The food arrived, and we sat, cross-legged, on the floor in front of the fireplace as we hungrily pinched up bites of noodles with our chopsticks. In my haste I dropped a noodle, and watched with horror as it landed on the rug.
"Oh, no. I'm so sorry."
"Forget it," he said, waving his chopsticks dismissively.
"But the oil, it'll leave a spot."
"It's fine. It doesn't matter."
"Sadiq..."
"Yes?"
"I feel stupid asking this.”
“What do you want to know?”
“A Sheikh—what, um, what is that, exactly?"
He didn’t laugh at my ignorance, as I’d expected him to.
"It's a leader of a ruling family, in my case. A family in power. Sometimes a Sheikh leads a village or tribe, but that tends to be in more rural areas."
"So, like, a Godfather."
He looked at me in confusion.
"A what?"
"You know, like the movie, The Godfather. When that old man was the boss of the mafia family."
"It's not quite like that. For one thing, my family's business ventures are entirely legal."
"Okay, but you're still in charge."
"Yes."
"And your family has a lot going on, with their businesses and all that."
"Yes..."
"Okay, so, why are you here? Why are you all by yourself? And why isn't anyone taking care of your house?" I ran my finger along the countertop’s dusty surface and held it out to him.
He looked down at the paper carton in his hands.
"Annabelle, I'm afraid that we aren't yet good enough friends for me to tell you that story."
His words were quiet. They made me wish I hadn’t allowed my curiosity to disturb this painful thing he kept so carefully hidden.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay," he replied, and rose to pour us more drinks.