bed hadn’t featured another human life form in something like three years. She slid her fingers over the sheets before faltering into bed, feeling chilled to the bone.

As she lay, she reached into her purse and drew out her phone. She had to tell someone, anyone. She thought about her friends, her loved ones back home in Minnesota. But none of them knew Aziz. None of them could understand the incredible world she’d lived in, if only for a moment, back in Al-Mabbar. None of them, except for Flora.

Okay, she thought, stabbing her palm against her forehead. She inhaled slowly, knowing Flora was the only person who wouldn’t judge her for this. In fact, she could imagine the girl congratulating her, telling her something like: “I didn’t think you had the ability to have fun anymore. Kudos. You did it!”

She typed out the email, then, watching in disbelief as her thumbs formed the words:

Flora—hey!

I promise this isn’t about work. For the first time in a long time, I have news of my own life to share. You see, when we were in Al-Mabbar, you weren’t the only one getting involved with someone. I don’t know if you knew this already, but I slept with the Sheikh. And I’ve just found out that I’m pregnant.

Yep. Pregnant. With royal blood, no less. Whoever said my life wasn’t exciting?

I’ll talk to you at work tomorrow. And please, keep this on the down-low!

Amity.

Feeling rushed, panicked, Amity pressed Send. She shook her head and rolled to her side, slipping into a strange, muddled sleep, even before the sun set, still dressed in her work clothes. Her exhaustion filled her to the brim, allowing her only to wake up once in the night to kick off her heels.

Triplets, she thought to herself upon waking. What had she done to deserve this?

FIFTEEN

The following day, Amity awoke in the light of early morning, without her alarm. She stretched her body, arching her back. The bump was present in her mind. She couldn’t imagine how she’d missed it for so long. She couldn’t imagine how she’d let it go, thinking she was just gaining weight due to stress. She slid her fingers over her stomach, feeling a first sense of motherly love, of wanting to nurture her babies. For the first time in months, she thought about something other than work the moment she arose. Perhaps that was healthy.

After showering, Amity made a quick smoothie, counting the nutrients in her mind. She was responsible for three babies, for three minds. Harvard, Yale and Columbia, she grinned to herself. None of them would be famous. No PR required. Just normal, intelligent people with that gleaming, honey skin and those bright, earnest eyes. She sighed, knowing her love for the Sheikh fueled through her. She could transplant it to the children in her belly.

She dressed and arrived at work an hour later, her eyes hunting for Flora. She yearned to speak about her predicament with the only person she’d told. She shot the girl a strained wave, and Flora gave her a half-smile. She seemed confused.

Has she not checked her email yet?
Amity wondered. She bit her lip, sinking deeper into her chair. She clicked absently at the computer screen before her, attempting to find any other topic to occupy her mind. But her mind was jolting with one, very singular idea.

Mark approached her desk, then. He carried a steaming cup of coffee, and his thick eyebrows ruffled up and down at her. “I’m surprised to see you back here today. How did it go at the doctor’s? Your color is coming back.”

Amity frowned. Had Flora told him her secret? She hadn’t thought they were speaking. “Um. The doctor said everything’s fine, thanks. Just overworked, like you said.” She felt phlegm in her throat and she coughed, parsing for a question. “How did the meeting go?”

“It went fine, actually,” Mark said, leaning heavy on his left foot. His thin hips were jagged, bony. He pressed on, explaining what the client had said, tactics he’d suggested. But Amity found herself tuning out, leaning back in her chair. Her dead eyes glared at him, and then past him.

After Mark left, she rose from her seat and walked over to Flora’s desk, her mind rolling. “Can I speak with you in the kitchen for a moment?” she whispered.

Flora frowned. She flipped her hair and minimized the screen for her Twitter account. “Um. Sure,” she said, her voice haughty.

Amity headed into the kitchen and pressed the door closed once Flora had followed. She hovered by the coffee machine, bringing her twitchy fingers together. “Um. So. Did you get my email?”

