Page 115 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Eight months later

Zara

"I promise to serve the country with integrity, humility and compassion.

I promise to do my best for my country and for you who voted me in.

I will deliver on the promises I made to you during my election campaign.

" The newly elected Prime Minister of the country, who also happens to be my husband, glances about the crowd.

"There will be challenges, of course, but I am not daunted.

I hope to live up to the demands of my office and deliver on the trust you have placed in me.

I stand here before you, ready to lead our country into the future.

To put your needs above politics. Together, we can achieve incredible things.

We will create a future worthy of the sacrifices so many have made, and fill tomorrow, and every day thereafter, with hope. Thank you."

He moves away from the podium and holds out his hand. I walk over to him, balancing the weight of my swollen belly.

It’s been eight months to the day we got married.

Eight months, during which time, I worked side by side with him, campaigning across the country.

I continued on as the Head of his PR strategy, until the day he won the elections.

At which point, I sold my PR agency to Kate.

It was a difficult decision, but the right one.

No one knows more than me how all-consuming taking on the leadership role of this country will be.

Being married to the Prime Minister means any client I took on would come under a lot of scrutiny.

And while I wouldn’t be doing anything wrong in holding down a separate job, it could present a conflict of interest with the office my husband holds.

So, I decided to make a clean break and embrace my role as the First Lady of the country.

I also accepted Hunter’s offer of launching a project aimed at looking after the interests of women, the vulnerable, and children with additional needs.

That’s my passion, and it feels right to use my energy to help those who are weaker.

And all the time we were on the campaign trail, the child I carry in my belly has grown.

By now, I’m massive. I should hate just how big I am, but every time I see my stomach, I feel this huge rush of tenderness.

This big gush of love that makes my heart swell until I’m sure it’s bigger than my stomach.

I promised him I’d hold out until after he was sworn in.

Now, as we pose for pictures, he has one arm around me, and the other over my belly.

Our wedding and my pregnancy raised a lot of media speculation, but the voters embraced us.

Many of the journalists lauded my courage for coming forward with my teen pregnancy and subsequent loss.

Of course, there were those who called me unfit to be the wife of the future leader of the country, but overall, the feedback was supportive.

Most of the media were excited about our child, and from the time I first made my appearance at Hunter’s side, I’ve been inundated with good wishes.

I’d like to think our child has brought in a rush of good fortune for us, one that paved the way for Hunter to take on the responsibility of being the leader of the country.

I smile and wave at the journalists calling to us to pose for them.

This goes on for too many minutes. I’d managed to squeeze my swollen feet into heels, and now I’m regretting it.

Sensing my discomfort, Hunter gives a final nod toward the news people. Then, he scoops me up in his arms. Instantly, flashlights go off behind us as the journalists rush to capture the moment.

“Whoa, Hunter, what are you doing?” I gasp.

“Carrying my wife over the threshold, of course.” He walks inside 10 Downing Street, and his aides come forward to greet us.

Heat flushes my cheeks and I turn my face into his shoulder. “I think you should put me down now,” I say in a muffled tone.

“When I’m ready.”

“Hunter, please.” I half-laugh, then glance up at him. “Why am I not surprised by your over-the-top gesture?”

“Because you love me?” He smirks.

“That I do, Mr. Prime Minister, so very much.”

His features soften. He bends and captures my lips. The kiss is soft and sweet, and firm, and so very hot. I lean into it, open my mouth, and he nips on my lower lip. He deepens the kiss, and that familiar weakness invades my limbs.

Someone clears their throat, and I stiffen. Hunter kisses me for a few seconds more. By the time he raises his head, I’m flushed and my breathing is erratic.

He surveys my features, then nods. "You going to be okay?"

“I’m more than okay as long as I have you by my side.”

“You have me baby, always and forever. I love you so very much.” He kisses my forehead, then lowers me to my feet.

I take a step back, then nod toward his team. "Go on, your country needs you.”

"You always come first, Fire." He searches my features. "You sure you’re going to be okay?"

A twinge tugs on my lower belly. I resist the urge to rub my stomach, then nod. "You know I am."

"Hmph." He holds my gaze for a second longer, then bends and kisses me on the lips again, before turning to speak to the assembled people.

I fall back to watch as they line up to speak with him.

He shakes each person’s hand, giving them his full attention.

The full impact of those magnetic blue-green eyes that change with his moods.

The country may have his attention now, but I’ll have his attention always.

I’ll have to share him with the world for as long as he’s Prime Minister, and probably longer, since he’s going to be in some form of public service for most of his life; but I have no doubt, he’ll always place me and our family first.

Another spasm squeezes my belly, this time, with enough force that I gasp.

I glance around, but no one has noticed me.

For once, it pays not to be the center of attention.

Hunter is probably the only one I wouldn’t begrudge that.

After all, I got into PR not only because I like building up the media profile of my clients, but also because I’m an attention whore.

The most satisfying time of my life was the last few months, not only because I got to spend so much time with Hunter on the campaign trail, but also because there was a personal connection to the work I was doing.

Of course, I gave my best to every client, but with Hunter, I put everything of myself into the PR for his campaign.

I wanted him…needed him to win. I had gotten to know the man behind the public facade, and it was clear to me he would do his best for the country.

He has the vision for a future that he will try his best to make happen.

More than that, he’s genuine and loyal and wanted to use his intelligence and everything he has at his disposal to create a better future for the newer generation.

Sure, he comes from a moneyed background, but it is precisely that which made him selfless.

For so long, I held his money and his privilege against him.

I judged him, and by doing so, I was guilty of the same kind of mistake that I’ve berated others for when they’ve tried to pigeonhole me.

I can’t be put into a neat category, and neither can Hunter.

We’re both complex individuals, with many facets to our personalities. Our backgrounds are only one of them.

Now, I realize I was too quick to form an opinion of him when we first met, but Hunter has completely overthrown any preconceived notions I might have had about him.

I know now that he’s the most tender, most possessive, most protective man I’ll ever meet.

I also know he’s willing to cross the line between right and wrong to take care of me.

Perhaps that should bother me, but somehow, I can’t hold it against him.

The shades of grey to his personality only make him so much more interesting.

Am I worried that it will spill over into his professional life?

No, because it’s only me who brings out that part of his personality.

A third stab of pain cramps the entire lower half of my stomach.

The pain is so hard, it’s as if I’ve been buffeted by a wave.

I gasp and bend over. Simultaneously, liquid gushes out from between my legs and pools about my feet.

I glance down at my now-drenched skirt in horror.

I look up to find Hunter has turned toward me.

He takes in my stance, and the way I’m gripping my sides.

I straighten, draw in a deep breath. In two bounds, he reaches me and sweeps me up in his arms, again.

"Hunter, what are you doing? You’ll dirty your suit."

"Fuck that, I’m taking you to the hospital."

To say the next few hours were dramatic would be putting it mildly.

He asked for the Prime Ministerial car—a massive Jaguar Sentinel—to be brought around the rear entrance.

He placed me in the back seat, followed me in, and ordered the driver to take us to hospital.

The security vehicle in front flipped on its siren, and I knew we were being followed by another vehicle.

Two other members of his protection team on bikes flanked us, and we reached the hospital in under ten minutes.

He insisted on carrying me out of the car and into the emergency room, where we were instantly waved through.

He held onto me until the doctors insisted he place me on a bed so they could examine me.

They pronounced I was six centimeters dilated, and that we had time for the baby to come. That was ten hours ago.