Almost as if she could read his mind, Jamila piped up.

  “Oh! Grandma taught me a new song yesterday,” she said beaming. “Can we call Laura?”

  “Ah, you want to sing Laura your new song?” he asked absently. How many songs was she going to learn while Laura was gone? The idea broke his heart just a little, and he had to push it aside.

  “Well, yes and no,” Jamila said seriously. “I want to sing it for Andy.”

  For a moment, Ziad had no idea who Andy might be. Was it one of her stuffed animals, or one of the children she had met the day before? Then he blinked, realizing.

  “Andy? Do you mean Andrea, Laura's sister?”

  “Yes!” Jamila said eagerly. “She's really nice, and she let me listen to her favorite singers who are from South Korea, and she showed me her book that has lots of stickers in it to keep her organized. I want a book like that too, Daddy, when I go to school, so I can keep track of my work like Andy does, and—”

  “Of course, that sounds like a very good idea, and we can find some stickers you really like, sweetheart, but…how do you know Andrea?”

  “I see her when Laura calls her family,” Jamila said beaming. “And sometimes Andy gets on, and I sang Andy a song once because Andy really likes music, and now I have a new song to sing for her, and maybe it would make her feel better.”

  Ziad's heart thumped in his chest. It was too easy to imagine Jamila singing at the tablet while Laura and her sister listened from half a world away. Why in the world had it never occurred to him that Jamila would become more involved in the lives of people who were, after all, her family?

  “Well, we should not call them now,” he said. “Remember how I told you that we are ahead of Laura and her family in time? It's morning here, so they're probably in bed now. It wouldn't be very nice to wake them up, would it?”

  Jamila's eyes widened, and she shook her head seriously.

  “No, it wouldn't. Laura says that Andy needs a lot of rest, and so does Jake because he does best if he has a routine, and so does Emily because she needs to be fresh for school.”

  “And Laura does too, because she has to take care of everyone, right?”

  Jamila shrugged.

  “Laura says she needs less rest because she's strong and she can always nap if she needs to. I’ve never seen her napping, though.”

  No, neither had Ziad, and he sighed at such a very Laura thing to say.

  He smiled at Jamila, leaving Hasan picking busily at the pieces of scrambled egg to go sit next to her.

  “Are you done with your breakfast? Shall we brush your hair?”

  “Yes, please, Daddy,” she said with a big grin, and for several moments, everything was calm as Ziad concentrated on smoothing out Jamila's dark hair. It was thick and smooth under his hands, and he unwrapped two small hairbands from the handle of the brush to give Jamila two sleek pigtails, just as Laura had taught him.

  “Does that feel good?” he asked, and Jamila shook her pigtails hard before nodding.

  “Yes, thank you, Daddy,” she chirped, and she would have hopped off the chair if he hadn't stopped her, pulling her into his lap for a big hug.

  “Daddy! I have to go brush my teeth,” she said reprovingly.

  “I know, I'll let you go in a moment, but first I have a question for you. I need your help.”

  “Oh!” Jamila said, her eyes going wide. “What do you need my help with?”

  “Okay, let's say that you have a friend, all right? A friend you care about very much.”

  “Okay,” said Jamila, and Ziad had to take a moment to appreciate how very seriously she was taking him. In the back of his head, he heard Laura whispering again, that little kids had to be allowed to help, to feel as if they were making a difference in the lives of the people around them.

  “All right, and this friend you care about, they tell you something important to them. Really important.”

  “Like going to a concert?” Jamila asked excitedly.

  “Yes, like going to a concert, let's say. And you say, um, that you don't see what the point is.”

  “But…I wouldn't say that,” Jamila objected. “You go to be with other fans and to get T-shirts and to see the stars! Andy told me!”

  Here I am, thought Ziad with just a bare edge of humor. I am getting life advice from someone not yet into double digits.

  “But say that you did say it.”

  “I would be wrong,” Jamila grumbled, but she nodded. “Okay. So I told her that I didn't like concerts.”

  “Not even that you didn't like them. That you didn't understand why she liked them, and you didn't want her to go to hers.”

  Jamila frowned.

  “That would be mean,” she said sternly.

  “It was. Er. It would be,” Ziad said, because he had known it before, but now with Jamila's eyes on him, he could very much see it.

  “And so you said something mean, and you didn't stop her from going to the concert. She went anyway. And so how do you make it up to her?”

