Rafiq was wonderfully supportive every step of the way. He did not leave her alone for longer than a night, but she felt increasingly less desirable as her pregnancy progressed and the doctors warned them that, with her rising blood pressure and other symptoms, sex was best taken off the menu until the delivery of their twins was safely accomplished. Rafiq acted as if the bar on the seething passion that had once united them was no great loss and she blamed his easy acceptance on her swollen stomach, assuming that he no longer found her quite so attractive.
No longer, however, did she kid herself about her own feelings. She adored Rafiq and, although it embarrassed her, it was still a struggle to keep her hands off him. He still shared a bed with her every night, and she cherished that intimacy, loving the way he still held her close even when she complained, tongue in cheek, that he made her too warm. While they had still been lovers, she had felt needed by him, necessary, desired. Without that physical connection, she felt bereft, unimportant, insignificant aside of the reality that she was carrying their children.
Did he feel anything for her at all, beyond the reality that his children’s well-being rested on hers? Was her only value to him based on her ability to bring the twins into the world? What about her personally? Was there another dimension to his care of her, beyond that of her pregnancy? Those were the fears that tormented Izzy with every passing day.
She studied the ever-growing collection of her jewellery and picked sapphires to wear over diamonds. Earlier in life it could never have occurred to her that such luxurious choices would one day be hers. But Rafiq’s generosity and frequent gifts had endowed her with a fabulous collection of priceless jewels. She donned a pair of loose flowing pants with a tunic and high heels, reckoning that she would look like a ship in full sail but aware that she had no real choice in the clothes department, having developed a girth that normal garments could not encompass.
Rafiq was always giving her stuff but the superb nursery being put together down the corridor in a previously unused section of the palace was even more telling. She had picked a bright jungle print and primary colours to provide their twins with a stimulating decor. Rafiq had taken an interest in every single choice she made, unashamedly enthralled by the prospect of being a father. His enthusiasm both warmed her heart and hurt her at the same time. If only he could have focused that emotional intensity on her…and why shouldn’t she ask him where she stood in his life? What was she so afraid of? If all he cared about was the babies she carried, she had the right to know that and he would probably be honest enough to tell her. So, she would ask…
She was about to leave her bedroom when a cramp gripped her stomach and she fell still, her hand pressing against her abdomen. When a damp sensation assailed her, she rushed into the bathroom to check herself. Horror gripped her when she saw the bright red blood.
Oh, dear heaven, was she losing her babies? She had believed she was safe this far on in her pregnancy—well, as safe as any woman could ever be in her condition. In a panic, she stabbed the button on the household line that would summon Dr Karim…
CHAPTER TEN
EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED over the next hour was ever after a blur for Izzy.
Dr Karim came running and then she was being swept off in an ambulance, Rafiq hanging onto her hand, as pale as someone of his bronzed complexion could be. He looked like a man in the grip of his worst nightmare and, ridiculously, she wanted to smooth his tumbled black hair from his brow and soothe him.
‘We’re going to deliver the babies now,’ Dr Karim told her gently, after she had been separated from Rafiq and a nurse had helped to undress her and slot her into a hospital gown. ‘But I’m afraid it will be a C-section, because one of the babies has moved into a breech position.’
‘It’s too early!’ Izzy gasped, stricken, frantically worrying about the survival of her twins.
Mr Abbas, the English-speaking consultant obstetrician engaged for her delivery, whom she had already met on several occasions, joined them and answered her.
‘No, it is only a couple of weeks early and we were prepared for this development by your most recent ultrasound. We have every prospect of achieving a safe delivery,’ he declared with immense confidence as she was wheeled into the operating theatre and monitors were attached to her. The epidural was administered without any pain.
Rafiq reappeared by her side, gowned and masked, his lean, darkly handsome features rigid with fierce tension.
‘Mr Abbas…’ Rafiq urged half under his breath. ‘Whatever happens, my wife must come through this procedure safely. She must be your first priority.’
Izzy blinked rapidly, her eyes dazed, because she was certain she had to have either misheard or misunderstood that instruction.
‘Try to relax, Your Royal Highness, I fully intend to bring all three of your family safely through this experience,’ Mr Abbas informed him as the doors of the theatre swung open and an entire medical team trooped in to join them and a series of checks was carried out.
Rafiq squeezed the life out of her hand. He looked terrified.
‘A lot of women have to have this,’ Izzy felt it incumbent on her to state.
‘This is you,’ Rafiq rebutted hoarsely. ‘There is only one you.’
A sheet was erected, cutting off her view of her lower body. Her fingers went numb in Rafiq’s
