Page 10 of Claiming His Baby At The Altar

Soon, very, very soon, she would meet her baby.

‘I assume the financial package is to your liking,’ Ramos observed as they walked up the corridor.

The tone of his voice made her curious. ‘Sorry?’

He shrugged. ‘You were smiling.’

‘Oh. Right. You assumed I was smiling about the money?’

‘In a few minutes you are going to be a very wealthy woman.’

His cynical assumption barely doused the excitement still rippling inside her.Her baby was coming!

‘Just set my brother free. That’s all I care about.’

And that my baby is born safe and healthy.

‘Sure.’

She stopped walking and faced him. ‘Believe what you like, Ramos...’ oh, she did enjoy the tightening on his face when she addressed him by his surname ‘...but I’m marrying you for Justin’s freedom. You will never—’

Her intention of telling him he would never be a husband to her in the true sense of the word was cut from her tongue when another contraction hit.

Luckily she was close to a wall and slammed a hand on it to steady herself, and managed to focus on her watch. Uh oh. Nine minutes.

‘Flora?’

For the first time she detected concern in Ramos’s voice.

She waved her other hand at him and rode the wave of pain. ‘Heartburn,’ she managed to gasp.

As soon as she felt it start to abate, she breathed deeply and got walking again. ‘Where are we marrying?’

‘The civil court in the building next door.’

‘Okay.’

Just breathe.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Yep. Let’s get this done.’ She upped her pace. She had eight or nine minutes until the next contraction hit.

As luck would have it, there was no need for them to go outside as there was an internal passageway adjoining the two court buildings.

‘I need to use the bathroom,’ she said once they were in the civil courts, and headed for the door with the sign for the ladies on it.

She closed the door right at the moment the next contraction struck.

Once it had subsided, she splashed water on her face and looked in the mirror. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t. Her shoulder-length chestnut hair, usually so glossy, was lank, her usually golden cheeks flush. Even her eyes—alien eyes, her brother always called them, on account of them being so large—had lost their sparkle.

And no wonder.

She was in labour and about to marry Ramos.

Flora had never imagined herself marrying. Men didn’t hang around, something she’d known since she was small. Women were disposable. For Ramos, as with her father and her brother, this was especially true.

And if she had imagined it—and she’d be a liar if she didn’t admit the odd idle daydream of a wedding day had sneaked up on her over the years—the faceless groom had been someone who worshipped her, who swore to never stray, who swore to love her as she got older and her looks faded. Someone she worshipped in return.

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