Page 3 of The Sheikh's Secret Family

“Do you mind if I order?” he asked. “I know all the best things here.”

“Sure.” Emelia leaned back in her chair, enjoying the warmth and the good smells. Even better was TJ sitting across from her, his brown eyes now wide with excitement about the dinner. On him, even the gray Stonebridge sweatshirt looked like haute couture. Maybe it was because of his easy, confident posture.

Emelia felt suddenly underdressed in her leggings and the secondhand sweater with a hole on the elbow. She ran a hand through her hair, hoping it was cooperating. Then she dropped her hand back into her lap. Why did she care about looking nice? It wasn’t like this was a date. They were two people who’d helped each other with homework and happened to be eating dinner in the same place.

“So,” TJ said, resting his elbows on the table and folding his hands together. Now, closer and in better lighting, Emelia could see that he had very long eyelashes for a guy. The effect was endearing. “You’ve been at Stonebridge for almost three years now. Do you have any tips for me?”

“Oh, definitely.” Emelia tilted her head, thinking. “Let’s see. Everyone thinks Carver Hall is haunted.”

“That’s bad news,” TJ said, raising his eyebrows. “Especially since I live there.”

“Oh!” Emelia covered her mouth with one hand. “Sorry. I mean, it’s almost definitely not haunted.”

“What’s the story?” TJ asked.

“Okay, so, the story is that during World War Two, just after Stonebridge was founded, a girl found out that her fiancé had died at war, and she was so sad that she decided she couldn’t live without him and died.” Some of Emelia’s friends thought that the story was romantic, but Emelia didn’t like it. For her, strength came in living, even when living got difficult.

“The other day, a pair of my socks did mysteriously disappear,” TJ said, stroking his chin as if in thought. “It could have been the ghost.”

“Maybe,” Emelia agreed, nodding along and trying to hide her smile. “Definitely it wasn’t that you just lost them.”

“Oh no.” TJ shook his head earnestly. “Not me. I never lose things.” He added a quick wink to show that he was joking.

Just then, the waiter arrived to take their order. TJ asked for five different dishes, waving off Emelia’s concerns that there would be too much.

“It’s even better as leftovers,” he told her as the waiter walked away. “Especially the falafel. You’re going to love it.”

True to TJ’s word, the food was delicious. Even better, the conversation flowed easily. They moved on from talking about their ghosts to discussing their dreams. They compared notes on the kind of house they would each love to live in (a treehouse for TJ, an underwater palace for Emelia), the best pet to have (they both agreed a tiny elephant that never grew would be amazing), and the best superpower (teleportation for Emelia, invisibility for TJ). It was the most frivolous conversation that Emelia had had in years, yet she loved it. She didn’t find herself thinking about everything she needed to do at all. Somehow, talking with TJ was a kind of magic that made her feel both comfortable and free, not at all like the shy, studious girl she normally was.

Maybe that was why, when dinner was over and TJ asked if she wanted to study together the next day, Emelia said yes. And maybe it was also why, when she went to bed that night, TJ kept appearing in her dreams.

CHAPTER2

TARIQ

TJ or, as he was properly called, Tariq, had never been this happy.

It had been about three weeks since his dinner with Emelia at the Lebanese restaurant. Since then, they’d seen each other almost every day. First it had been hushed study sessions in the library. Then, after being shushed a few too many times, they’d moved their study sessions to the plush rug on the floor of Tariq’s dorm room. Tariq would make them a cup of instant hot chocolate and they’d sit with their papers spread across the floor, listening to music and chatting while they studied. When one of them needed a break, they would go for a walk through cold and snowy Boston, their hands occasionally brushing, their breath forming twin clouds as they walked.

There were only two problems. The first was that Tariq was keeping secrets — more than a few. All his life, people had talked to him just because he was the son of a sheikh and because he had more money than he knew what to do with. It was tiring. Tariq loved his father, who was the current sheikh, and his mother. And he had to admit that having plenty of money was no hassle. But after the twentieth kid had tried to befriend him in school just so that he could visit Tariq’s family’s palace, it had all gotten a little old. That was why Tariq had begged his parents to let him spend a year studying at an American university, where there was little chance he’d be recognized.

Emelia didn’t know any of that. To her, Tariq was just TJ, Al Salyan exchange student, study partner, and maker of hot chocolate. It was amazing to talk to someone who liked Tariq for himself, instead of for the family he’d been born into. Still, every time Tariq gave Emelia a half-truth, his heart clenched a little. Lying just didn’t feel right.

The other problem was that Emelia was beautiful. Jaw-droppingly so. She had green eyes with tiny gold flecks and long, wavy hair that was always down around her shoulders. Even in her overlarge sweaters and leggings, she was stunning. It was equally clear that Emelia didn’t know how beautiful she was. All Tariq wanted to do, while they were studying and walking and laughing, was point out how lovely she was. And then maybe kiss her.

But Emelia had shown no signs of being interested in a romantic relationship. Maybe she wasn’t attracted to Tariq. So, Tariq didn’t say anything about how beautiful Emelia was and the weeks rolled by, filled with books and walks.

One evening in early February, Emelia was sitting on the floor of Tariq’s dorm, her feet tucked under her, leaning over a piece of French homework that they were working on together. Her hair was falling forward alongside her face and every few minutes, she tucked it back behind her ear. Tariq kept holding himself back from reaching out to do it for her.

“Emelia,” he said and she blinked, straightening up. She was wearing leggings and another one of her oversized sweaters today, along with a pair of thick, colorful socks.

“Yes?”

Tariq didn’t actually have a question. He just wanted to see Emelia turn those big green eyes towards him.

“Want some hot chocolate?” he asked, and she laughed.

“I always want hot chocolate. Do you have those little marshmallows again?”

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