The Sheikh's Twin Baby Surprise (10 page)

FOURTEEN

Adventure was what I had always wanted in my life, and already I was learning that there might not be a bigger one than raising twins.

We left the hospital the day after I gave birth, after the doctors gave me and the boys a clean bill of health and were satisfied that both of them were eating well. As if they could sense their mother’s exhaustion, they slept most of the day, apart from when they were eating or being bathed and changed. Both of the boys were napping peacefully in their carriers—Zamir in Omar’s arms, Roni in my lap as I sat in the wheelchair—when we finally left the hospital. Rafiq, along with other members of the security team, had been on a mad scramble all night, gathering duplicates of all the supplies we had bought before we knew of Zamir’s existence. Omar even had the palace staff prepare the nursery before we got home, so that everything would be perfect for the arrival of two babies.

We said a quick and loving goodbye to Sajid and Alima in their hospital room before we left. Alima’s doctors had insisted she stay an extra day, since she had had such a complicated pregnancy, just to make sure everything looked good for her and little Jarah. She looked glowing and beautiful as she waved at us from her bed.

We had a little trouble getting the carriers buckled into the town car, and something told me these cars weren’t exactly made for people transporting infants. Eventually we got them safe and secure, and Omar and I climbed in after. Rafiq took the Rolls Royce back to the palace, while Ahmed drove us in the royal car, its tinted windows keeping the babies shaded from the sun.

My body was still completely thrashed from giving birth, and so I allowed Omar to wheel me back to our bedroom using the palace wheelchair. It was a happy surprise to see a doubling of all the baby furniture in the corner of the room that we had designated the nursery. Rafiq had done an excellent job getting exactly the same crib, changing table, and other necessities for Zamir to be completely comfortable.

For the first time, Omar and I were alone with our sons. We lifted them each out of their carriers and held them close on our chests as they stubbornly slept, and we cried. For a while, we sat in the rocking chairs in the nursery, our fingers intertwined with each other’s and a sleeping son on each of our shoulders.

I knew in that moment that I could never leave this behind. The thought of never feeling the beautiful, warm weight of my sons sleeping in my arms again was unbearable.

And yet the anxiety of what to do about my future didn’t leave me. There was still so much about the palace life that I didn’t want to deal with. I would never be my full, free self again. I would always have to travel with a bodyguard in order to keep me safe from people who would try to hurt Omar by hurting me. My sons would have to be protected, too, and wouldn’t know a normal life like I had known. They would have their father to commiserate with on that point, but it still seemed unfair.

And what happened when someone else came up to challenge the throne? What happened when my sons came of age, and Zamir decided that he, like Sajid, was upset at his brother simply for being born first? Roni would be king once Omar was no longer on the throne, that was certain. But I never wanted either of my sons to feel inadequate.

I found that I suddenly understood Mirah so much better than I had before. Her pain became my pain. She had had to bury her husband, and watch her sons claw at each other’s throats over the scraps he left behind. Was that what the future held for Zamir and Roni? Was there anything I could do to stop it?

I would be a royal housewife and mother. Sure, there were plenty of perks to the job, but I had spent my whole life working to be a doctor, living through hunger, exhaustion and trauma just to chase my passion. Practicing medicine would be impossible if I were the queen. What time was not spent on raising the boys would have to be dedicated to the myriad royal duties that fell on the lady of the house, and while they weren’t necessarily as important as Omar’s, they were still important enough that I wouldn’t be able to abstain from them. That went double because I was a foreign woman. The citizens of this country would rightly be upset if a foreign queen turned her nose up at their traditions while she was in power, and I would never want to do anything to upset Omar’s homeland. He loved this country, and it was his dream to rule as it was mine to save lives.

The choice was impossible. Either I stayed to be with Omar and my sons, and raise my family in the palace, or I left to return, alone, to the trenches of medicine and resume the adventure I had been on before.

Every minute that I wasn’t attending to my sons, the thoughts ate at me. I was grateful for the distraction of Omar’s impending coronation, only a week after the boys’ birth. As soon as news traveled that my twins had been born before Alima gave birth, it was clear to all that there was no more fight to be had for the throne. It belonged to Omar, as it rightly should have all along.