Flora rolled her eyes. “Um. The one about the meeting this afternoon? If so, I am already prepped for it. I’m sorry I left early yesterday, Amity, but, to be fair, you did tell me to—”

Amity raised her hand, then. She frowned. “No, no. I don’t mean that. I mean the email about—” She pointed to her stomach, tilting her head. “You know.”

“Your weight gain?” Flora asked, balking. “I wouldn’t want to talk to you about that. I figured you’d get that locked down when you had a chance.”

Amity leaned heavy on her elbow, wilting. “No, Flora. I’m pregnant. I told you in the email I sent you last night.”

Flora clapped her hands to her mouth. Her eyes were great lanterns. “You’re pregnant? Oh my God.”

Amity tilted her head left, then right, her mind rolling. “You really didn’t get the email?”

Flora shook her head. “I mean, I don’t think so. It could have gone to spam?”

“Why would it have gone to spam?” Amity asked her, her voice tense. “I email you twenty times a day.”

“I don’t know.”

Amity heaved a heavy sigh and spun back toward the kitchen door. “Please, Flora, don’t tell anyone about this,” she said quietly. “I beg you.”

Flora nodded and shuffled back to her desk, leaving Amity with her own, rushing thoughts. If the email hadn’t been sent to Flora—where in the world had it gone?

She raced to her desk, her heart jolting. She felt she was about to throw up that early morning smoothie. Her stomach was a tornado. She drew up her email account, clicking to her sent items. And, in that moment, she felt her entire world explode.

In the Sent folder, she found that she’d sent the email to none other than her ex-client, the Sheikh himself. And, all these hours later, he hadn’t responded.

Amity leaned back in her chair, her ears filling with her pulse.
Think, Amity. Think. Send him an email saying it was a joke. Call him and explain. Tell him you have feelings for him—that you could even love him
. Her brain was in overdrive.
Don’t let this die
, she thought desperately.

She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. She slid her fingers over her belly once more, reminding herself that this day would be over soon. That even if Aziz never contacted her, if he never spoke to her again, she had herself. And she’d never needed anyone else. Not before, and not now.

If anything, Amity was perhaps more prepared for single motherhood than most women in the world. After all, she’d been practicing it with her many clients in the PR world for years: all the messes she’d cleaned up, all the sad pop stars she’d consoled, all the millionaire tantrums she’d heard. She was ready.

As she sat there, grinning to herself, she heard someone before her, clearing his throat.

She halted immediately, her eyes still closed. Her smile fell. That familiar scent wafted into her nose, and she realized the throat clearing was all too familiar, as well: a sound she’d yearned to hear for nearly three months. The sound of his voice.

“Aren’t you going to open your eyes?” Aziz asked her. His voice was honey, but edged with tension. It was clear that he knew.

“I’m not sure if I want to,” she whispered. If she did, she’d have to face her mistake, head-on.

“I’ve traveled halfway across the world to speak with you,” he said. “The least you could do is open your eyes.” His voice was stern, so unlike it had been in Al-Mabbar.

Amity slumped her shoulders. She lifted her heavy eyelids and blinked toward him, forcing him into focus. Aziz, the Sheikh, stood before her, his immaculate suit gleaming in the sunlight. His arms were crossed, and his face was stony.

“I received your email.”

“And Flora did not,” Amity said. “I just learned.”

“That mistake isn’t like you.”

“Baby brain, I suppose,” she said, shrugging. “Isn’t that what they say?”

“I’m not sure what they say,” he said. “I’ve never been in this situation before.”

“That’s pretty remarkable, given your status as a player.”

“Don’t be cold,” he told her. Their voices were filled with electricity, with so many things unsaid. He gestured toward an empty conference room, off to the side. “Do you think we could speak somewhere private?”

Amity bit her lip, knowing full-well she was acting like a child. She lifted herself from her seat, bowing her head. Her hair was full of life, bouncy, as she pulled her fingers through it. He was here; he’d come all the way to L.A. for her. He was angry; he was spitting with fury. But he was here. Her long nights of waiting, of dreaming—they’d been leading her here.

