The Sheikh's Triplet Baby Surprise (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise 3)

pregnancy beauty, and the look in Aziz’s eyes told her that he saw it, too.

TWENTY

It was late February when the babies were born—a few weeks early, which was expected, since by that point Amity’s body didn’t allow room for another inch of growth. The labor was difficult, but, with sweat pouring down her face, with the love of her life clinging to her hand, Amity decided she wouldn’t have wanted to fight for her children to be born any other way. She clenched her teeth together and allowed the stunning and powerful force of her body to squeeze her children into the world: first a boy, then two girls. Amity would joke later that this was the only time the girls ever allowed their brother to go first.

When it was over, Aziz held onto the boy, while she clung to both girls. The sterile hospital beeped and buzzed around them, but they gazed at their babies with wonder, without comprehension that anyone else in the world existed.

Aziz’s dark eyes were on Amity in a moment, wholly amazed at the wonder before him. His voice came like honey. “Do you want to settle on the names now?”

“I think it’s time. They can’t live another moment more without knowing who they are,” Amity whispered.

She peered down at the girl who slept in the crook of her right arm, the names they’d discussing passing through her brain. She cleared her throat. “This is Una, Aziz. She’s Una.”

“Hello, Una,” Aziz murmured.

“And our boy,” Amity began. “What is his name? Who is he?”

“This is Kamil,” Aziz answered, giving him an old, Arabic name. The infant kicked at his blankets with the force of four babies. He sputtered for a moment, and then he lay still, content once more.

Aziz laughed. “You don’t expect them to have such personality when they’ve only been alive for a moment.”

“And to think you’ve had your personality ever since then, as well,” Amity offered. She winked at him and looked down at the little girl nestled in her left elbow. Amity kissed the top of this as yet unnamed one’s head, sighing. “I think this one is Gwendolyn,” she whispered. “Gwen, maybe, for short. What do you think?”

“I think it’s beautiful, Amity. Just gorgeous.”

Amity and Aziz held each other’s gaze for several moments more before turning their attention back to their babies, to the lives they’d created together. “Do you think they’ll make much of themselves?” Aziz teased.

“With me as their PR agent?” Amity joked. She could feel herself beginning to fade; she could feel fatigue taking hold. “No, I don’t mind what they do, just so long as they’re happy.”

Aziz smiled, his eyes shining with tears. He collapsed in a heap in the chair beside the bed and gently rested Kamil in the bassinet before him. Amity allowed the nurse to take the babies once more, and the new parents drifted off to an easy sleep in the hospital room.

Outside, Al-Mabbar continued to rev along with its parties, its clubs, its priceless champagne. But Amity knew Aziz didn’t care about any of it. His heart beat for family. His heart beat for charity, for healing the world. And above all, his heart beat for her.

TWENTY-ONE

Amity and Aziz eased into family life at the downtown mansion, falling into the normal parental exhaustion, attempting every day to hold each other up. The nursery, immaculately designed by a local interior designer, became their second bedroom, and they often collapsed on the couches there, after the babies drifted off to sleep. Amity would often lie there, massaging her breasts. “Breastfeeding three babies is destroying me.”

“And yet you’re more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you,” Aziz told her, kissing her soundly.

When the babies were a few weeks old, Amity began to grow restless. The various nurses that flitted in and out of the mansion left her with a bit of extra time, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with the hours. She found herself lying in bed, her body aching, thinking back to her old PR life. The drama of it, the whirlwind of picking up a million pieces of someone’s broken life and putting them back together again—she missed it all.

She confided in Aziz, late at night, leaning heavy against her elbow. They were naked beneath the sheets. Their breath was hot, earnest. They continually wanted each other.

“I’ve been thinking about starting my own PR firm,” Amity told him. Her eyes flashed. She almost dared him to tell her it would be too much, that she needed to focus her time on the babies.

But she knew, in the back of her mind, that this wasn’t in his character. Not for a moment.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Aziz murmured. He traced his fingers through her loose strands of hair. “You know, I know a few celebrities here. Some of them have really destroyed their public image. They would need you to help build them up again. I’ve talked about you with a few of them, and you’ve already captured their interest.”

“I have?” Amity asked. She felt her heart drumming quickly. Would it really be possible for her to transport the elements of the life she’d loved in Los Angeles all the way to Al-Mabbar?

“I knew it would be only a matter of time before you wanted to go back to work,” Aziz told her. “And I want you to be happy here.”

Amity sat up from her passive position, her brain already buzzing. Al-Mabbar was deep in slumber, but she yearned to begin her working life once more. “Great. Great. In fact, I already have a few ideas for you. I think we can really improve your image, if you’re still game.”

Aziz laughed. “If you’re up for it, I’ll follow your lead. I trust you. I love you.”

Amity paused, really feeling the weight of the words. She leaned toward him and kissed him on the mouth, feeling such prowess within her. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

She leaped from the bed and rushed to her office, the same one he’d prepared for her so long ago, during her first visit. She began to scribble ideas in a notebook, already pushing herself, attempting to make up for lost time.

***

Just one week later, Amity had negotiated a spot for Aziz to be interviewed on Al-Mabbar’s most popular TV talk show—one nearly everyone in the country tuned into every evening at eight. They prepared to leave several hours before, Amity racing around with mania in her eyes. She fit Una, Gwen, and Kamil into matching outfits: all in dark purple, with their little legs and arms wiggling, their dark eyes shining. Amity kissed each of them softly on their foreheads and lifted them each into the three-baby stroller, which they would take to the television studio.

Aziz watched himself in the mirror, tying his tie, visibly irritated. Amity tapped toward him and placed her hands over his shoulders. “What is it, honey?” she asked him. “Are you nervous about the interview?” This wasn’t like him, she knew—but he also hadn’t made a public appearance since the babies were born.

Aziz sighed. He arms went limp to his sides. “I’m not sure about this, Amity.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Amity said, her voice chipper.

“It’s just,” Aziz continued. “You’re saying—you want me to discuss the babies, right?”

“The babies. Just how happy you are to be a father. What your own father would say about your dad tactics.” She smiled, knowing she was saying all the right things. She was hitting all the right beats. “And also, you should mention me. Mention how happy we are; how much I love my new country.” She beamed at him, waiting for his face to change.