The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

That made me blink. “From me?”

He laughed. “Sophie, do you remember how long you danced around my religion?”

“Yeah...sorry.” As it had turned out, El-Mudad didn’t really have a religion. His father had come from a strict religious home and had rejected his faith as a result, and El-Mudad’s late mother had never been devout. He had been raised in cities all around the globe, was the most cultured, educated person I’d ever met, and for some reason, I’d been afraid that he wouldn’t understand the subject of race or xenophobia or Islamophobia, despite having lived with it his entire life.

He’d navigated the conversation with the patience of a saint, but I was still horribly embarrassed and ashamed that I’d been anything like the people he’d encountered in his life.

“Oh, stop,” he admonished, and he took me into his arms despite our no-touching rule. The embrace was far too brief. “You underestimate the sheer patience I’ve honed throughout a lifetime of putting up with white people.”

“And your girls?” I asked softly. God, I would cut off my whole family if they did anything to hurt two innocent kids. Not that I thought they would, but if Facebook had taught me anything, it was that I didn’t know some of my relatives half as much as I’d thought I did.

“If someone says something ignorant, hopefully I’ll be able to correct them without losing my temper. But we can take care of ourselves, I promise,” he assured me, and kissed me on the forehead.

“Leave room for the holy spirit,” Neil called across the ballroom, startling me. He laughed when I jumped away from El-Mudad. As Neil came closer, he added, “My darling, you look incredible tonight.”

I did a little twirl, holding my arms out to accentuate the short cape on the back of the dress. “You like?”

“Very much.” Usually, Neil would have kissed me, but with El-Mudad standing there, it would have felt like we were rubbing it in.

“You look quite dashing, yourself,” I said, reaching out to smooth the front of his charcoal gray jacket against his white button-down.

Neil turned to El-Mudad and lowered his voice. “And you’re making me seriously consider sending your tailor a thank you card.”

“You can thank me by helping me take it off later,” El-Mudad told him.

Neil winked in response and gestured to the tree to change the subject. “This one is far larger than last year’s.”

“Is it a real tree?” I’d just assumed it was a fake one.

“It is. We buy them from a farm in Germany, near where my family would vacation for a week every summer.” He cleared his throat. “That smell is unforgettable.”

“I thought it was an air freshener,” El-Mudad admitted sheepishly.

I snorted.

“Forgive me for indulging in a bit of nostalgia,” Neil scolded. “Have you checked in on dinner?”

Servants were already bustling in and out to set up the buffet-style meal. It was one concession I’d forced Neil to make; my family would not have liked a sit-down dinner where someone put an exact portion on their plates.

But he’d drawn the line at Chinette platters.

We drifted toward the buffet table, and I picked up one of the delicate china plates. “There are a lot of kids here. What if they drop one?”

“It would break, I assume,” El-Mudad joked.

“And it wouldn’t matter. These aren’t family heirlooms. They’re for weddings and things held in the house.” Neil frowned. “You know, I’m not sure they’re even mine? They might belong to the trust. Have you spoken to Joan about that? We might be renting them right now.”

I held up my hand. “I don’t need details. It’ll just freak me out even more that you own this place.”

“We,” Neil corrected me.

It was an uncomfortable reminder, all of a sudden, that El-Mudad could never really be “married” to us, even if things got that serious. Not that moving in together wouldn’t be serious. Especially with kids involved.

Especially after what had happened that afternoon.

“How did things go with the girls?” Neil asked El-Mudad. We hadn’t seen him—or Amal—since their fight at lunch. All we’d gotten was a simple, “We’ll talk later,” text.

“Ah. Well, Rashida loves the two of you,” he began. “I’m so sorry to have run out.”

“She’s a delightful girl. It was no trouble at all,” Neil assured him.

It really had been fun to get to know Rashida, though I got the distinct feeling that she pitied our fortune compared to her father’s. When she’d learned that Olivia had never been to Disney World, she’d recoiled and informed us that she’d visited every Disney park by the time she’d turned nine.

I’d told her I’d rectify our oversight as soon as possible.

“She’s very insistent that we should take Olivia to meet the Mouse,” I said with a laugh. “Maybe we should consider a trip sometime in the future? A family one?”