Page 4 of The Sheikh's Secret Family

Ever since Emelia had commented on how much she loved the little multicolored marshmallows, Tariq had always had them on hand. Even though he’d had to walk nearly two miles to the nearest supermarket to pick them up one snowy afternoon.

“Let me see,” he said, instead of sharing that particularly story. Tariq got up and grabbed two mugs from the drying rack beside his kitchenette sink. He’d negotiated his way out of bodyguards or a luxury apartment, wanting to live a normal life for just one year, but his father had finally put his foot down when Tariq asked to have a shared dorm room. Instead, Tariq got a spacious single with a kitchenette, a private bathroom, and a huge picture window with a breathtaking view across campus. Tariq wasn’t sure what Emelia’s dorm was like, except that she was sharing with a roommate who usually snored. He imagined it must be at least a little smaller.

Humming to himself, Tariq poured milk into both mugs and popped them in the microwave. When he turned back to ask Emelia if she wanted regular or peppermint hot chocolate, he saw that her eyes were full of tears. Forgetting the drinks, he dropped to the floor beside her.

“Emelia? What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, TJ.” She wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her sweater and looked up at him, green eyes extra bright. “It’s just, I got an email about the parents’ weekend in March and…”

She trailed off and Tariq studied her face, trying to figure out what was going on. He’d seen the email about an hour ago, just before Emelia had arrived, and had decided right away not to invite his parents. He missed them dearly, but a sheikh and sheikha arriving on campus would completely blow his cover. Emelia would never look at him the same way again.

“Emelia, you can talk to me,” Tariq said, when it was clear that she wasn’t planning to say anything else. He reached out, wanting to take her hand, but pulled back. This wasn’t the time to make any move that could be seen as flirtatious. He settled for knitting his own hands together and looking at Emelia with all the kindness he could.

“It’s embarrassing,” she said. She wiped her eyes once more and took a deep breath, straightening up a little. “My family isn’t really… around.”

Tariq tried to imagine that and couldn’t. His family was always around. As an only child, he and his parents had been close. Almost all of his childhood memories involved the two of them: eating dinners together, splashing in the pool at the palace, climbing into his mother’s rose-scented arms when he was sad, and attending functions in his small suit, feeling like the most important person in the world. Emelia’s family wasn’t around? What did that even mean?

“They aren’t around, like they live far away?” he suggested.

Emelia shook her head, taking another deep breath. “I don’t really like to talk about this. You’re going to start looking at me differently.”

For a moment, a completely illogical thought flashed through Tariq’s head: Was she some kind of royalty too? But the thought disappeared like a soap bubble. There was no way Emelia was royalty. He’d seen the holes in her clothes and her secondhand textbooks. Royalty or not, there was no way Tariq was going to look at Emelia any differently.

“I won’t,” he said. Now he did reach for her hand, which she gave him willingly. Her palm was so soft and fit so perfectly in Tariq’s hand that he had trouble concentrating for a moment. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Emelia bit her lip, flipped her hair over her shoulder with her free hand, and fixed him with a determined look. “My parents died when I was six. I grew up in foster care.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tariq said, squeezing her hand. “I can’t imagine losing your parents that young.”

Emelia shook her head. “It wasn’t easy. I still miss them so much. So, when I saw the email, it hurt. I didn’t mean to be so dramatic about it.”

“You weren’t being dramatic.” Tariq shook his head firmly. “It makes sense to be sad about your parents. What were they like?”

“I don’t remember them much,” Emelia admitted. “They both worked a lot. We didn’t have much money. But I do remember my dad bringing home little pieces of wood that he thought I’d like from the construction site where he worked. And I remember my mom singing to me at night.” She took another deep breath and smiled at Tariq, a small, sad smile completely unlike her usual ones.

“Were your foster parents kind?” Tariq asked, a little worried to hear the answer.

“They were kind, in a way. But none of them really wanted me.” She gave a little shrug that spoke volumes. “They were always introducing me as their foster daughter, not their daughter. And the biological kids always got nicer gifts and more attention than I did. I know it sounds silly, but when you’re a kid, this stuff hurts. I always felt like they were ashamed of me.”

“Who could ever be ashamed of you?” Tariq asked, shaking his head slowly. “You’re amazing.”

Emelia gave a little laugh that was halfway between sad and amused. “Well, I appreciate you saying that. Anyway, what’s happening with that hot chocolate I was promised?” It was a clear signal that she was done talking about this for now, which Tariq accepted.

“My apologies, my lady,” he joked, trying to bow but ending up with more of a clumsy head bob since they were both sitting on the floor. “I’ll get it now.” He didn’t like standing up and leaving Emelia alone, but a nice cup of hot chocolate would probably make her feel better. At the very least, it would distract them both from the sadness of the story she’d just told.

The milk was cold by now, so Tariq reset the microwave and busied himself with the hot chocolate powder and marshmallows. When he turned back with the full cups, Emelia was looking up at him with a curious expression.

“Are you close to your parents?” she asked. “I mean, I know you call them every Saturday.”

How did Emelia know that? It wasn’t like Tariq had mentioned it. She must have just noticed. He felt a little thrill at the thought that she was interested enough in him to take note of what he was doing and when. Still, Tariq bit his lip, not sure how much he could say about his family without giving away who he really was.

“Yes, we’re close,” he finally admitted.

“Will you tell me about them?” Emelia accepted her cup of hot chocolate, wrapping her hands around the mug and looking up at him with interest. Tariq was happy to see her looking more cheerful, but he really didn’t want to get into his family.

“There’s not a lot to tell,” he said after a pause, sitting back down on the floor next to her. “My parents are great, both of them. They’re both very traditional and love family.” He took a sip of hot cocoa and saw that Emelia’s smile had turned a little sad again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about my family when you’ve lost yours.”

She waved him off. “No, it makes me happy to hear about good families.”

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