  Jamila looked lost in thought, a slight frown on her face. She reached up to play with the button on the collar of Ziad's tunic, biting her lips and swinging her legs.

  Ziad opened his mouth to tell her that princesses didn't swing their legs, but then it suddenly struck him how ridiculous it all was. She was actively trying to help him. He could tell that her entire mind was bent on helping him solve the problem. He wondered if Laura whispered in her mind as much as she whispered in Ziad's.

  “Well, first I would say I was sorry, of course,” she said authoritatively.

  “Of course,” he said gravely.

  “And second, I would take her to a concert, and I would tell her I would never ever tell her something like that again.”

  “Yes? Do you think that would get her to forgive me?”

  Jamila shrugged. Apparently the concept of forgiveness was beyond her, and he figured maybe it could wait until she was perhaps nine or even ten.

  “Well, maybe. But you should still do it, shouldn't you?”

  The force of her words struck Ziad like a lightning bolt.

  She's still a queen even if she's just seven years old, he thought in awe. It's never mattered that she swings her legs or runs and shouts—she has what it takes, and I owe that to Laura.

  “You're right,” he said. “It doesn't matter, does it? It doesn't matter whether she accepts my apology, just that she deserves it, and she deserves for me to make it up to her.”

  Jamila looked startled.

  “Did you tell someone you thought she shouldn't go to a concert, Daddy?”

  Then Jamila squeaked as he swept her up into his arms for a great big hug and a loud kiss to her forehead.

  “Sweetheart, how would you like to go see Laura?”

  “Laura!” Jamila shrieked, and Ziad burst into laughter.

  The minute he got a moment, which might take a bit because he had to organize a jet across the world, he would take that list about proper behavior and tear it into a million pieces. Who cared about yelling, anyway? And sometimes, yelling was altogether appropriate, like when you were going to go see someone you cared about. Someone you thought of every day. Someone you loved.

  He loved Laura.

  The realization wasn't a surprise. Instead it felt like something he had known for a very long time. Somehow, he had just finally noticed it, and something deep inside him went warm. He loved her, he needed her, and he had been awful to her.

  He gave Jamila a final peck on her forehead, setting her on the floor as he scooped up Hasan. Hasan, despite not knowing what was going on, had gotten caught up in the excitement and was banging his chubby little hands on his tray.

  “Go on and brush your teeth, sweetheart,” he said. “And after we get Hasan cleaned up from breakfast, we’re going to start packing. It's time to go see Laura, don't you think?”

  “Yes!” Jamila said gleefully, and she raced for the bathroom.

  Carrying Hasan on his hip, Ziad grabbed his phone and started making calls. Of course he had to speak with Imran and Fahim and his mother about taking over some of his responsibilities while delaying others. He needed to have the jet prepared, and he wanted to arrange for some gifts for Laura's family. They should not think that they had acquired such a poor son-in-law that he would arrive empty-handed. And he didn’t want to be a burden on them. There was at least one more purchase he wanted to make, and they could stop on the way to the airport, but he still had to make preparations.

  Through it all, there was a single thought that rang through his head.

  Laura. I am going to see Laura.

  20

  The security detail hadn't been thrilled to be left on the corner, but the head of the team had admitted that there was likely little to fear on the quiet street in Bellmond, New Jersey. He reassured them for what felt like the thousandth time that he had a panic setting on his phone, and that if anything the least bit threatening happened, he would call them at once.

  The neighborhood, he observed, had once been a tidy one, the houses clad in brick instead of cheap siding, and with small yards in front and back. However, given the bars over the windows and the old cars in the driveways, it was also a neighborhood that had once seen better days, and as he walked up the walk, Hasan on his hip and Jamila's hand in his, he winced at how small the house itself was.

  All those brothers and sisters. I knew that her parents struggled, and I knew that she went to work when she was young to support them, but somehow I never imagined the reality of it.

  If he was struck sober by the reality of Laura's life, Jamila had no such problem. Instead she bounced by his side, looking up and down the street at the houses, a huge grin on her face.

  “Laura's going to be so happy to see us,” she chattered. “I will tell her all about the plane ride and the woman who gave me a juice and I will sing all the songs I know for Andrea…”

  “I'm sure they're going to love that, sweetheart,” Ziad said with a smile, and taking a deep breath, he rang the doorbell, listening to the tinny echo in the house. He thought about what he had decided to say, dismissed it as rehearsed, and took a deep breath instead. If his rehearsed speech was not going to do, he was going to have to wing it. It was always more Fahim and Imran's strength rather than his, but it would have to do.

