there was a chance that they could make it work. After all, the precious ghost of Kamra might still have possession of his heart, but it could not give him a child. A child would be a strong bond between them.
Cleo vowed then and there to release the past and her pain about his lingering affection for his late fiancée. Instead she would focus on all that was positive between them. They were going to have a child. Sadik had promised to be a supportive and faithful husband. They enjoyed each other’s company and there was great passion between them. Somehow she would make that enough.
Cleo pushed aside her dinner plate and reached for the wallpaper sample book.
“Sadik, you have to be practical. Despite your claims to the contrary, the baby could be a girl.”
Her husband of two months dismissed her with a flick of his hand. “I am a prince of Bahania. I only have sons.”
“While I can appreciate that, you do know it’s not your decision.” She shook her head when he would have interrupted. “I know that technically the father determines the sex of the child. My point is, you don’t get to pick which sperm decides to do the happy dance with my egg. What if it was a girl sperm?”
Instead of answering, he simply stared at her. No doubt his point was that as he was a Bahanian prince, his girl sperm would have the good sense to stay behind the boy sperm, thus ensuring the birth of a male child.
She gave a mock sigh of surrender. “Fine. We’ll assume the baby is a boy. But on the one-in-a-million chance that it’s a girl, I would prefer we not pick trains and airplanes for the border print. Either we find something neutral or we wait until the baby is born.”
They sat at the dining-room table in their suite, having just finished dinner. Sadik still wore the suit he’d put on for work, but he’d removed his jacket and pulled off his tie.
Now he reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Whatever you would prefer, Cleo. If you like your teddy bear paper, then that is my wish, also.”
She wasn’t surprised by his statement. In the past few weeks, they’d both gone out of their way to defer to the other person’s opinion. She supposed they were figuring out how to make their marriage work. Once she’d given up on the idea of having Sadik love her, everything else became easier. He was supportive, attentive and affectionate. Whenever she got a knot in her stomach or thought how much better things could be, she reminded herself that this was enough.
“Bears it is,” she said, opening the sample book to that page and writing down the order number. “I’ll call about it in the morning.”
“I can have my secretary order the paper.”
She smiled. “By the time I explained what I want, I could have just as easily called the company myself.” She flipped to another page on the pad. “Also, we have to coordinate what day we want the baby’s room painted.”
“I remember. You pick the most convenient day and I will arrange for us to use one of the guest rooms for the night.” He rose and drew her to her feet, then kissed her lightly on the mouth. “I do not want you breathing in the paint fumes. We will stay in a guest room until the paint is dry and the smell is gone.”
She knew there was no point in arguing. The baby’s room was on the other side of the suite, and she doubted the paint would bother her. Still, Sadik was being sweet, and she didn’t want to discourage that kind of behavior.
He led her to the sofa in the living room. When she settled herself on the soft cushions, he sat on the coffee table in front of her and lifted one of her feet onto his lap. Strong fingers massaged her arch. As he rubbed away her tension, she let her head fall back.
“You do that very well,” she murmured.
“I read about it in one of my books.”
She opened her eyes and glanced at the stack of books on pregnancy that Sadik had ordered from the Internet. He hadn’t simply ordered them—he’d read every word and he’d remembered what he’d learned. He was constantly spouting off information she didn’t know. Of the two of them, he was far more mentally prepared to have the baby than she was.
“Circulation is most important for the pregnant woman,” he said matter-of-factly. “It is why I encourage you to sleep on your side and not on your back. There is a large vein that returns blood from your lower body. When you sleep on your back, you cut off that route. You must use your body pillow.”
“Yes, Sadik,” she said meekly.
He raised his eyebrows. “You say the words, but I do not think you agree with the seriousness of the matter.”
“When you’re doing that to my toes, it’s hard to take anything seriously.”
He responded by changing the subject. “Have you chosen the furniture yet? It will all have to be made by hand, so there is not much time.”
They’d pored through dozens of catalogs, along with visiting local baby boutiques. “I’m leaning toward using antiques that are here in the palace. The king showed me some of the things placed in storage last week.” She smiled. “Maybe I can find your old crib.”
He placed one foot on the ground and reached for her other leg. “I would prefer our son not be forced to use my old castoffs.”
“They’re not castoffs. They have sentimental value.”
“Not to me.”
“You were a baby. You can’t remember.”
“I recall enough. You may use any antiques you wish but not things I had as a child.”
Sadik could be difficult and arrogant and stubborn, but except for the topic of their baby’s gender, he was almost never unreasonable.
She pulled her foot free of his touch and leaned toward him. “I don’t understand.”
“I know.”
She reached toward him, but before she could touch him, he rose to his feet and stalked to the far side of the room.
“Sadik?”
“I ask that you not argue with me on this matter.”
“If it means so much, I promise I won’t look for anything that belonged to you. But I don’t understand why you’re being so insistent.”
He stood by the French doors leading out to the balcony that encircled that level of the palace. The sun had long since set and they hadn’t pulled the drapes, so as he gazed at the glass all he could see was a reflection of the room. Cleo stared at that same reflection, trying to read her husband’s expression.
“Are you angry?” she asked.
“No.” He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. After what felt like several minutes, he turned to her and drew in a deep breath. “Some time ago you told me of your past. How you had grown up in poverty, with a mother who was rarely around.”
She nodded.
“You were surprised that I did not judge you
