Epilogue
Tasha waddled into Khal’s office, one hand supporting her belly as she tried to hand him the report.
“What’s wrong?” Khal demanded, standing up as he ignored the others in the conference room.
“Nothing,” she whispered, smiling up at him and trying to hide the small contractions happening in her belly.
Khal grumbled something, eyed her carefully, including her bulging belly, then glanced over at his guards. “Call the doctor. My wife is in labor!”
“No, I’m not,” she sighed as he pulled her into his arms, then leaned her head against his chest. He felt so good, strong, and comfy. Tasha just needed another moment like this, then she’d be okay. “I’m fine.”
The sound of a wheelchair rolling into the room behind her made her groan.
“Tash,” Khal whispered, then lifted her into his arms. “You’re going to have our son.”
“Not yet,” she protested, then gritted her teeth as she tried to hide the pain lashing at her. “It’s too early. I’m only thirty-seven weeks.”
“I don’t think that our son counted correctly,” he replied smoothly as he carefully set her down in the wheelchair.
Tasha knew that he was right, but…she was scared. No, terrified.
“You’re so strong my love,” he whispered into her ear in his grumbly voice that never failed to arouse her. Except for today. “I will be right by your side the whole time.”
“I know,” she replied.
“Plus, you hate being pregnant.” He rested a comforting hand on her belly.
“I do not!” she hissed back, glaring at him even though he was right. She’d wanted to be one of those women who loved being pregnant, who thrived and felt feminine and gorgeous. But she’d endured six months of nausea that had lasted all day long. As soon as the nausea had eased up, the heartburn had hit her. Hard! So, this pregnancy hadn’t been as fun as she’d hoped.
Khal stroked her belly again. “Just think,” he teased, lifting her into his arms and not grunting even a little at her extra weight, “by tomorrow morning, you will have a tiny babe in your arms instead of pressing against your internal organs.” He kissed her forehead where it rested against his shoulder. “No more pain. No more–”
Tasha cut him off with a scream as a stronger contraction rolled across her belly. Khal hurried her to the palace medical center. Thankfully, the obstetrician and the anesthetist were already there, waiting with the epidural.
Twelve hours later, Tasha sobbed as her baby son was handed to her. The little man’s face was red and swollen, his hair matted to his tiny head, and he looked indignant. But he was so beautiful!
“So, you’re the man that has been driving me so crazy,” she whispered.
Khal grunted, his arm wrapped around his wife and his son. “I thought that was me,” he teased, touching his son’s hand. The little fist immediately wrapped around Khal’s finger and the bond was formed.
“What should we call him?” Tasha asked.
Khal stared down at his little boy and smiled. “What do you think of Zayn?”
Tasha loved the name. “Prince Zayn al Sintra,” she whispered. “I love it!” Looking up at Khal, she added, “I love you!” just as a tear of happiness slipped down her cheek.
Khal kissed her. “I love you too, habibti !”
A message from Elizabeth:
So what did you think about the first story in the Al-Sintra series? Was it okay? I always love the start of a series. It’s sort of like the spring when all of the snow has melted and we get the first, warm day. I feel almost giddy. (Of course, I feel that way when I start a book, end a book, or just eat some chocolate!)
Hopefully, you enjoyed reading this story as much as I loved writing it.