The Shiekh's Virgin Mistress by Jessica Brooke Page A

eyes on me.  I was so young though, and so immature I didn’t know what it meant.  But I really was drawn to him in an unexplainable way.  He often had girls with him, never the same one though, and they were all beautiful and obviously of his class.  You do realize that before your father made his millions, both he and I were from small town, working class families?”
    I’d grown extremely interested in my mom’s story and I nodded eagerly.  Even though I’d not know my grandparents on either side because they’d all died when I was quite young, I knew enough to know we’d not been wealthy and affluent all of my life.  I remembered some from my childhood and the small homes we’d originally lived in before moving into the huge brownstone in this Boston suburb.
    Mom gave me a half smile and continued. “We docked at the tropical island and I quickly became distracted with my friends and the parties and activities.  At night I was exhausted from the snorkeling and hiking and everything we’d done during the days.  It was on the fourth day, and I’d opted to just lie on the beach and relax.  I was enjoying the sun and I think I’d fallen asleep, when someone stood between me and the sun, shadowing me.  When I opened my eyes, it was him.”
    I’d stopped crying at this point and had turned with a bended knee towards my mom.  I nodded and made a motion with my hand for her to continue. 
    “He had a chair and a towel and was in just his swim trunks.  Anna, he was beautiful.  Like a god or something.  He was a golden color and was the fittest man I’d ever seen.  His heritage was a mix of German and Argentinian, and he was magnificent.  He asked me in lightly accented, perfect English if he could sit by me.  I of course agreed.  He was easy to talk too, once I got past my nerves, we fell into an easy conversation.  We clicked like I’ve never done with another.  Ever!
    I remember how my mouth went dry from anxiety, and how his skin felt when I took the water he offered and our hands touched. I don’t know how he did it, but somehow he eased all of my tension.  Just being near him made me feel safe and protected and immensely cared about.” I nodded, knowing exactly what my mom had felt. She lowered her eyes and her cheeks tinted. “His name was Miguel.” I saw her eyes again fill with unshed tears and she picked up one of her tissues and dabbed at them.  “He asked me out that night, and then the next and by the end of the week, we were inseparable.  He told me he loved me, and I said the same.   I gave him my virginity and I would have given him my entire life.  I was more than willing to forgo my education and run off with him.
    By the time the ship reached port, and we had to go our separate ways, I was willing to devote my entire life to him.  To bear his children, serve him, take care of him.  I really and truly loved him.”
    My mom started crying then, real tears that left pale streaks down her cheeks.  Her chin quivered and her breaths hitched.  I slid closer to her and cuddled into her chest.  She wrapped her arms around me and we held each other.  When she could talk again, she said, “I haven’t thought of him in years.  I can’t allow myself those memories.  I’ll be as bad off as you are now for weeks to come.”
    “What happened? Why aren’t you with him?” I asked.
    “His family had other plans for him.  Arranged a marriage to a daughter of a powerful alliance and he was unable, or unwilling, I still don’t know—he chose her and those plans.  I was the wrong class, and well, just wrong for him.”
    “Did he think so?”
    She patted my shoulder, “He always told me I was his great love and he would ache for me till he died.” She began crying again and I burrowed in tighter and I let my own tears fall anew. 
    Later, when we were making dinner I asked, “Did you ever love dad?”
    She thought about her answer and I patiently waited, “Honestly