“Okay, but I’m not tethering you to the house,” he said with a frown. “You’re free to go where you want. Take Zara with you. I’d like her to see Istanbul.”

  “And where will you be?” She ignored the alarm bell clanging in her head and the tightening mix of panic and ire pressing down onto her thumping heart. Leaping to a conclusion wouldn’t do her any good.

  “As I said, I’ll be busy closing this partnership deal for my company. But by tomorrow afternoon, my schedule is free.” His face relaxed, his frown softer and his eyes less troubled. The dark beginnings of a beard raked his jaw and climbed to his high-boned cheeks. He palmed the lower half of his face, his nostrils twitching with an audible sigh.

  Suddenly the air around him shifted.

  He smiled charmingly. “I was thinking a city tour might be a good way to celebrate the closing of this deal. If that’s something you’d be interested in? I’m a pretty good tour guide.”

  His smile unleashed a fluttering in her stomach and a rush of heady warmth over her body.

  “I think Zara would like that,” she said.

  “And you?”

  She heard the rest of his question. Would you like it?

  After drinking down to the dregs in her cup, Maryan placed it on the tray and watched as Faisal mirrored her with his mug. She stood and grabbed the tray handles, her eye contact with him unsevered and stronger than before. He tensed his shoulders slightly as if anticipating her rejection. Even so, his smile remained sunny on his too-handsome face.

  “I’ve always wanted to see the Hagia Sophia.”

  It took a few seconds, but his bright teeth flashed at her. “Then we’ll add it to the tour.” He stared at her afterward, his smile edging on playful and his eyes dropping to her mouth.

  “Sounds good,” she agreed.

  “It’s a date,” he added.

  She couldn’t unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth to give him a comeback. So she did the next best thing. Bobbed her head, lifted the tray with their empty mugs and walked away from him before she combusted from blushing too much.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MARYAN ANTICIPATED ONLY one thing from her second day in Turkey. It wasn’t her usual morning routine of stretching, doing yoga poses and squeezing in a shower. It wasn’t even her break from that routine when she spent half an hour longer than usual on her makeup.

  It was Faisal taking her and Zara out to tour the city.

  She lowered her makeup brush from the apple of her cheeks, the creamy blush adding a glow to her face and her contouring more perfect than usual. Even her experimentation with eyeshadow colors turned out beautifully. She’d worn less makeup having taken into account that they’d be walking and touring Istanbul. A summerlike breeze wafted into her grand guest room from the open balcony doors and had her appreciating her choice of adding sunscreen beneath her sheer tinted moisturizer. After their tea, Faisal had showed her to her room in the main house. If she had thought his apartment was luxurious, the main house was near palatial, her room being no exception.

  She stared at the woman gazing back at her in the reflection of the wide, beautifully framed dresser mirror. Maryan barely recognized herself, but in the best way possible.

  Liking what she saw, she uncapped her setting spray and closed her eyes. She spritzed around her face twice and opened her eyes when the satiny mist rested coolly over her skin.

  Refreshed from her morning routine, she stood to close the balcony doors. Instead of stopping, though, she ventured outdoors, the sun-warmed stone of the balcony heating the soles of her bare feet. She stopped before the balustrade to be awed by the vista once again. She’d done it plenty of times since Faisal showed her to the room.

  “Breathtaking,” she whispered, her lips drawing up into a smile.

  Her thoughts meandered from verdant treetops, the swooping valley and the panoramic city scene bisected by the shimmering strip of the Bosporus as the sun crept higher over the horizon. She wondered what her aunt and uncle could be up to right then. It was late for her family and friends in California. Nearly midnight. But she knew that was when Aunt Nafisa and Uncle Abdi sat in the living room winding down from another long day at their restaurant. They were late sleepers yet early risers for as long as she’d been living with them.

  Fifteen years this fall.

