Page 8 of Sheltering You

Jasmine still dreamed of the fairy tale, probably because that was all it would ever be for her.

A fairy tale. A fantasy.

Her phone vibrated again.

Eliza must’ve heard it because she asked, “Somebody important?”

“Probably Derrick.”

“Really?” Eliza infused meaning into the word, though what meaning, Jasmine didn’t know. “What’s going on with him?”

“We are good friends. I’ve never had a man friend. In Iraq, it’s not allowed.” She was working on using her contractions. “I’m glad it’s allowed in America.”

“That’s all it is?” Sophie asked on the other side. Jasmine turned to find the curly-haired blonde’s eyebrows high on her forehead. “Friendship?”

“What else would it be?”

Sophie shrugged. “You don’t think there’s any chance he’s interested?”

“He finds me interesting, I think. I find him interesting.” By the way Sophie’s head tilted to the side, that wasn’t what she meant. This conversation was confusing. “Interested in what?”

Her eyes widened. “Uh…”

Before she could explain, Jasmine’s phone vibrated again.

“Maybe you’d better see who it is,” Eliza said. “Could be important.”

Not that anybody would need Jasmine in an emergency, but she wasn’t going to argue. She pulled the phone from her dress pocket and checked the screen, expecting to see a text notification. But it wasn’t a text.

It was an email.

Basma was the only person who had the address to the account Jasmine had opened years before and kept hidden from her father and, after the wedding, her husband. It’d been a long time since her old friend had written. Jasmine had sent her a message after she’d arrived in Maine to let her know where she was.

Finally, Basma had written back.

“Excuse me.” She pushed up from the sofa and walked toward the windows at the front of the shop, reading what her friend had written.

Dear Yasamin,

I rejoiced to read that you have escaped Khalid and reunited with your beloved sister. I could not be happier for you both. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to respond. And I’m sorry to respond with this message now, but I have no choice.

I need your help.

My little brother and I have been happy with my aunt and uncle since Baba passed, but my half brother has decided to return to Baghdad and expects Rabie and me to move in with him.

Jasmine gasped. She’d met Basma’s half brother, Dari, only once before, and just the memory of him had her shuddering.

She had spent years in the company of terrorists and murderers, men who treated women like slaves and children like pets. Her husband had been the worst of them.

But one glance from Dari, and Jasmine had felt as if scorpions crawled along her skin and in her hair. He wore darkness like a cloak.

Despite the warmth of the bridal shop, the festive decorations, and the sparkling gowns, she crossed her arms to stave off a chill that slid down her spine and returned her focus to the email.

Obviously, I cannot let this happen.

Though I tried to convince Uncle that Dari would not be a suitable guardian, he brushed off my worries. Even if he wanted to help me, he feels he has no right to do so, as Dari is a closer relative than he. Auntie tries to understand how I feel, but she doesn’t know Dari well, and even if she did, she holds little sway over Uncle.

Perhaps to placate me, Uncle has surprised us with a trip. We have just landed in Washington, DC, where he is expected for an event. We will only be here for a few days.