Page 43 of The Sheikh's Secret Family

Emelia’s heart was beating so fast that she was sure everyone in the room could hear it. The moment stretched on, Tariq with Emelia’s hand in his and his other hand on Owen’s shoulder, linking them together. Emelia waited for anger or fear or another poor reaction from Maryam, just like Tariq had worried about. Instead, she was surprised to see tears starting to form in the corners of Maryam’s eyes. As far as Emelia was concerned, sadness was the worst reaction possible. She couldn’t stand the thought of getting between a mother and son, not when she knew how important Owen was to her.

They weren’t tears of sadness, though. Slowly, like she was approaching a fragile glass bird, Maryam crossed the room and rested a hand gently on the side of Emelia’s face. Emelia was so surprised that she froze, not blinking.

“My daughter,” Maryam said, her voice quiet and full of emotion. Then she pulled Emelia into a warm, soft hug, enveloping her with a spicy cinnamon scent. Tears appeared in Emelia’s eyes, too. For years, she’d wanted a mother to call her daughter. Was it really possible that she’d found that now, when she’d been about to give up on this whole country?

Maryam drew away, gave Emelia a shaky smile, and turned to Owen, bending down to his height. “You must be Owen,” she said. “I would know you were my grandson even if your father hadn’t told me, because you have our eyes. I’m your grandmother.”

“Nice to meet you,” Owen said politely. “I’ve never had a grandmother before.” Emelia felt a tentative wave of happiness lapping at her feet. She’d always wished that Owen could have grandparents, and it sounded like Maryam was more than happy to claim him as her grandson.

“I’ve never had a grandson before, either,” Maryam replied. She pulled Owen into a quick hug. “We can figure it out together, what do you say?”

“Okay.” Owen’s sweet and matter-of-fact reply made them all laugh a little, breaking the tension. Maryam straightened up and went to Tariq, who had been watching the proceedings with a mixture of happiness, love, and confusion playing across his features. She took his hands, tugging them a little.

“My darling son,” she said. “I was so worried that you weren’t going to find love since you became a sheikh so young. Little did I know that you’d already found it years ago. You silly boy. You could have told me.”

“Ummah,” Tariq said hesitantly. “Aren’t you worried about what people will say? And that Owen was born out of wedlock?”

Emelia could have kicked him. Why would he bring that up when Maryam seemed to be accepting the both of them?

Maryam just shook her head, waving her hand through the air in a clear dismissal. “Who cares about tradition?” she said. “It’s time to write a new story, one in which you have the love and the family that you deserve. Your father and I were happy together for many wonderful years. I’ve only ever wanted the same thing for you, no matter how it happens.”

“Thank you.” Tariq pulled his mother into a hug. Emelia could see that his eyes were extra bright.

“Now.” Maryam drew back and swept a more business-like gaze over Emelia, Tariq, and Owen. “You’ve told me. I finally know what was going on this last few weeks when you seemed so distracted. And why you always refused all the eligible bachelorettes I mentioned.” She shook her head, but she was smiling ever so slightly. “Tariq, you need to tell the rest of the country. Now that you have a family, you need to show them off.”

“I know,” Tariq agreed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he handed to Maryam. “I’ve asked for a press conference tomorrow. Emelia, Owen, would you do me the pleasure of attending with me? I’ve prepared a statement introducing you.”

Owen threw his arms around his father’s legs. “Of course, Daddy.”

Emelia’s heart felt like it could burst with love. After all this time, Owen had finally called Tariq ‘Dad’ to his face. And the look of pure joy on Tariq’s face showed that he was just as thrilled by this development as Emelia was.

“Em?” Tariq asked, bringing back the old nickname from their college days.

“Yes, TJ, of course we’ll come.” Emelia pressed a hand to her heart, smiling so wide that her cheeks were starting to hurt.

“I promise, I will never keep you a secret again. You can find a job anywhere you want, come to dinners with me, explore Adan — anything.”

“Okay,” Emelia said. In the face of all this, she was almost at a loss for words. Tariq reached out to take her hand.

“Tariq?” Maryam was looking down at the press release, her brow furrowed. “I think there might be a mistake here. See?” She held the paper out to Tariq and he glanced at the section she was pointing to.

“I hope not. But I need a minute to find out.”

Emelia looked from son to mother in confusion, a sense of worry starting to creep into her stomach. “What’s the mistake?”

“Owen, want to come and see a really old painting?” Maryam asked, reaching out a hand. Owen took it.

“I don’t like old paintings that much,” Owen said cheerfully. “But I’ll come. Is it okay, Mom?”

“Sure, sweets.” Emelia watched them leave the room, hand in hand, then turned to Tariq. “What’s up?”

“Walk with me.” Tariq held out a hand, which Emelia took. “I remember when I first met you. You were in the library, leaning over a table full of books and notes.”

“You asked for help with your homework,” Emelia said, remembering. “Then we studied together. What does this have to do with the mistake?”

“There’s no mistake,” Tariq said. He pulled her gently into the hallway and towards the staircase that led to the gardens. “When I first saw you, I already knew that you were special. You were the smartest person I’d ever met. The strongest, too, after how you grew up. And even in your oversized, holey sweaters, I knew you were the most beautiful. You still are.” They stepped out into the gardens and Emelia was surprised to see that every bench, tree, and wall had been draped with twinkly white lights.

“This is amazing,” Emelia said, letting go of Tariq’s hand to twirl once and take in the lights. “Why is the garden all decorated?”

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