The citizens of Al-Thakri seemed grateful that the succession issue had finally been solved. Newspapers and TV reports showed throngs of celebrating people all over the land, excited both to have a new king to crown, and at having new royal babies to fuss over. Omar brought in a professional photographer to take portraits of the boys to share with the country. Omar and I insisted we remain out of them for the time being; neither of us wanted the focus to be on us. We wanted to celebrate Roni and Zamir with the rest of the country.

The coronation was set for Friday evening, and included a grand dinner beforehand. The palace would be hosting the crème-de-la-crème of Al-Thakrian society, as well as a slew of diplomats, rulers and dignitaries, who would come to pay their respects to the royal family in anticipation of long years working together to establish prosperity and peace. Al-Thakri was both prosperous and peaceful, and Omar’s father had been a well-respected ruler. The world was excited and hopeful for his oldest son to take up the throne in his stead.

Dinner was to be a private affair, only for the royal family, before all the chaos and pageantry began. Omar asked the kitchen to make up a fine dinner and pulled his most aged and expensive wines from the palace cellar. He even brought in dessert chefs from France to assist his kitchen staff with creating something extraordinary.

While Omar sweated over the coronation preparations, I did my best to prepare our handsome, wiggly sons for their first public appearances. Mirah was all too happy to help me bathe them and get them dressed in tiny versions of the traditional, flowing white garb Omar would be wearing as he ascended to the throne. They looked like adorable little sheikhs themselves by the time we were done, drifting off to sleep in a double stroller.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for all this,” I confessed to Mirah as I watched them sleep.

“What, motherhood?” she said with a gentle smile. “None of us are ready when it happens.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for the coronation, either. At least I can find solid advice from people on how to be a mother, but on how to be a makeshift queen? Even the internet was quiet on that one.”

Mirah’s laugh was light and lilting. She put a thin arm around my shoulder. “But women are naturally queens. You already have that inside of you; you only have to release it.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she nodded. “How else do you think we are able to go through the pain and torment of birthing children—even two, in your case—and be upright and back to ourselves the next day? Out working, or leading, or taking care of others? We have power in us, Carrie. You don’t need to be worried. And even if you are, I’m here to help you.”

I smiled at her, but must have looked more tight-lipped and worried than I intended. Her eyes looked sad. “Omar has told me you miss your old life being a doctor out in the world.”

I sighed, feeling a mix of shame and relief that Mirah knew about my conundrum. Things never seemed as bad when they weren’t pent up inside like a secret. “I do miss it.” I glanced down at my sleeping sons. “But I would probably miss this even worse. I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you love my son?”

“Of course,” I said. “And I love our sons.”

“Then things will work themselves out,” she assured me. “And you will be together, whatever happens.”

Tears stung my eyes. “What makes you so sure?”

“That is the point of love: to make sure we end up where we are supposed to be.”

FIFTEEN

Mirah’s words rang in my head long after we parted to our separate rooms to prepare for the coronation. As my sons slept, Zaynab helped me get into the dress I had gotten for the occasion. I was in no place to go out shopping, so my wonderful assistant had gone into town for me and let me window shop via video chat on her smartphone. Together, we had found a flowing red dress that matched the ruby earrings Omar had given me on our first date. Zaynab had given the shop all my measurements, and the dress had been delivered a few days later in a beautiful box filled with tissue paper.

Zaynab had her own new dress on; floor-length, in a dark blue color with white lace accents that looked like a smattering of stars in the night sky. She would be helping me to take care of the boys during the coronation ceremony, and she was excited to be attending something so historical and beautiful.

Omar was incredibly busy, so busy that we couldn’t meet up to spend time together before dinner. With Zaynab by my side, I wheeled the stroller down the palace hallway towards the dining hall. The sun was setting, and the light was gorgeous and golden, the garden alive with the sound of birds. We had to stop every few feet, because the security guards all wanted to get a chance to coo at the babies and get their first glimpse of the future leader of Al-Thakri. It was almost too adorable to bear, watching these huge hulking men crumble into smiles and baby talk.

We were only waiting a moment in the dining room before Omar arrived. He rushed over to me with a beaming smile and took me in his arms. He kissed me deeply, unconcerned with the small audience of security in the room. “How are you feeling, my love? How are the boys?”

“Tired but ready for this feast; your sons are about the same,” I joked, gesturing to their sleeping forms in the stroller. They were good eaters and it wouldn’t be long until one or both of them were up and wanting a meal from the pre-pumped bottles Zaynab had waiting.

