Page 67 of Tarek

He has a shock of black hair and a tanned complexion. His nose and mouth are like his mother’s.

“Would you like to hold him? We don’t have much time,” she commented.

Hold him? He was so tiny in her arms.

“I don’t want him to fall.” Every part of me shifted demanding that his safety becomes my top priority.

Gently she smiles. “He won’t, now hold your arms out.”

Instinctively I held my hands out, and the light weighted bundle touches my arm. Secure and safe. That’s how he will be for the rest of his life. Nothing in this world would harm him or his mother. From a distance I will give him the best that life has to offer. Even if Miranda marries, I pause in disgust thinking about Miranda falling in love with someone else. Even if she marries, I will make sure you have everything your heart desires. I promise you son.

I thought I knew what love was, but now with my son’s life in my hands. This was love. As if sensing my presence he opens his eyes. A tear trickles down my cheeks and falls into his blue blanket.

“You may have your mother’s features, but you have my eyes son. You have my eyes.”

* * *

PENNY

The limousine cues up around the circular driveway. I close my eyes for a second preparing myself to be bombarded with questions, and shallow conversations. My phone buzzes in my clutch. Reaching inside I see a message.

Tarek

Don’t have men ogling at things that don’t belong to them.

Me

It belongs to no one but me.

Tarek

You heard what I said the first time. Call me when you are through.

Me

Maybe.

The car finally stops, and the door opens.

“Ms. Holt.” A palm covered in a white glove is placed out in front of me.

The warm feeling of the glove hand seeps into mine, slowly I exit the car adjusting my dress as I stand.

The architecture of the grand historical building is illuminated by strategically placed spotlights, highlighting the ornate arches and columns. There is a discreet security presence around the building. Men all in black suits with white earpieces in, standing alert. Slowly I step onto the red carpet, praying that my heels don’t snag, and I fall flat on my face.

I can see the headline now:

Governor hopeful Archer Holt’s sister couldn’t halt her fall.

Step by step, I head into the ballroom, a waiter with a silver platter filled with flutes of champagne passes near me.

Without hesitation I take a glass and sip. I would need alcohol to get through this night. Smiling as I glide through the crowd of men and women. The men are dressed in sharp tuxedos while the women are draped in designer dresses and covered in sparkling gems.

“Thank God you are finally here.” The voice that has been my guiding light all through my life says to the side of me.

I’m pulled into a hug, and I sigh as I rest my head on her shoulder.

“Let me look at you,” my mother says. She pulls away and cups my cheek.

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