She slid the conference door closed and cinched the drapes together, allowing them complete privacy. She’d caught Flora’s eyes in the split-second before, and Flora had looked at her with immense understanding, and with sadness. Perhaps she understood, after all.

Amity sank into a seat and leaned against her hand, her elbow taking her weight. She blinked toward the Sheikh, who had begun to pace, his hands clutched behind his back. The air was tense around them, waiting for the volcano to burst. It was Pompeii before the explosion.

Finally, Aziz sighed. He placed two firm fists on the table and leaned against them, making eye contact with her. He swallowed. “What was the meaning of your email, Amity?”

Amity swallowed. She felt the terror of the moment abstractly, as if she were far away, looking in. “Um. Well. I thought it was pretty clear; it seems that the precautions we followed that evening didn’t quite work.”

Aziz nodded for a beat too long, taking the information and going over it, assessing it. “Then it seems that I misjudged you.” His words were cold.

Amity’s eyebrows rose high. “What do you mean, you misjudged me? This was clearly a mistake.” She stabbed her finger against the table, her face hot. “How was this any more my fault than yours?”

Aziz’s words came spitting from his mouth. “I understand now; you’re planning on blackmailing me. You know better than anyone what this news will do to my image. You know better than anyone that an out-of-wedlock birth with an American woman would reflect very badly on me. On my memory and on the memory of my father. You know that.”

Amity felt slapped. She scratched at her face, uncertain. “I’m—um. I’m not sure what you mean.”

“If this news gets out, I’m ruined,” Aziz breathed. Silence fell between them, but he soon filled it. “You knew that. You knew how wealthy I was and realized you could destroy me. You saw an opportunity, and you ran with it. No wonder you were so keen to get out of there the next day.”

Amity stood up, matching his intense anger. She felt haughty, out of her mind. “I never planned on spending a single evening with you. You asked me to. It was you.”

Aziz rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.

“I never planned on sleeping with you,” she continued. “And I certainly didn’t plan on becoming pregnant with your children. I didn’t want this. But here we are.”

Aziz lifted his hand, halting her. “Wait—children?” he balked. “Plural?” He shook his head, his eyebrows meeting in the middle. “What is the meaning of this?”

Amity allowed the silence to follow, realizing that she’d made an enormous mistake with her choice of words. Suddenly, she viewed Aziz as her enemy, rather than a man she could have loved.

She felt exhausted, torn to shreds. She knew that their raised voices were carrying into the offices, that her colleagues almost certainly knew about her pregnancy. They knew that she’d mixed professionalism with a sexual affair. And for that, she couldn’t forgive herself.

Finally, she spoke. “I’m pregnant with triplets,” she said, her voice meek. Her eyes were faraway. “Three babies. Now, tell me that I did that on purpose!”

Aziz didn’t speak. He spread his fingers out on the table and looked at her with those dark eyes. She yearned for him to say something, anything that would make her feel less alone. But instead, he said: “Well. This is quite the problem you’ve created for me, Miss Winters.”

She felt broken, kicked. This was meant to be some kind of miracle, wasn’t it? She brought her fingers to her eyes and begged herself not to cry. She couldn’t allow him to see her weak. She couldn’t allow him to see that she cared. Still, in the back of her mind, she yearned to wrap her arms around him, to confess her feelings for him. But, in the midst of these confusing, tumultuous feelings, he was ripping into her. He was destroying her.

Finally, Aziz cleared his throat. He tore his hands through his hair, yanking at it. “Dammit” he cursed, his voice quiet. “Dammit, Amity.”

Amity’s eyes were wet when she removed her hands from her face. She waited for him to speak, for his decision to create the course for them both.

Finally, Aziz found the words. They were forced, jagged. “I cannot find myself in the midst of such a scandal, Amity,” he said. “I can’t afford it, not in my position. Every day, I get closer and closer to becoming better in my people’s eyes. It’s just as you said. They appreciated it when I showed my true self.”

Amity didn’t speak. She felt bloodied.

“Anyway. While I do not have the capacity to be involved in such a scandal, I do have the capacity to keep you and the children safe. I can give you the only thing I truly have. And that’s money.”