Omar’s smile grew, and he separated from my embrace to kneel in front of the strollers and delicately stroke each of the babies’ cheeks. He stared at them like he still didn’t believe they were real.

“They are already more handsome than me,” he laughed. “We’re going to have quite the line of eager ladies at the palace gates.”

“Oh, Lord,” I replied with a hand on my forehead. “I’m still feeling labor pains; can we please keep the talk about them being teenagers to a minimum?”

Omar chuckled and stood to kiss me again. “Are you recovering well? Is there anything you need? I’m sorry I’ve been so absent the last few days. I had no idea how much work this coronation business required.”

“Don’t worry about it, honey.” I patted a palm on his chest lovingly. “You have a country to run; of course you’re going to be busy and absent sometimes. We’re doing just fine. I have everything I need to hand—except you, that is.”

I meant it as a light-hearted joke, but Omar sighed deeply, his brow furrowing. “All I want is to spend time with you and my sons.”

I ran a hand over his face gently. “We’re right here, Omar.”

It didn’t seem to satisfy him, but as he leaned in to kiss me again, we were interrupted by a royal attendant barging into the dining hall to announce that Sajid and his family had arrived.

Omar closed his eyes and took another deep breath, clearly annoyed. “Thank you,” he told the attendant in an even voice. He opened his eyes to look at me, their dark colors heavy with worry. “I’m going to send someone to fetch my mother. Will you greet Sajid and Alima for me?”

“Of course.” I kissed him.

He embraced me once more and left the room. Sajid and his family entered a few moments later, beaming happily as Alima carried their new son in her arms. He was awake but not fussy, staring in blurry-eyed wonder at all the fresh colors and sights in the room.

Sajid was polite but stiff when he greeted me, while Alima was nothing but warmth and sunshine, kissing me on both cheeks and showing off her beautiful baby. He already had Sajid’s full head of thick, dark hair, and darker skin than my sons. He was truly gorgeous and I told Alima so. His three older sisters gathered around him like little nannies, fussing with his socks, rubbing gently at the soft hair on his head. They already loved him to pieces.

Omar and Mirah came to the dining room soon after, and Mirah was overwhelmed at the sight before her.

“My whole family, all six of my grandchildren… Six!” she cried happily, clapping her hands together. “Three boys, three girls. What more could a woman ask for?”

“It warms my heart to see you so happy, mother,” said Omar as he put an arm around her. “You’ve endured so much this past year or so.”

“And now I’m ready to endure more happiness than any person has a right to have,” she agreed, nodding with a teary smile. She insisted on sitting at the end of the table with her granddaughters and Zaynab, who was keeping an eye on all three baby boys as they slept away in their strollers and the portable cradle Sajid’s attendant had brought for his son. She was clearly very happy to be getting on with her life outside of royal duties.

Throughout the dinner, Sajid seemed in happier spirits than I had ever seen him, and I thought it must be due to his newborn son. After all, Omar was the same. But as the night progressed, it became clear that it was something else. Once the kitchen staff had cleaned up the dishes from the main course, he decided the time was right to reveal it.

Sajid cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Then he slowly pulled a piece of folded paper from the inside of his robes where it had been tucked. He opened it to reveal a language I couldn’t read, but which looked like an official document of some kind; I recognized the royal seal of Al-Thakri prominently displayed at the top.

Omar’s face went dark. “What is this?” he demanded.

Sajid’s good mood fell quickly like a hammer. He slapped the paper on the table and rudely shoved it across towards Omar and me on the other side. Omar gave me a concerned look and snatched the papers up. There was a portion highlighted almost a third of the way down.

“You should know what it is, since you’re the man who presumes to be our future king,” sniped Sajid.

“Presumes?” countered Omar. “Brother, you’ve just handed me the constitution of Al-Thakri, so you know well that I am not
presuming
anything. The throne is mine. Both the constitution and mother’s decree have been satisfied by the birth of my sons. How much longer are you going to try and raise the ghost of this issue?”

The room filled with thick tension that seemingly even the security guards felt, shifting uncomfortably in their polished shoes.

Next to Sajid, Alima was silent, eyes downcast. But Sajid only rose to his feet, slamming his fist on the table. “You are wrong, Omar. The throne will not be yours, and the constitution proves it. The law specifically states that any sheikh ascending to the throne must have produce one male heir.”

Omar rolled his eyes. “Have I not introduced you to my two sons?” He sarcastically gestured towards the strollers.

