than make small talk...or think. He started to slide her omelette onto a plate, and then jerked, as if he’d burned himself. His gaze speared hers before he seemed to recall himself and finished serving her food.
She stared at the plate he pushed in front of her and had to fight a frown. This did not look like an out-of-this-world omelette—it looked flat and rubbery. And brown. Her stomach gave a sick little squeeze but she gamely forked in a mouthful. He had gone to all the trouble of making it for her.
His hands went to his hips as he watched her eat. It only made her stomach churn harder. She set her fork down. ‘What?’
‘Did you lose your job because you’re pregnant? They cannot fire you for being pregnant.’
She picked up her fork again. ‘True. But apparently they can fire me for calling the manager a weasel of a bully who’s nothing more than a boil on the backside of the universe that’s in dire need of lancing.’
He choked. ‘You didn’t?’
‘I did. And I can’t begin to tell you how utterly satisfying it was.’ But now she had no job. And she had a baby on the way. Could her timing have been any worse? Talk about irresponsible!
She blew out a breath. She was such a screw-up.
Just ask Sebastian.
Just ask her mother!
‘Eat your omelette,’ Majed ordered.
She didn’t know if it was her self-recriminations, or if the eggs hadn’t agreed with her, but she only just made it to the bathroom before losing the contents of her stomach. Majed held her hair back from her face while she was sick. He pressed a cool, damp cloth to her forehead, and through it all she wished she felt well enough to feel even a modicum of embarrassment.
Eventually she closed the lid of the toilet and sat on top of it. The concern in Majed’s face caught at her. She tried to find a smile. ‘Did you know that morning sickness is a misnomer? Apparently it can happen at any time of the day.’
‘It’s...wrong!’
‘It’s certainly unpleasant.’ But her legs finally felt steady enough to hold her so she rose and rinsed out her mouth. ‘Majed, I know we have a lot to talk about, but I’m feeling beat and—’
The rest of her words stuttered to a halt when he lifted her off her feet and into his arms. ‘You need to rest, habibi. It’s been a difficult day for you. Sharing with me your news has been nerve-racking, yes? We have time yet to talk and make decisions.’ As he spoke, he carried her down the short hallway to his bedroom. Very gently, he lowered her to the bed. She had an impression of vast luxury and comfort and had to bite her lip to prevent a sigh of pure bliss escaping as softness enveloped her.
‘I shouldn’t—’
‘Of course you should.’ He pulled off her shoes.
‘Maybe just a little rest,’ she murmured as he pulled the covers over her.
‘Rest for as long as you like,’ he murmured back.
‘Majed?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did that word mean—“habibi”?’
‘It’s a term of endearment...like “sweetheart”.’
A sigh fluttered out of her. She suspected it would be rather lovely to be his sweetheart for real.
* * *
Sarah woke as the first fingers of dawn filtered through the curtains of Majed’s bedroom windows. She lay still and listened intently but couldn’t sense any signs of movement throughout the rest of the flat. Very quietly, she pushed back the bedclothes and tiptoed into the living room to find Majed sprawled across the sofa that barely contained his bulk, fast asleep.
Most people when they slept looked unguarded, younger...vulnerable. Not Majed. If anything he looked slightly forbidding and stern. It suddenly struck her that the easy-going façade he assumed every day at the bar might be exactly that—a front.
Or maybe your news has given him unpleasant dreams.
She scratched her hands through her hair. How long had he sat up last night, churning over her news? She’d had a few extra days to get used to the idea. Yesterday evening her sleepless nights had finally caught up with her. She felt rested and well now, though, and she didn’t have the heart to wake him.
A shiver shook through her. When she got right down to it, how well did she know Majed? Barely at all. She had no idea if he wanted a child. She gripped her hands together. For all she knew, he might welcome a child with unbridled enthusiasm. Or the idea of fatherhood might be a total anathema to him. Surely one should know these things about a man before becoming pregnant by him?
Your mother didn’t.
Perhaps not, but she didn’t intend to take her parents as role models. They’d spent her entire childhood using her as a pawn in their war to score points off each other. That was the only thing she was certain of—that she wouldn’t do that to any child of hers. If she had this baby she’d do her best to ensure its childhood was happy and carefree—not a battleground.
If.
Slipping onto a chair at the dining table, she lifted her feet to the seat and hugged her knees. She and Majed had to decide what to do about this baby and she had no idea where to start.
A pen and notepad rested in the middle of the table. She pulled them towards her with the thought of writing a list of pros and cons. She’d start with the cons, because there were so many: the pregnancy was unplanned, she was unemployed, so how would she support not just herself but a baby as well? Her mother would have a fit and there’d be no end to the recriminations. Her father would take the opposite stance and think an unplanned pregnancy was an inspired idea. She was only twenty-six—there was plenty of time yet before she needed to start thinking about having children. She was a total screw-up and surely a child deserved better than that for a parent?
There’d be more cons—lots more—but the length of the list had started to dishearten her. She needed something in the pros column to balance it out...just a little bit.
She stared at the page and bit her lip. There had to be one reason to keep this baby. A solid logical reason that made perfect sense. Her throat ached. The page in front of her blurred. She reached out and wrote a single sentence:
I love this baby already.
She stared at the words she’d just written and blinked hard. She did love this baby, but was it enough? A child deserved a better home than Sarah could give it. But, no matter how much she might wish to, she couldn’t draw a line through that single entry on her ‘pros’ list.
Perhaps she should try a different tack and list all of the options available to her instead. Biting back a sigh, she turned the page...only to find that Majed had made a list of his own. Her heart started to pound. Would it be an invasion of privacy to read his list?
Invasion or not, she had no hope of stopping herself.
At the top of the page in bald, ugly print he’d written a single word:
