Medical Romance August 2016 Books 1-6

EPILOGUE

LORNA HAD DIED soon after the wedding.

There was no sense of relief for Adele.

She didn’t even know how to cry.

Lorna had been buried wrapped in the blanket but still Adele had not been able to cry.

A month later they had returned to Mamlakat Almas for a formal celeration to mark their marriage and then come back to London so that Zahir could complete his contract.

The baby would be born in England.

When Adele was six months pregnant they went back for a flying visit. Even though they would be there for just one night, Zahir had made sure that there was the necessary equipment and staff on hand should something happen.

It was supposed to be a brief visit, a duty visit, but just before they returned to the UK Adele had finally broken down.

This time, she had arms to hold her as she cried, but not with remorse or guilt. She simply wept for the mother she had lost.

It has been a long time coming and the grief did not fade with her tears.

The flight was delayed, of course, and Adele lay on their bed and tried to fathom that she was going to be a mother and that hers was gone.

Zahir was patient.

Yet his concern was deep and so was his love.

The attar prescribed a blend of herbs to nurture both baby and mother and also a slight calmative, and that helped a little.

On the morning that they were due to fly back to London they lay in bed and Zahir stared out at the desert, feeling the kicks of their baby beneath his hand when Adele stirred.

‘Adele,’ Zahir asked, ‘are you looking forward to going home?’

Half-asleep, she answered him honestly.

‘This is home.’

She loved England and would always go back to visit friends but Mamlakat Almas felt like home.

She stretched and turned to face him and, more awake now, she smiled, still unable to believe that she could wake up with him every morning. ‘What time do we leave?’

And Zahir had come to a decision—the choice would be Adele’s.

Dakan had moved mountains, his goal to get the birthing suite ready should Adele need it.

Zahir could feel how much more relaxed she was here.

‘Do you want to stay?’

‘Stay?’ Adele checked. The baby was due in eight weeks and soon it would be too late to fly.

‘Maja is a good obstetrician, she is one of the best...’

Dakan had made sure of that and Zahir would not even consider it if he did not trust Maja.

‘We could have the baby here?’ Adele checked.

‘If that is what you want,’ he agreed.

And Adele thought about it and realised she very much did.

It was the most wonderful time. Mornings were spent in the healing baths with Leila.

They spoke about Aafaq, yet Adele still couldn’t speak about Lorna. Sometimes they just floated in silence. Adele, who had been without a mother for so long, loved that she had guidance and support from Leila.

Afternoons she would walk barefoot on the sands with Zahir and at night she would lie in his arms and try to comprehend how far they had come.

It was peaceful, it was gentle, it was bliss.

And then, two weeks before her due date, Adele woke up and looked out at a red desert sky.

‘What time is Maja coming to see you?’ Zahir asked.

‘At midday,’ Adele answered, but then she asked him something. ‘Do you think she knew I was having a baby?’

All those hours, all the years talking to her mother without so much as a sign that Lorna could hear and yet she asked him now.

‘I do.’

‘You’re just saying that.’

‘No.’ Zahir shook his head. ‘Did you tell her about me...?’

‘You were all I spoke about for a year.’ Adele gave a soft laugh but then it changed. ‘I miss that.’

It had seemed agony at the time but Adele now missed those times with her mum.

‘Of course you do,’ he said. ‘I spoke to her on our wedding day and just like you had said there was no response, no sign she understood, yet she held on until she knew you were okay...’

‘I don’t know.’

Adele didn’t know what to think.

‘Talk to her again,’ Zahir said. ‘Maybe in your head. Have those conversations that you miss.’

Adele did.

She walked on the beach and in her head she chatted to her mum and told her how much she loved her.

How sorry she was.

And some tears fell and then she smiled. ‘You’ll be pleased to know I have a driver now.’

Zahir was right.

It helped to talk to her mother again. For years there had been no response but now she could feel the breeze on her face and the sand at her feet and she could talk to her whenever she wanted to.

Then Adele saw Leila walking towards her and she always made her smile.

Leila had nearly finished the blanket for the baby.

It was complete, save for one square, and she was trying to squeeze the baby’s name out of Adele.

Adele wasn’t telling; instead, they chatted about Maja’s visit today.

‘She thinks it might be wise if I deliver soon, given that the baby is so big.’

‘Good,’ Leila said. ‘Hopefully you will be prescribed more time in the healing baths after you have the baby. I was there for weeks afterwards. You know how I suffered in my labours. Both Zahir’s and Dakan’s shoulders...’ And then she hesitated but a little too late, for Adele had frowned.

‘I thought that Zahir was premature?’

‘He had very big shoulders,’ Leila said quickly. ‘Even at seven months.’

Then she looked up at the palace and saw the ladder against the wall and she smiled at the memory of Fatiq climbing up it to be by her side.

‘This is the stone I received the night after the bridal selection,’ Leila said, and she pointed to the ruby that she wore around her neck for Adele to admire.

And she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible wink.

Yes, what happened in the palace stayed in the palace, but those last tweaks of regret about her walk of shame left Adele then as she realised she that Zahir hadn’t been premature in the least.

They laughed.

* * *

Zahir was working in his office when he took a moment to enjoy the lovely view and saw his mother and Adele walking on the beach.

He loved his country.

Always.

And he loved the changes that had been made and the care that had been taken of Adele. He could see her calm and relaxed and happy and walking with his mother.

He watched as Adele and his mother stopped walking and started to laugh.

Adele was doubled over with laughing and it was nice to see.

Leila carried on walking and talking and then turned as Adele failed to catch up.

He watched his mother walk back towards Adele.

That was all Zahir saw.

He swiftly made his way through the palace and down to the beach.

‘I’m here,’ he said, and then he stopped talking as Adele looked up and smiled in relief.

They shared a gentle kiss on the beach where she had first told him all that had happened and as they looked at each other he could see in her shining eyes the healing that had taken place.

And he knew then that they had been right to stay.

* * *

Samina helped Adele into a fresh gown and Zahir walked her down the palace stairs. When she bent over midway, Adele remembered the glare that had passed between father and son when Leila had doubled over.

Things were so different now.

The birthing centre was beautiful and the bliss of an epidural could not be overstated.

‘Adele,’ Maja told her, ‘you need to have a Caesarean.’

She had come to realise that and so too had Adele and Zahir after a lot of very unproductive pushing.

It had always been a real possibility.

Adele was slight and Zahir was not and this was rather a large baby.

She thought of Queen Leila and what she had gone through and was so grateful for all that had changed.

Adele stared at the ceiling as she was moved through to the theatre and Zahir was by her side.

‘The staff are praying for a calm and wonderful delivery,’ a nurse explained, ‘and then they will come in.’

Their ways really were beautiful, Adele thought.

Zahir was utterly calm and sat by her head and held her hand. He chatted as if they were sitting at a bus stop, rather than about to become first-time parents.

He calmed her in a way no one else ever could.

And she loved his patience and also his occasional impatience when a solution wasn’t forthcoming at his pace and he pushed things along.

She loved his almost unwavering belief that the answers would unfold in time.

And she loved, most of all, how essential she was to him.

As he was to her.

It was a moment like no other.

She heard the gurgle of the suction machine and felt the odd sensation of tugging and then heard the sound of tears.

Lusty, healthy tears and they were gifted with a small glimpse of their son.

He had thick black hair and was a big, angry baby indeed. Adele laughed when she saw him and knew, as fact, the Caesarean had been necessary.

‘Go over to him,’ Adele said to Zahir, and he gave her a kiss and then did so.

The staff were a little nervous as Zahir approached.

He was not only a doctor but would one day be king and so too would his new son.

‘He is beautiful, Your Highness,’ Maja said. It was the proudest moment in her career to have delivered the future king. She was so pleased that he had been born safely here in Mamlakat Almas.

He was crying very loudly and a nurse was wrapping him up and preparing to take him over to Adele.

‘Can I take him?’ Zahir asked her.

That would be a yes.

He took his baby and rested him in his arm. He looked down at his son, who stared back and calmed in such a firm hold.

Zahir went over to Adele and sat on the stool, putting the baby’s head by hers and watching them meet.

And he saw tears flow freely from Adele’s eyes.

He was the most beautiful baby, with navy eyes and thick black lashes and he didn’t look like a newborn. He was stunning and he had her heart just like that.

And the name they had chosen was absolutely right, Adele thought as she felt his little fat hand reach out for his mother.

‘Azzam...’ Adele said, and she kissed him.

And later, much later, sitting in bed, holding her baby with Zahir by her side, the baby was introduced to his family and Leila finally got to know his name.

Azzam.

Royal Prince Sheikh Azzam Al Rahal, of Mamlakat Almas.

It would be stitched onto a little square tonight and placed in the centre of his blanket.

The palace healer also came to visit Adele and he thought she might need at least eight weeks of the healing baths.

‘Maybe ten,’ he said, and gave Adele a smile.

‘Your mother will be delighted,’ Adele said to her husband when the healer had left.

They were breaking one old tradition, though, and Adele would be back in Zahir’s bed on her first night home.

‘Once you have finished your course in the healing baths, we shall have to see about a honeymoon.’

‘Where?’ Adele said.

‘You choose.’

And she thought of an oasis in the desert but she would not be forgetting to take her Pill this time.

She could not have been happier.

Neither could Zahir.

And later, after she had fed him and Zahir was settling him down, she called Janet to share the happy news.

‘It’s a beautiful name,’ Janet said. ‘What does it mean?’

‘It means determined,’ Adele said, and then Zahir smiled at her and she met his gaze. He walked to Adele and sat on the bed, took her hand as she explained further.

‘Resolved.’

Challenging the Doctor Sheikh

Dear Reader,

First, I have to say that it was a massive thrill for me to get to work with Carol Marinelli for this duet. I’ve loved Carol’s books for years, and actually the first two Medical Romances I ever read were by Carol Marinelli and Sarah Morgan … so to say that I was excited is the understatement of the year. And Carol was as lovely and amazing to work with as you’d expect her to be!

Despite my excitement, this was one of the harder books to write, and I have to wonder if it’s because I’m in the process of reinventing myself—again. I’ve done this a couple times in my life, and I think of it as the kind of growth of character that makes growing pains worth the effort—even if it makes some things momentarily harder!

My current process is probably why the idea of figuring out who you are and who you want to be is so fascinating to me, and it’s a theme I’ll probably come back to in future books. Dakan and Nira are each trying to come to grips with who they are, how they got to be that way, and figuring out who they want to be—while falling in love and helping each other along the path.

I hope you enjoy their story, and if you haven’t picked up Carol’s—Seduced by the Sheikh Surgeon—for Zahir and Adele’s story, you should. It’s really fabulous—not that I’m biased or anything …

Amalie Xx

Dedicated to Mr John Bradbury, one of my junior high teachers, for his support and encouragement, and for the awesomeness of having a reading nook with a big comfy lounging pillow in the corner of his classroom.

Also really hoping he doesn’t read past the dedication page … the idea of it gives me a wiggins …

AMALIE BERLIN lives with her family and critters in Southern Ohio, and writes quirky and independent characters for Mills & Boon Medical Romance. She likes to buck expectations with unusual settings and situations, and believes humour can be used powerfully to illuminate truth—especially when juxtaposed against intense emotions. Love is stronger and more satisfying when your partner can make you laugh through times when you don’t have the luxury of tears.

Praise for Amalie Berlin

‘Falling for Her Reluctant Sheikh by author Amalie Berlin blew my mind away! This story is definitely worth re-reading and fans are in for a medical treat!’

—Goodreads

CHAPTER ONE

THE HEAT PRINCE DAKAN AL RAHAL had been used to in his youth blistered the back of his neck as he prowled away from the new high-rise apartment building in the heart of his kingdom’s capital. Only a few days as ruler-in-residence since the king had flown to England to attend the impromptu wedding of his eldest son, and already Dakan couldn’t remember ever having a worse mood.

It also made him aware of just how practical the traditional white robes would’ve been to wear, not that practicality would change his mind about wearing them. He liked the clean lines of his dark suits, he just liked them better on soggy winter days in England. What he wouldn’t give for a brittle autumn wind right now. For just one overcast gray afternoon, he might even be convinced to wear the sword tradition dictated for the ruler in residence.

But until either the King or Dakan’s elder brother Zahir—the true heir—deigned to return to Mamlakat Almas, he was stuck.

And if he was stuck, the architect Zahir had hired would damned well be stuck too—right in the flat where she was supposed to be working.

Planning the new hospital as part of the overhaul to finally bring their medical system into the twenty-first century was the one bright spot on his calendar for the foreseeable future, made bearable all the bureaucratic nonsense he had put up with every other hour of the day so far. The hospital was the only thing he could get excited about. But the day he’d finally gotten time to come and plan with her, she’d gone sightseeing.

Typical.

Traffic stopped at the light, and Dakan took off, as fast as he could weave through the waiting cars and trucks, counting on the three royal guards behind him to keep up. Back on the walkway, his feet ate up the decorative tile expanse separating him from the bazaar blocks away.

At least something had changed since his last time on foot in the capital. The cobblestones were gone. The highly trafficked pedestrian walkways had transitioned to decorative tiles in different shades of sand—something he might’ve appreciated if he’d only been seeing it in a photo. But here every time his foot touched the walk his frustration increased. Even his fingernails felt tense as he dug them into his palms.

It wasn’t just having to fetch the person he’d come to meet that had him wanting to ring one of the jets to go somewhere twenty degrees cooler, it was that he was there at all.

England could be cold in the winter, but at this time of year it was downright pleasant. Additionally, he went where he wanted, never had guards trailing after him, dated whomever struck his fancy, and he drove. He had everything there, most important of all freedom.

Since his residency had ended and he’d earned his license, Dakan had snagged a sweet ride, a flat that made panties hit the floor, and had started shopping around established practices to decide where he’d like to begin the career he’d worked years for. That’s what doctors did when their education was finished—opened or joined a practice—but before he’d gotten to see even a single patient he could call his own he’d been summoned home.

All damned fine reasons to wake up irritated.

Another block and the decorative tile walk opened up to a wide lane lined with stalls on either side, sprawling out from one of the oldest buildings in the city—a holdout built by imported Byzantine craftsman. It had been made entirely too well to do the sensible thing and fall in to make way for a new era, an era that required more than a single clogged lane for people doing their daily shopping like that which faced him now.

It would be just as crowded inside—merchants waited years to get to move into the old building. Even with it practically butting up against the impressive modern towers built in the last decade—luxury dwellings, businesses, and prosperity on display two short blocks away—people still had to crowd through open-air shops to buy their groceries and necessities.

As much as Dakan loved his father, when it came to the way he ruled, the way he kept things always the same—as if it’d been so much better back then—made Dakan want to shake him. Or lead a revolt and then leave Zahir to rule, thus freeing Dakan to return to England.

Just find her and make sure to get her number so he could just call her next time she skipped out as if she was here on a tourist visa. Then maybe make a note to have the clerk write her a stuffy memo about the dossiers of royal contractors out there waiting to take her place should they need to.

What did she even look like?

She was British, so fair probably. Maybe dark hair but pale skin. Look for the tourists.

Scratch that. Look for the guard sent to accompany her. Or ring the guard. By all that was holy, he was losing his mind.

“Figure out who her escort is and call him,” he said to his men, leaving them to it and moving into the crowd. He stood taller than most and that helped. It also helped that as people caught sight of him they moved as much as they could to give him room to pass.

But none of these people were the ones he was looking for. A sea of bodies, and none bearing royal colors.

By the time he reached the large arch leading inside, he’d started to sweat.

“They’re in the third arcade, Your Highness,” said a voice at his shoulder and Dakan nodded, yanking off his dark glasses and stashing them so he could see in the much lower lighting as he picked up the pace.

By the time he’d entered the ancient third arcade, he’d caught sight of the colors he’d been looking for. From there, he looked to the side for the woman.

There was a woman on his left, a simple green scarf covering her head. Was that her? Some tourists and those who worked in the country covered their heads out of deference to their customs...

Whatever, she was British so the same rules didn’t apply.

He reached for her elbow to turn her toward him. Wide and startled pale green eyes fixed on him, a boost of the exotic amid the warm tan skin that greeted him. Exotic, but not.

This wasn’t her.

He might get away with touching a foreign woman, but he’d never put his hands on a female citizen unbidden. And this woman was definitely a citizen. Damn.

* * *

Nira Hathaway stared up at broad shoulders and tousled black hair framing the most startlingly attractive male face she’d ever seen. When she’d zeroed in on his dark brown eyes a weird heaviness had hit her chest and her knees had given the sort of twinge no doubt designed to remind her they could bend in the middle. And that they might do so whether she wanted them to or not.

The man snatched his hand back and bowed, his Arabic flowing like music to her ears. “Forgive me, I thought you were someone else.” When he straightened he started to frown and she hadn’t even said anything yet.

“It’s all right, sir. Though I must ask, who did you think I was?” Her Arabic, though better than it’d been a few weeks ago when she’d really started to pour on the effort, still sounded mechanical and sloppy even to her amateur ear, but it was good enough to muddle by.

Since her arrival in Mamlakat Almas, very few people had spoken to her, the only thing she was actually ready for. She’d been learning Arabic for months because she’d wanted to learn it since childhood, but that didn’t mean she spoke to anyone outside of her instructors, who were expecting her to sound somewhat silly. Starting the program as a working adult also meant she didn’t give it as much time as she would’ve liked to. Or hadn’t until the last few weeks.

Normally she’d never have asked Mr. Universe for clarification, but he’d thought she was someone else. That meant she looked like someone he’d expected to find, someone who belonged.

The dark brown eyes with thick black lashes she could’ve been convinced to murder for drifted back to her from her escort, eyes sharpening in focus.

Clearly there was something going on she didn’t get. Something other than her having a possible backside doppelganger roaming the city.

“Are you Nira Hathaway?” the beautiful man asked, switching to English.

She nodded and switched too. She wasn’t going to flirt with the regrettably handsome man. Flirting would be a dumb idea for a number of reasons, not the least of which being her cluelessness about how it’d be looked upon in this country. Women probably didn’t just date in Mamlakat Almas or pick up random men at the market.

“I am. You are...?”

“Dakan Al Rahal,” he said, dark brows pinching together to make a slash across his forehead.

Her stomach soured.

As soon as she heard his name, the resemblance to Zahir came into focus. Same height, same jaw, hair color...she should’ve recognized him. What kind of respectable professional woman became stupid just because a man was...exceedingly handsome?

Though Dakan had a roguish quality to his appearance that probably instilled this reaction in everyone who saw him. And he was a doctor too, like his brother, that much she knew. Doctor. Prince. Adonis in a superbly cut charcoal suit.

There were probably words he expected her to say now.

Think of words. Any words. English words even.

I’m Nira and I like long walks on the beach and...

Not those words.

“I didn’t know we were meeting today, Prince Dakan.” There. Words. Should she have said “Your Highness?” That probably was one of the things she should’ve learned when preparing for the trip, but Zahir had just gone by his name, never once using his title. But here among the magnificent ogival arches and vaulted ceilings? It felt wrong to call this man Dakan, and Mr. Al Rahal wasn’t any better than Mr. Universe.

But his collar, with two buttons open, displayed the kind of wide muscled neck that let you know his shoulders and chest would have the same definition... Mr. Universe probably suited him.

“I suppose it was incorrect to expect you’d be waiting there for me to get round to meeting you. Aren’t you on the clock, Ms. Hathaway?” Unconcealed exasperation rang in his tone, even here among the now unnervingly quiet area of the arcade. It helped clear her fuzzy head. Being falsely accused was so rarely a turn-on.