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Kyria laughed, and even Altair grinned while Vanna let out another offended gasp and started rummaging through her bag for something to hurl at her younger son.
Dinner started as a lively affair, with all of them happily lying when Vanna asked how they liked her cooking. The truth was, Vanna was hopeless in the kitchen. It should have been next to impossible to make something as simple as canned beans and hotdogs with marshmallow to taste bad, but the sheikhs’ mother had somehow succeeded.
They started a bonfire near midnight and toasted to Kyria’s graduation. They swapped stories afterwards, of the sheikhs’ escapades when they were young, of the way Kyria used to follow Malik around – even all the way to the men’s toilet at one point – and later, much, much later, they talked about their favorite memories of Hadwin.
By the time they bid each other good night and headed to their separate tents, their hearts were filled with bittersweet pain. None of them had stopped hurting, but at least they could let themselves remember the good times now.
It was around one in the morning when Malik heard a rustling outside his tent, and he immediately sat up, his hand already reaching for the gun he had under his pillow. The flaps of his tent lifted, and his finger moved over the trigger.
Kyria poked her head inside, an uncertain look on her face. “Malik?”
Fuck.
His breath whooshed out of him. “Lueta.” He glared at her, heart still thundering against his chest at the thought of what he could have done to her. “Don’t just show up like that, Ky. I could’ve shot you.”
She winced at his words. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
He grimaced. “I’m not angry, just...” He shook his head. “What is it? Do you need anything?”
She stepped inside his tent, and Malik stiffened.What the fuck?
“I have a confession.”
His heart slammed harder against his chest, but it was for an entirely different reason this time. “What is it?” His voice was hoarse, and his gaze swept over her before he could even think of what he was doing. Her long hair was unbound, her cotton pajamas covering her from head to toe. Even so, she was the sexiest thing in his eyes, and Malik shifted uncomfortably on his bed as a now-familiar ache clawed at his groin.
“Malik...”
His body stiffened, and blood rushed to his head at the husky sound of her voice.Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.Could this confession be what he had been waiting for an eternity to hear? Could he finally fuck—-
“I watchedThe Conjuringlast night and now I’m too scared to sleep on my own tent, so if you don’t mind, can I sleep here, please?”
The words had been delivered in such a rush that for several moments Malik was only left staring at her blankly.
“Malik?” Kyria bit her lip. “Can I?”
Her worried voice hurtled him back to reality, and his mind started working again.
He was wrong, after all.
He could not fuck her. Rather, he was just fucked. Still fucked.
“You idiot.” But even to his ears, the words sounded like they were more for himself than her. He was the real idiot here, to think that things could suddenly change just because she had reached a certain age.
Kyria smiled at him sheepishly. “I couldn’t help it. I just really wanted to watch it.” Her look turned hopeful. “So can I?”
Hell no.That was what he should have said since his tent had only one bed. But instead he heard himself say gruffly, “Come on.”
A smile broke over her face. “Yay!”
It was his only warning before she threw herself at him, and he grunted as he bore the weight of her body. She wriggled off him, and although it was just one fucking moment—-
Just one fucking moment—-
The fullness of her breasts, the slide of her legs, the softness of her body—-
Just one fucking moment, and it was more than everything he had ever imagined.
Just one moment, and then it was gone, and she was lying on her side next to him. “It’s just like old times,” she whispered.
