“I didn’t have the luxury of being able to study full time, habibti. My education was tailored to my work.”
“So you studied…politics?”
His smile is quick and searing. My heart leaps. “Economics and environmental management, actually.”
I blink, surprised. “See?” I stretch out my legs, unwittingly kicking his calves beneath the table. I startle, and go to pull back, but his legs capture mine, holding them where they are.
“Think of it as a little incentive,” he says quietly. “To endure your interrogation.”
I resist an impulse to roll my eyes again, heat shifting through me at the intimacy of the contact.
“So your degree is in economics?”
“And environmental management.” He repeats. “But what you would consider senior school was a very tailored programme of learning. I studied world history in depth, as well as Qabid history going back centuries. I toured our cities and learned about each of the peoples that came together to form them, the building materials that were unique to each area, the foods that defined these individual cultures.”
I exhale softly. “That sounds fascinating.”
“Does it?”
“Of course!” I half-laugh. “I know only what I’ve learned from my father. My own memories are patchy at best. I would love to know more about this country.”
His eyes narrow for a moment and then he nods. “Fine. You shall have a tutor for this.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest he teach me what I want to know, but uncharacteristic nervousness holds me back.
“Thank you.”
He dips his head in silent acknowledgement.
“Aren’t you going to ask about my education?”
“I could,” he says thoughtfully. “But it would be a waste of time. I already know where you went to school.”
Surprise shifts through me. “How?”
His eyes probe mine. “You think I would exile your family without keeping tabs on you?”
My jaw drops. “You’ve been spying on us?”
“My security agency constantly monitors all potential threats.”
I gulp down some juice, slamming the cup back on the table a little too hard. “I’m not a threat. You had no right.”
“We have discussed this.” He reaches out, putting a hand on mine, his touch sending little arrows of warmth through my blood, contrary to my emotions. “It’s not as though someone had a telescope trained on your bedroom window, Amy. My security agency tracked your movements generally, to be sure you weren’t meeting with any known terrorist associates.”
But something else he said shifts through my mind. “You knew I’d had boyfriends,” I say quietly.
“As I said, we tracked your associates.”
“Wow.” Nausea crests through me.
“You cannot be surprised by this.”
“Oh, but I am, more fool me. I feel so…violated.”
“It wasn’t personal.”
“Yeah? Well, it is to me.”