  Fifteen years since she’d left her parents and younger siblings and flew from the only home she’d once known in Mogadishu to live with her maternal aunt and her husband. Now Aunt Nafisa and Uncle Abdi were the only family she cared to recognize.

  Scowling at the thought of her mom and dad, Maryan breathed deeply and pushed down the flush of anger threatening to rise. She’d been holding on to it for so long that bottling her resentment had grown to be a natural instinct.

  They hadn’t asked if she wanted to leave for a life in America. In their eyes, feeding seven children had become too much. They could convince themselves they’d given her a better chance to live, but the truth was her parents had been poor and desperate enough to push one of their children from the nest. As the eldest, she was the unlucky child.

  But then I wouldn’t have met Aunt Nafisa and Uncle Abdi.

  Her aunt and uncle were the one bright spot in all this. Bright enough to blast the frosty anger that tended to grip her whenever she deigned to think of her parents. And she knew it wasn’t their fault they were poor, but...

  If they had asked, it wouldn’t be like this.

  She wouldn’t feel something suspiciously close to hate every time she thought of how they’d made a life-altering decision for her.

  She’d been twelve. Plenty old enough to make a choice for herself.

  Or at least feel like they included my feelings in their decision-making.

  Maryan blew out the breath she’d been holding reflexively.

  Forcing her thinking away from her parents, she remembered what Faisal had told her yesterday on his sailing yacht about his plan for striking oil in Somalia. His earnest expression and voice came flooding to mind.

  I want to give back to our home, he’d said.

  It was an impassioned statement and a bold one at that. For his sake she prayed it worked out. There were plenty of families in Somalia—poor ones like hers who could use a change in fortune like Faisal’s promising business plan. A boom in oil would lift up the whole nation and might even put it more firmly toward a direction of steadier and more rapid economic development and progress.

  If she saw anyone being capable of doing it, it was Faisal Umar. Billionaire. Successful tycoon.

  Single dad.

  That should have stopped her fantasizing about Zara’s handsome father.

  But thinking of him made her wonder what he had planned for their city tour. It wasn’t her imagination that made her heart thump a little faster and a jitteriness swarm her empty stomach. She would’ve chalked it up to needing breakfast, except she wasn’t thinking about food.

  She was still fixated on Faisal.

  And if she wasn’t careful, she’d forget why she had come to Istanbul in the first place.

  Zara is why I’m here.

  All thoughts of Faisal and his unwarranted effect on her vanished when she turned her head sharply from the view out on her balcony. Someone was knocking on the guest room door. It couldn’t be Zara. She had checked in on her ten minutes earlier and she’d been sound asleep in the room next door.

  Believing it to be Faisal, she crossed into the room and answered the door.

  The tall, fair-haired young woman on the other side wasn’t him.

  Her rosy-cheeked smile invited Maryan into asking, “Are you Lalam?”

  “I am, Miss Maryan,” Faisal’s highly praised housekeeper said, her glowing, lightly freckled face adding to her youthful appearance. She held a serving tray and explained in lovely, lilting English, “I bring you breakfast. I hope it’s okay?”

  “It’s more than okay, thank you, and it’s just Maryan.” She reached for the tray, but the housekeeper pulled away.

  “I carry.” Once she was inside the room she veered for the bed. “Is here okay?”

  “Evet.”

  Lalam turned to her, her sunny smile growing larger. “You learn Turkish?”

  Maryan blushed. She’d been practicing. Since Faisal planned to give her and Zara a tour of the city, she had wanted to immerse herself in the language and experience both. The newly installed Turkish-learning app on her phone was helping. “A little,” she told the housekeeper, cringing. “Is it bad?”

  Looking to be on the younger side of her twenties, Lalam placed the breakfast tray on the folded duvet cover and spun to her. She hoped it wasn’t to tell her to quit practicing Turkish because hers was awful.

  “Your Turkish is çok iyi. In English: ‘very good.’”

  Maryan laughed. “Yes, I learned that one early.” Faisal predicted she would like Lalam, and she’d have to let him know he was right.

