They stepped off the elevator and walked hand in hand, smiling to the butler, who opened their door.
‘Where’s Leila’s luggage?’ James asked him.
‘There was no luggage.’ The butler responded in concern because James had been very specific with his instructions.
‘I am keeping a room at The Harrington,’ Leila sweetly explained.
‘There’s no need for that, darling.’ James smiled to Leila and then spoke to the butler. ‘Arrange for it to be brought over now, please, but don’t bring it up till tomorrow. My fiancée is tired...’
‘Your fiancée,’ Leila said as the door closed on them, ‘is furious. What the hell was that about, James? You forced me to say yes, you gave me no option but to say yes...’
‘How many options did you give me?’ James demanded. ‘I had to find out via the media that I was going to be a father. You told your brother rather than me...’
‘I told my brother because I didn’t know what else to do and I wanted him to help me.’
‘Well, he handled things brilliantly,’ James sneered.
‘I have already apologised for that,’ Leila said. ‘I wanted him to sort this out but...’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t want that anymore. I know that I have to be responsible for my baby.’
‘Well, guess what,’ James shouted. ‘So do I!’
There was silence, just the sound of their breathing, and then James told her how it would be.
‘I’m not asking for the rest of your life, Leila. I don’t want to be stuck in a loveless marriage any more than you do, but I am going to be there for my child. I’m not having him over for some bloody access visit, or worse, you taking the baby back to Sur...Sur...’ He could think of nothing worse than a child in a country whose name he had only heard of yesterday, one he couldn’t now pronounce.
‘It’s called Surhaadi!’ Leila shouted. ‘But now, thanks to you, I am not welcome there.’ That wasn’t strictly true, Leila knew. She hadn’t been welcome in her home for twenty-four years, but she was too angry with James to stick to strict facts.
‘Leila, your parents shall forgive you and when they do...’
‘I was never intending to return there,’ Leila said. ‘I ran away, James, remember?’
‘Well, I’m not taking that chance,’ James said. ‘I want seven years.’
‘Seven?’ Leila frowned. ‘Why seven?’
‘Give me the boy till he’s seven...’
‘It might be a girl.’
‘I meant,’ James gritted, ‘that I want input during my child’s formative years.’
He had thought about it. All night James had thought about the coldness of his own upbringing, the constant pressure. He wanted nothing like that for his child. He could barely stand the thought of his child knowing the pressure of being royal. Even if she didn’t go back, what if she met someone else? He thought of how his father had been with his half-brother, Spencer, over the years, and no, James did not want some step-parent raising his own.