then, Rashid had resisted. For Kadir’s sake, he had finally relented.
And now he was a king when he’d given up on the idea years ago. Kadir was gone again, married to his former personal assistant and giddy with love. For Kadir, the world was a bright, happy place filled with possibilities.
Desolation swept through Rashid. It was an old and familiar companion, and his hands clenched into helpless fists. He’d been in love once and he’d been happy. But happiness was ephemeral and love didn’t last. Love meant loss, and loss meant pain that never healed.
He’d been powerless to save Daria and the baby. So powerless. Who knew such a thing was possible in this day and age? A woman dying in childbirth seemed impossible, and yet it was not. It was, in fact, ridiculously easy. Rashid knew it far too well.
He stood there awhile longer, facing the windswept dunes in the distance, gathering his thoughts before he turned back to his secretary. His voice, when he spoke, was dangerously measured. He would not let this thing rule him.
“We chose this facility in Atlanta as the repository of the second sample for a reason. You will call them and demand to know this woman’s name and where she lives. Or they will suffer the very public consequences of their mistake.”
Mostafa bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He sank to his knees then and touched his forehead to the ornate carpet that graced the floor in front of Rashid’s desk. “It is my fault, Your Majesty. I chose the facility. I will resign my position and leave the capital in disgrace.”
Rashid gritted his teeth. Sometimes he forgot how rigidly prideful Kyrians could be. He’d spent so many years away. But if he’d stayed, he would be a different man. A less damaged man. Or not. His mother and father had been willing to use any weapon in their protracted war against each other, and he had been the favorite. The damage had been done years before he’d ever left Kyr.
“You will do no such thing,” he snapped. “I have no time to wait while you train a new secretary. The fault lies elsewhere.”
Rashid stalked back to his desk and sat down again. He had many things to do and a new problem to deal with. If this American woman had truly been impregnated with his sperm, then she could very well be carrying the heir to the throne of Kyr.
His fingers tightened on the pen he’d picked up again. If he thought of the child that way, as his heir, and of the woman as a functionary performing a duty—or a vessel carrying a cargo—then he could get through these next few days. Beyond that, he did not know.
An image of Daria’s pale face swam in his head, twisting the knife deep in his soul. He was not ready to do this again, to watch a woman grow big with his child and know that it could all go wrong in an instant.
And yet he had no choice. If the woman was pregnant, she was his.
“Find this woman by the end of the hour,” he ordered. “Or you may yet find yourself tending camels in the Kyrian Waste.”
Mostafa’s color drained as he backed away. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
There was a snapping sound at precisely the moment the door closed behind the secretary. Pain bloomed in Rashid’s palm. He looked down to find a pen in his hand. Or, rather, half a pen. The other half lay on the desk, dark ink spilling into a pattern on the wood like a psychologist’s test blot.
A cut in his skin dripped red blood onto the black ink. He watched it drip for a long moment before there was a knock on his door and a servant entered with afternoon tea. Rashid stood and went into the nearby restroom in order to wash away the blood and tape up the cut. When he returned to his desk, the blood and ink had been wiped away. Cleaned up as if it had never happened.
He flexed his hand and felt the sting of the cut against his palm. You could sweep up messes, patch up wounds and try to forget they ever happened.
But Rashid knew the truth. The cut would heal, but there were things that never went away, no matter how deeply you buried them.
* * *
“Please stop crying, Annie.” Sheridan sat at her desk with her phone to her ear and her heart in her throat. Her sister was sobbing on the other end of the line at the news from the clinic. Sheridan was still too stunned to process it. “We’ll get through this. Somehow, we’ll get through. I am having a baby for you. I promise it will happen.”
Annie sobbed and wailed for twenty minutes while Sheridan tried to soothe her. Annie, the oldest by a year, was so fragile, and Sheridan felt her pain keenly. Sheridan had always been the strong one. She was still the strong one. Still the one looking out for her sister and wishing that she could give Annie some of her strength.
She felt so guilty every time Annie fell apart. It wasn’t her fault, and yet she couldn’t help but feel responsible. There’d only been enough money in their family for one daughter to go to college, and Sheridan had better grades. Annie had been shy and reclusive while Sheridan was outgoing. The choice had been evident to all of them, but it was yet another thing Sheridan felt guilty over. Maybe if their parents had tried harder to encourage Annie, to support her decisions, she would be stronger than she was. Instead, she let everyone else make her choices.
The one thing she wanted in this life was the one thing she couldn’t have. But Sheridan could give it to her. And she was determined to do just that, in spite of this latest wrinkle in the plan.
Eventually, Annie’s husband came home and took the phone away. Sheridan talked to Chris for a few minutes and then the line went dead.
She leaned back in her chair and blinked. Her eyes were gritty and swollen from the crying she’d been doing along with her sister. She snatched up a tissue from the holder on her desk and dabbed at her eyes.
How had this all gone wrong? It was supposed to be so easy. Annie couldn’t carry a baby to term, but Sheridan could. So she’d offered to have a baby for her sister, knowing that it would make Annie happy and fulfill her deepest desire. It would have also made their parents happy, if they were still alive, to know they’d have a grandchild on the way. They’d had Annie and Sheridan late in life, and they’d desperately wanted grandchildren. But Annie hadn’t been able to provide them, and Sheridan hadn’t been ready.
Now Sheridan wished she’d had this baby earlier so her parents could have held their grandchild before they died. Though the child wouldn’t be Annie’s biologically, it would still share her DNA. The Sloane DNA.
Sheridan had gone in for the insemination a week ago. They still didn’t know whether it had worked or not, but now that she knew it wasn’t Chris’s sperm, she fervently hoped it hadn’t.
She’d been given sperm from a different donor. A foreigner. The sperm bank would give them no other information beyond the physical facts. An Arab male, six-two, black hair, dark eyes, healthy.
Sheridan put her hand on her belly and drew in a deep breath. They couldn’t test for another week yet. Another week of Annie crying her eyes out. Another week until Sheridan knew if she was having an anonymous man’s baby or if they would try again with Chris’s sperm.
But what if she was pregnant this time? Then what?
There was a knock on her door, and her partner popped her head in. Sheridan swiped her eyes again and smiled as Kelly came inside the small office at the back of the space they rented for their business.
“Hey,