  “You like Istanbul?” Lalam gestured to the open balcony doors and what they could see of the metropolis from Faisal’s home.

  “I haven’t seen too much, but from what I have it’s a lovely city. Busy like most cities are, but lots of history to it.”

  “Very busy city, yes. I move to Istanbul for school. Now I live and study here all the time.”

  Her English wasn’t hard to understand. Maryan was relieved she spoke it at all. Her Turkish wasn’t going to magically improve by leaps and bounds in the span of two weeks. And she had a feeling talking to Lalam would give her breaks for some real adult conversation. Something she had a sense she wouldn’t get from Faisal too much. Even though he had promised his schedule would be clear this afternoon.

  Thinking of him prompted her to wonder, “Is Faisal still sleeping in his...”

  She trailed off when Lalam furrowed her brow. Realizing it was possible the housekeeper wasn’t aware her boss had spent the night in the swanky garage apartment, she phrased it differently.

  “Is he out?”

  Lalam clasped her hands in front of her spotless white apron. Her black T-shirt and black jeans must have been part of a uniform. The ensemble did make her look more efficient than Maryan already suspected she was, simply from observing how pleasingly tidy the house was.

  All of that was forgotten when Lalam reported, “Mr. Umar is at work, yes.”

  “Work?” Maryan parroted.

  The housekeeper pointed to the breakfast tray. “Mr. Umar leave a message for you.”

  She noted a small folded paper tucked under the covered plate. The note was in a loopier scrawl than she envisioned Faisal was capable of. The men she’d come across and the ones in her life tended to write blocky and hard print. Like they had a point to prove.

  I promise I’ll be back in time.

  For their tour, he meant.

  “When did he leave?” She looked up at Lalam, catching the housekeeper walking for the bedroom door.

  She turned back. “Very early. I start work. He leave for work. We have little time to say salaam.”

  Staring down at the message, Maryan barely noted Lalam’s departure until she looked up a little while later and found herself alone in the room. The door was closed again like nothing had transpired.

  The privacy was welcome, though. She gazed down at his message again, her heart pounding and her anticipation to see him after he finished with his work walking a tightrope. It was enough to ignore the nagging doubt that she should be worrying more about his commitments and his ability to juggle his business and his fatherly duties to Zara.

  * * *

  He was running late to meet Maryan and Zara again.

  Faisal sped up his walk and jogged the final paces to one of the entrances of the Grand Bazaar. Burak was exactly where he said he’d be waiting. His head of security greeted him with one of his stoic nods, his face devoid of any telling emotions. It was perfect for the job, but this wasn’t a job. Faisal had asked him to kick off the city tour in his absence.

  That was two hours ago.

  And now he was late and preparing to grovel and give the best excuse to Maryan.

  “Tell me honestly: How bad is it?” If he went in armed with the knowledge, he might be able to reverse the damage he’d done to Maryan’s impression of him.

  Burak crossed his arms and grunted.

  “That bad?” He sighed, knowing he had only himself to blame. After promising Maryan he’d have his schedule free earlier in the day, and not explaining why he had ended up working longer, he expected nothing short of a frosty reception from her. Especially considering she hadn’t shied from sharing her opinions before.

  He anticipated being chewed out by her. And he was stalling because of it.

  “Was she that angry?” he asked in Turkish.

  “She hides it well like most women, but it’s there. The quiet ones are the scariest. You’ll see what I mean soon enough.” Burak flung him a wry smile and switched to English, “I don’t envy you, boss.”

  Faisal laughed, a hollow sound.

  “I’d warn you to keep your distance, but she knows you’re here. I told her when you left the office.”

  “Yeah, maybe I’d take your advice,” Faisal drawled, “but keeping my distance is what got me into this mess.” To be specific, the time apart from his daughter. He had no doubt Maryan would hold it over his head like the sword of Damocles.