“Yes, your
two
sons. Two. The constitution says that the sheikh ascending must have
one
son, in the singular. That means the throne is mine. Dr. Green gave you twins, and blessings upon you for that as a father, but for Al-Thakri, it means you cannot be king. The throne should be mine.”

At the end of the table, Mirah shook her head, thoroughly exhausted with the bickering. Unlike before, however, she said nothing to interrupt it.

Omar was red with rage, his eyes darker and angrier than I had ever seen them. His breathing quickened, chest rising and falling as he absorbed his brother’s words.

He was quiet for a long time—long enough that even Sajid started to grow uncomfortable with the silence.

Finally, Omar stood up from his chair, throwing his napkin down on the table.

“I’ve had just about enough of this,” said Omar in a voice that was both dark and quiet, yet somehow loud enough to echo off the walls. “Ever since we lost Father, you’ve become consumed with vying for power, Sajid. Consumed, like you are cursed. It has been painful to watch and even more painful to endure. All our lives, Father trained me—trained
both of us
—for the roles we would one day take on. And his grave wasn’t even cold before you tried to do everything you could to upend that training, and upend father’s wishes… the wishes of Al-Thakri.”

Sajid stared at his brother in shock, like a deer caught in headlights. This was not the fight he expected from Omar, and he hadn’t finished.

“I thought with the birth of our sons that this had finally been put to rest, and that we could sit back and become a family once more. I thought we would raise our sons together, like we were raised.” His voice grew angry and he gestured wildly. “That they could be brothers and take care of each other as I took care of you. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? If this is you, Sajid, if this is how low you are willing to stoop to gain something that was never yours in the first place, then you know what? You can have it. You have poisoned everything about this I ever loved. I no longer want it.”

It took a moment for everyone in the room to realize the weight of Omar’s words. At the end of the table, Mirah stood up slowly, her face shocked. Sajid straightened, his fists falling away, while the girls looked at each other curiously, waiting for someone to explain what had just happened.

“What are you saying?” Sajid said slowly.

“My son, think about what you’re doing!” cried Mirah. “Think of the country!”

“I am thinking, mother. I’m thinking clearly for perhaps the first time since father died,” Omar replied evenly. He turned to Sajid with a stone expression. “If the throne means so much to you that you’re willing to cut your family at every turn in order to achieve it, then take the throne, Sajid. Tonight will not be my coronation; it will be my abdication. You can finally have what you really want.”

“You are mocking me,” said Sajid, his face suspicious.

“No,” replied Omar, shaking his head. “I’m done with games. I’m done with trying to best you or convince you that what you’re doing is foolish. Instead, I am going to heed the wise words of our father and realize that I have no control over fate. Fate is presenting me with a choice today. I can either stay here and spend my days trying to run a country that will always have problems to solve, protecting my throne from my power-hungry brother who will most likely challenge everything I try to do, while watching my sons grow up at a distance. Or, I can do what my heart really desires.”

Omar looked down at me—completely surprised and without words to respond—and put a gentle hand on my cheek. “I could leave here with Carrie and my sons, and go explore the world as we both want. I can teach Roni and Zamir what the world really looks like, and let them decide for themselves where they want to be within it. I can spend my hours loving my family and making them happy.”

Tears filled my eyes as I listened to Omar speak. My heart felt like it was ready to burst in my chest. All my sleepless nights worrying about what I was going to do when the babies were born, and I never once imagined an outcome like this.

“I choose the latter,” declared Omar. “I love Carrie and my sons more than some petty title, more than this royal legacy that only we will ever remember. I don’t want a part of this anymore. I’m tired of fighting you, Sajid. The throne is yours—on one condition.”

Still in a state of suspicious disbelief, Sajid folded his arms and snorted. “Yes, and what is that? A failsafe that you should be able to return and reclaim it whenever you decide you’re done being a globetrotter?”

“No,” argued Omar. “The condition is that you meet with the royal advisors and amend the constitution so that this mockery will never happen again. Amend the constitution to include heirs of either gender. Had we had such an amendment, you would have taken the throne anyway, and none of this infighting would have happened. That a woman can act as queen regent and raise royal heirs, but not rule herself, is a stain on our country and will cause us nothing but problems. Fix it, Sajid. That is my condition.”

I was so proud of Omar in that moment, it took everything to hold back my tears. At the end of the table, Mirah put her hands over her mouth, her face overwhelmed with joyful emotion.