Pregnant With His Royal Twins. Louisa Heaton
lift stopped rising. Ping! The doors slid open to reveal two men in dark suits.
Her stomach flipped and she looked from one to the other.
Guards? Why does Jamie need guards?
They were wearing those earpieces that secret service men had on television. They asked her to put her bag through a scanner, and then she had to walk through a metal detector shaped like a doorway before they escorted her down the corridor towards a pair of ornate doors.
What on earth have I got myself into?
Silently she followed, feeling like a little girl between giants. Were they wearing guns beneath their jackets? Her mouth went dry at the thought of it and she gripped her bag tighter, as if that small item would somehow protect her from what was to come.
At ornate double doors the men stopped and grabbed a handle each, stepping back to open the doors wide.
Freya sucked in a steadying breath as her eyes hungrily took in the details of the room. A four-poster bed set with golden drapes in an opulent room adorned with fine art and floor-to-ceiling windows. Gilt-edged tables, fresh flowers in vases that were almost as tall as she was. And standing in the middle, in a long white tunic and trousers, was Jamie. As if he’d been waiting for her.
She stared at him, not sure what to do. Or say.
Now she could understand why he hadn’t just told her all this.
‘You’re right,’ she said, clearing her throat and looking straight at him. ‘I would never have believed you.’
* * *
Jamie poured her some tea, adding two cubes of sugar to the drink. He frowned slightly when he saw how her hands were shaking when she went to take it from him, then set it down on the table instead and took her hands in his to calm them.
‘It’s all right, Freya.’
‘Is it?’ She looked at him askance. ‘Who are you, Jamie?’
‘My name is Jameel Al Bakhari and I am heir to the throne of Majidar. My older brother Ilias is King, ruling with his wife Queen Jasmeen, but they have been unable to sire any children so I am next in line. I also have a younger sister, Zahra, who has just married.’
It all sounded as if it was from a film. ‘Heir to the throne...?’
‘Yes.’
‘Royalty?’
‘Yes.’
It was a struggle to process. ‘But...but you work as a midwife.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why? Why do that, when you’re a...a prince?’
He smiled. ‘I did not ask to be born a prince. Ruling a kingdom and waving at crowds from a distance is not what I felt I was meant to do. I want to know people. Help them personally. When my father sat upon the throne he took us with him to a hospital, where he was opening a new neonatal unit. I was very young—maybe eight or nine. We toured the labour ward, saw the new state-of-the-art theatre and the incubators that held tiny newborns. I was fascinated by the babies, and when we returned to the palace an idea took hold. The more I thought about it, the more I realised I wanted to deliver babies. To hold the miracle of life in my own two hands and experience the joy of bringing a new life into the world.’
Freya nodded. ‘But why be a midwife? You could have been a doctor. An obstetrician. A surgeon!’
‘I could. But those paths didn’t interest me. I wanted to deliver the babies. An obstetrician gets called in only if there’s a problem. A surgeon just takes care of Caesareans. I wanted to be there through the whole labour—to monitor progress, develop that close relationship a midwife creates with each patient. My mother spoke fondly of all her midwives. I would beg her to tell me, over and over again, the stories of our births—mine, my brother’s and my sister’s. Even after all those years she could remember every detail, and it was the midwives of whom she spoke the most highly. I wanted to be that person. To have that impact on people’s lives. To be remembered in such a way. Selfish, perhaps, but true.’
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