Page 11 of Claiming His Baby At The Altar

Not this: coerced into a shotgun marriage where the only emotion between the bride and groom was mutual loathing.

It wasn’t loathing that had led to their child’s conception...

She cut that thought straight off.

Ramos was waiting for her outside the bathroom door. He looked at her closely.

‘Come on,’ she insisted before he could say anything. Her brother’s freedom was minutes away. ‘Let’s get married.’

The next contraction struck seconds after the ‘ceremony’ began. This time she was seated next to Ramos, the official on the other side of the desk busy directing all his conversation at him, so she was able to ride through it without either of them noticing.

All Flora was required to do was hand over her passport, give some details about herself and her parents and then it was time for her to repeat some words—the ceremony itself was conducted in English—just as Ramos had done, and sign the wedding certificate.

It was as she leaned forward to sign that a contraction hit her that was so strong she was helpless to stop the groan of pain from escaping.

‘Flora?’ This time there was alarm in Ramos’s voice.

Not daring to look at him, she squeezed her eyes shut and gripped her fingertips onto the table. When it had passed, she grabbed the pen and signed.

Only then did she look at Ramos.

‘We’re done,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Now free my brother.’

Not taking his eyes from her face, he said something that sounded like an order to the official, then murmured to her, ‘Let me get you some water.’

‘Free my...oh.’

She focused on Ramos’s face. Properly focused. Gazed into his worried eyes. And then she looked down at the puddle of water forming between her feet.

Another contraction hit and this time panic hit with it.

The time between contractions was coming too quickly and she couldn’t stop the fear from showing when she met Ramos’s appalled stare.

‘It is coming now?’ he asked faintly.

She nodded.

He sprang into action.

Jumping to his feet, he flung the door open and shouted out an order into the corridor while simultaneously putting his phone to his ear and barking an order at whoever answered it.

In what felt like hours but was in reality a couple of minutes at most, Ramos had an arm around her and was gently helping her into a wheelchair.

‘An ambulance is on its way,’ he said in a soothing tone she’d never heard him speak with before. ‘You’re going to Monte Cleure’s best hospital. Its top obstetrician is on his way and will have everything ready for when you arrive.’

She focused on his eyes and nodded jerkily.

She could do this. She could do this. She was prepared. She could do this.

Soon she was being wheeled into the back of an ambulance breathing into a portable gas and air tank.

Ramos hung back to speak to a paramedic and then the panic really hit her.

Her baby was coming. Throughout the pregnancy her midwife had spoken about the importance of a birthing partner but Flora had shrugged off her concerns and brightly assured her—and assured herself—that she could do it alone.

The truth was, there had been no one to ask.

She loved her brother but the thought of him being in the birthing room was too icky to contemplate, even if she had thought he’d be free to be there. Also, Justin was spectacularly squeamish. Same with her deadbeat father, who’d probably turn up a week after she called him. Her extended family had turned against Justin and so turned against Flora for supporting him. Her old tight-knit group of school friends all had busy lives and now all lived too far away to reliably be there. She’d made a few new friends since her move to London but there was no real closeness, no one she could turn to.

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