  He hoped she wasn’t closed off to his legitimate excuse for being late.

  Burak walked him into the bazaar before he stopped and said, “Good luck, boss.”

  “I’ll need it,” Faisal rejoined with a sigh.

  He pushed forward alone. His gait purposefully slowed as he neared the small covered shop that Burak had pointed out. The shop Maryan and Zara were inside. Beautiful handmade jewelry and wood-carved trinket boxes lined the shelves. The shopkeeper was a young woman wearing a hijab. She greeted him from afar where she helped Maryan behind the glass counter.

  Zara saw him first.

  “Daddy!”

  He opened his arms to catch her embrace and ground them before Zara’s exuberance toppled them back into a display stand of cheaper-looking necklaces and bracelets. The more authentic gems and jewelry were guarded under lock and key behind protective glass cases.

  Standing, Faisal grasped Zara’s hand and listened to her cheery rehashing of how her day with her beloved nanny had panned out thus far. He walked her back to Maryan to face the music. And seeming to understand exactly what he planned, Maryan swung her attention back to the shopkeeper.

  “Can I have a look at that mother-of-pearl bracelet?” She touched her finger to the top of the glass counter at her bracelet of choice.

  As soon as the shopkeeper was preoccupied with the task, Faisal seized the window to squeeze in the first of what he anticipated would be many apologies today.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call or text earlier. I was in a meeting—”

  “I get it. You were busy,” she interjected in Somali, sounding far from understanding. With a breezy shrug, and still avoiding eye contact, she said, “Zara and I were doing just fine here.”

  The “without you” hung in the electrified air between them. She needn’t have spelled it out for him. She was just as piqued with him as he expected. Burak had given him a fair warning, too.

  But it didn’t prepare his body for the abject disappointment hardening her voice when she snapped, “You didn’t have to rush over on our account. Don’t let us stop you from working.”

  Her words struck his heart.

  With a smile that rang fake to him, she then accepted the bracelet from the shopkeeper and switched to English again to thank her.

  Realizing that he wouldn’t get anywhere with her in their current setting, Faisal held back from saying any more. He allowed Zara to lure him to a part of the store away from Maryan. Their backs turned to her, Zara pointed out a series of beautifully rendered necklaces, anklets, brooches, bracelets, earrings and even cuff links. Gold, silver and copper metal formed the bases, and alluring precious and semiprecious gemstones were inlaid in the metallic frames.

  “I like that one,” Zara said, smiling toothily up at him.

  “This one?” He tapped the glass showcase at the stunning amber necklace. Inlaid into a simple rose-gold case, the polished honey-colored amber was the size of his thumbnail. The threads of pink gold holding the amber pendant looked too fragile for a seven-year-old. But this was a momentous experience. He had Zara living with him now. She was his daughter, and he could do everything he ever dreamed of doing with her since he had stepped in Salma’s delivery room and gotten his first peek at Zara inside her bassinet.

  “Do you like it that much?” he asked her.

  She nodded enthusiastically. “It’s so pretty, Daddy!”

  He glanced over his shoulder and caught Maryan’s darting gaze. She’d been looking at him. Possibly glaring holes into the back of his head from her warranted annoyance.

  “Excuse me,” he called to the shopkeeper in Turkish. “Can you wrap this one up for me?”

  Maryan stubbornly cast her eyes everywhere but at him as he approached her once more. This time to do business with the shopkeeper. Zara bounced up and down in place while she watched her necklace be lovingly packed into a jewelry box and inside a shopping bag. The shopkeeper held it out to her from across the counter, and as soon as she had it she showed Maryan.

  Her nanny indulged her with a warmer, genuine smile. Something she hadn’t been able to muster for him when he entered the store.

  The sterling silver chain bracelet with its iridescent mother-of-pearl stones was on the glass counter where Maryan left it to shower Zara and her new necklace with attention and affection. Deftly he plucked it up by its thin chain and held it out to the shopkeeper.