Pregnant With His Royal Twins

Because why shouldn’t she have slept with him? It was allowed, and it had felt so good to let all that other stuff go.

But they’d both been stupid. Believing that one night wouldn’t have consequences. Believing that they could walk away.

They should have known the risks.

They’d been wrong! And no one could be angrier with her than she was with herself.

She’d once sat on a hospital bed, with a plastic compression mask over her burnt features, and promised her mother that she would never get involved with another man ever again. Would never cause her family anguish ever again. Because what Mike had done—throwing that acid at her face—hadn’t just affected her. The tragedy had affected her family and even Mike’s family, who were distraught that their son was in prison.

And all because she’d got involved with him.

And now she was pregnant. With Jamie’s baby.

‘Yes. You’re the father.’

She saw him look down at the ground. Could almost hear the cogs going around in his skull, almost sense his thoughts as he tried to distance himself from her. Maybe even planned to leave this place. Get a temporary post somewhere else less complicated.

‘Right.’ A pause. ‘It’s very early on. Four...maybe five weeks?’

She nodded.

‘You need to start taking folic acid.’

‘I know.’

‘You need to look after yourself.’

She knew he was just trying to say the sensible thing, trying to help and maybe trying to make sense of it in his own head. This had to be a huge shock to him too. But to Freya it sounded as if he was telling her what to do, and no man would ever tell her what to do again.

Her control was slipping. ‘You don’t need to tell me how to do anything. You don’t own me.’

‘I’m not. I’m just trying—’

‘You’re just trying to take over! So back off, Jamie, I don’t need this in my life!’

She tried her hardest not to shout, but it was difficult. All she wanted to do was run away, but it was as if the walls were closing in and she would soon be trapped with him. A man. A stranger. Tied to him for eternity when she knew nothing about him. He could be anybody.

He sat forward in his chair. ‘You’re pregnant with my child. I don’t think you realise what this means.’

She leaned forward too, anger and rage fuelling her bravado, matching his stance. ‘I’m a midwife. Of course I know what it means.’

She stood, grabbing her notes and pen, deciding she would check on Andrea. She would finish her notes in there—give Jamie a chance to think about what she’d said.

He was not going to tell what to do.

* * *

He was going to be a father.

Of course if nothing went wrong they would have to marry. If the people of Majidar ever found out that he’d got a woman pregnant and then abandoned her to have the child alone they’d be appalled. And so would he. He wasn’t just a prince, he was a man, and as such he had a responsibility to do the right thing. No child of his would grow up to be illegitimate—he just wouldn’t accept it. The baby was his and he would be its father.

Honour in this country was different from honour in his. He saw it on the television every day—men getting women pregnant and then leaving them to raise the child alone. There were single parents everywhere, and that was fine for them—but not for him. Not at all. He could never knowingly sire a child and then abandon it to God only knew what kind of future.

This was his child. And, whether Freya liked it or not, he had a duty to it.

And to her.

But what had happened to her? What was making her so frightened and on edge? Why couldn’t she look him directly in the eye? Was it her scars? Her face? Did her shame stem from that? Or was it the unexpected pregnancy?

Clearly she was in shock. All he’d tried to do was make this easier for her. Try and shoulder some of the responsibility.

Because it was his and his alone. And because of who he was it was imperative that he do the right thing.

He would need to speak to his advisor.

* * *

At just after six in the morning Andrea delivered a healthy baby girl.

Freya was reluctant to leave her patient’s room and go back out there and face Jamie again, but she knew that she had to.

She could only hope that as there was less than one hour until the end of her shift he might be busy elsewhere and she would be able to get through it without having to see him.

She’d had her fill of pushy men. To be fair, she’d only been with one, but that one—Mike—had been enough for two lifetimes.

It had started innocently enough. Mike had asked her not to go out with her friends from college one evening.

‘Why not?’

‘I just can’t bear to imagine you out on the town like that. I’ve seen gaggles of girls dressed to impress and off their heads on tequila shots. I know what guys think of girls like that, and I don’t want them looking at you like you’re a piece of meat.’

She’d thought he was being sweet! That he cared so much about her.

He’d begged her not to go, and to make him feel better she’d cancelled. The next week, when the girls had wanted to go out again, rather than just accept the invitation straight away she’d said she needed to check with Mike first.

Slowly she had stopped having any contact with her friends. Then he’d started making comments about how her family looked down their noses at him and how family meet-ups made him uncomfortable—could they stay home?

Bit by bit he had isolated her, until her entire life had been his to control and manipulate. She’d felt as if she couldn’t breathe and she’d tried to break away. He’d found her, begged her to stay, promised he would change.

Only he hadn’t. If anything he had got worse—his insecurities, his paranoia.

She’d bolted one day when he was at work and run home to live with her mum again. She’d thought she was free, that her life was hers again, until that terrible day on the high street...

Freya was grateful to see that the hub looked clear and she headed over, her back aching slightly, and slumped into a chair to complete Andrea’s notes. The open tin of chocolates called her name and she unwrapped one and popped a caramel barrel into her mouth.

Mmm...just what I need.

The chocolate began to soften in her mouth, and as she chewed she realised just how hungry she was. She’d not really taken a proper break whilst Andrea laboured, and suddenly she was starving—craving a full English breakfast, washed down with a mug of strong tea.