The Sheikh's Surprise Mistress 2 (Jatar Sheikh 6)

He entered within moments and sat on the bed. “Your hand is much too cold,” he announced as he began to rub it.

This annoyed me and I jerked it away. “I’m fine,” I snapped. “Everything hurts—sorry for that,” I apologized after his face fell. “Help me to the bathroom?”

He really did appreciate having something to do and with his cane on one side, he stabilized me, and we awkwardly got me to the toilet. It wasn’t until I sat down that his face clouded. “You’re bleeding again.”

I checked and yup, I was. It was minor, but at this point, anything was bad. Amir rushed out to get the doctor, and I tried to stand. It took me three shaky attempts and then I was upright, but so incredibly dizzy, I leaned against the cool wall for support. When I looked in the toilet it was crimson. My head swam and my knees shook, and before I could sit back down, everything went black.

In total darkness, I felt when I hit first the edge of the toilet and then my head bounced against the tile floor. I felt as if I were down in a tunnel, or a pit and the incongruity of the coldness against my cheek warred with the warmth I felt spreading out between my thighs.

I heard Amir when he reentered the bathroom and the frantic, panicked tone in his voice, but then I totally blacked out. I had flashes of consciousness, and I was aware of Amir being there and holding my hand. Sometimes I would hear his voice as he either comforted me or barked at a doctor for something. I tried to resurface, but I couldn’t. I was also aware of intense stabbing pains up through my belly. I think I complained about the overhead lights at one point, but I’m not certain. I also have a vague recollection of sirens and being in a vehicle.

It seemed to me that a lot of time passed. I felt lost in a sea of odd visuals. The worst part was the voices. There were always background conversations I was unable to tune into or fully hear. Snippets that only sent me further into a hidden internal hysteria. A lot of it was in a language I didn’t understand. Foreign hands touched me and various places on my body were pierced with sharp moments of pain that later turned into numb aches.

My belly disappeared. I don’t know how or when, but I remember the feeling of vacancy and loss. My companion was gone, and I had no way of crying out or calling for him. Where was my baby?

Amir? Where are you? Why aren’t you protecting our baby?

Time moved at an odd pace trapped inside my body and brain. I lost track of so many things, and I was certain I’d died. I even saw a brilliant white light at one p

oint and could have sworn my grandma Marjorie was calling for me from the back stoop of her farmhouse. I tried to go to her, but then Amir begged me to stay, so I did, choosing him.

Chapter Seventeen

“She is going to be okay. Long recovery. She’ll need around the clock care. It was close, Sir, a very close thing.”

“When can I take her home?” Amir questioned.

“She needs another week here, and honestly Sir, it is easier for her while the baby remains in ICU.”

Oh God, my baby is alive?

I’d given up hope and was almost angry that I’d survived. I’d slowly been resurfacing and yesterday, for a very short spell I opened my eyes. My room had been empty, which was fine. I couldn’t stay alert long enough to care. Today it was the Doctor’s stethoscope that roused me, but I didn’t open my eyes. I just listened.

“We need to let her hold her child,” Amir insisted.

“I told you, Sir, he must remain in the incubator at least another month. He is incredibly fragile. He was almost three months premature. The survival rate for a premature birth such as this is staggeringly low. The simple fact he is alive at all, is a blessing indeed.”

Amir persisted, “If my wife can see him then? She must see that he survived.”

“She will. As soon as she is alert enough, you may take her to the nic unit. But she can’t touch him. Not yet.”

“I see,” Amir said and I heard the doctor leave. Amir picked up my hand and held it, but was silent. I squeezed his hand the best I could, but it was a pittance. His voice grew closer, and I felt him on my bed.

“Julie? My love? Our baby survived.”

“Amir?” My voice was barely a whisper, and it was difficult to form words, almost painful.

His voice grew even more urgent, “Yes, love. Right here.”

I tentatively opened my eyelids and peered out through a slit of blonde lashes. “Amsi?”

“He is alive. He is tiny and weak, but he lives.”

“You promised,” I croaked.

“I was not going to lose you, my love. Never lose you. Our doctors saved you both.”

“Is he okay?”