Page 162 of Tarek

Penny fixes the bag on her wrist. “Stay with your dad. I can get home.”

I ignore her and gently take the bag off her hand.

My father smirks. “Take care of your woman. Call me when you are ready.”

With Penny’s hand in mine, I carry her through the restaurant. Joshua sees me headed to the door. That means the car would be in front of the stairs in some seconds.

The glass doors slide open as I can see the lights of my car coming forth.

Walking down the stairs with a silent Penny at my side, the car stops in front of us.

In some minutes I have Penny strapped in, and I drop myself in the driver’s seat.

Silence engulfs the car as I drive along the Lakeshore highway. I am not going to Penny’s home. She is coming to mine. She just looks through the window, somber, her hands clutched together.

“Whether you are my stepsister or distant cousin from my grandfathers’ side,” I pull to the side of the road and reach across the seat, pulling her face close to mine.

“Tarek.” Penny tries to pull away, but my fingers tighten on her chin.

“No, don’t do that. I don’t care what kind of relations they say we have, you are and will always be mine.”

Penny’s lips tremble as a tear runs down the side of her face. She is watching me with a pained expression.

I bring my lips closer to hers. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, who?” I ask. I can feel blood pumping through my veins.

“T-Tarek.” She sniffles.

I press my lips onto hers, giving her all the love that I have to give in that one kiss.

* * *

PENNY

This man…this man is showing me what love is. He has welcomed me into his heart, and I allow myself to rest there, even if only for a little while.

Tarek keeps new pj’s and underwear for me at his place. On the left side of his walk-in closet, there’s a set of clothes in my size. He gave up space in his closet.

As he walks in with two cups of tea, he sets mine on the table beside me. I’m still curled up in his chair tucked away in the corner of his bedroom suite. Tarek’s house is an old castle, and his room feels like one. Stone walls steeped in history, a huge contrast by the sleekness of his modern deco and his tech gadgets. A massive bed anchors the space beneath vaulted ceilings. It’s impressive, just like the owner.

Tarek settles in the chair opposite mine, in his grey sweat pants hanging low and bare chest he looks delectable.

It’s best I explain it all before it becomes too complicated as time passes by.

“My father’s name is Jermaine Holt. My real mother’s name is Molly Sanders.” I haven’t said my parents name out loud for years. It feels strange.

“Molly didn’t want me or like me. I held her back.” I fold my legs in the chair trying to get comfortable.

“When my dad left, he met this lady with a son, and he created a whole new family,” I can remember mom crying the day she found out.

Tarek sips his tea, his eyes are trained on me.

“Even though my mom didn’t want me. Her man did. When he tried to touch me. I told mom, and she said it was my fault. She called my dad, but he never responded.”

Tarek nose flared and his neck bobbed.

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