  She would surely forgive him. Wouldn't she?

  He was just beginning to wonder if the whole family was gone for the day when the door opened. Ziad blinked with surprise at the old man who had opened it and was now blinking at him curiously.

  “Um, hello,” Ziad said in surprise. “I'm sorry, I'm looking for the Stone residence. Is…is that this house?”

  The old man's expression didn't change. He had once been tall, Ziad thought, but now there was a pronounced hunch to his back, and his hand where it sat on the head of his cane was swollen and red at the joints.

  He said something that Ziad did not understand, something that sounded more suspicious than not, and Ziad frowned.

  “I don't speak—”

  “Dedushka!” Jamila cried, and before Ziad could stop her, she threw herself forward. For one terrible moment, Ziad thought that she was going to knock the old man right off his feet, but she pulled back at the last second, just in time for the old man to exclaim her name with delight and wrap her up in a hug with his one free arm.

  “Jamila,” Ziad said in shock. “What in the world is going on?”

  Jamila turned back to grin at him but before she could say anything, the old man glanced from her to him, and then his face broke into a wide grin.

  “Ziad!” he said. “Welcome!”

  He threw the door open wider, and mystified, Ziad went in.

  The house seemed even smaller on the inside, but everything was clean and tidy. Ziad looked around curiously for a moment, realizing that this was where Laura had grown up, and then he jerked his attention back to the old man, who was sitting down heavily on a battered recliner by the window, Jamila clambering comfortably onto his lap.

  “Jamila, ask first,” he said automatically, and she shook her head, grinning.

  “No, Daddy, Dedushka said that as soon as I came to the United States, I had to come find him right away so he could tell me stories about how it was when he built this house.”

  “Built this—”

  Ziad's head was still spinning, but when he looked at the old man, a dim memory woke up.

  “Wait, I've seen you before, on that video call, haven't I?”

  The old man grinned at him encouragingly, saying something that sounded, he was realizing, like Russian or Polish.

  “Daddy,” Jamila said sternly. “This is Dedushka. That's what he says to call him.”

  The old man, finally taking pity on Ziad tapped his chest firmly. “Boris.”

  “Boris…” Ziad echoed. “You're…Laura's grandfather, her mother's father. I am Ziad Khalid.”

  “He knows who you are,” Jamila told him. “He knows all about you and Grandma and Uncle Imran and Uncle Fahim. He knew Sarah already because she came to visit Laura while they were at school.”

  Ziad eyed Jamila curiously.

  “You know a lot about Laura's family, don't you, darling?”

  “Uh-huh. She let me say hi when she called them, but I have to be very quiet and polite if Jake is on the call because he doesn't like loud noises, and sometimes Andrea is resting.”

  Ziad was struck all over again by how kind and attentive Jamila was. What in the world had he been worried about, after all? What else did a queen need to be but strong and kind? If Laura was the one raising her, giving Jamila the benefit of her experience, Jamila would never be anything but.

  Boris was making a beckoning gesture, and Ziad realized that he was asking to hold Hasan. Hasan, never a very shy baby, was reaching for him as well, and with a sigh, Ziad handed him over.

  “Next you'll tell me that he's been teaching you Russian,” he murmured to Hasan, and Jamila giggled.

  “Nooooo, Hasan's too young, but listen what I can say.”

  She rattled off a foreign phrase too quickly for Ziad to catch, and Boris roared with pleasure, bouncing her on his lap.

  Ziad shook his head, and the image suddenly came to him of Laura sitting right where Jamila was right now, Boris younger, with more hair, but otherwise just as delighted by Laura as he was with Jamila.

  Can Laura speak Russian? Did she grow up eating Russian food? Did she like it? I wonder if she misses it.

  He wondered a lot of things, but chief among them was how he could have missed so much. He had fooled himself by thinking that just because his entire life was in Yeni that Laura's was as well. Did she miss it? For all the help he had provided, did she wish that she could be at home?

  He found his way to the narrow hall, flipping a light so that he could see the framed pictures that almost covered it. At one end were pictures that he thought must have been Boris and Laura's grandmother standing in front of the house they were in. There were only a few houses on the street at the time, and they looked thrilled, newly married and so very, achingly young.

  The photos continued, growing bright and more modern, and then he came to the ones of Laura. Laura as a small and serious-looking little girl, Laura in a bright frame declaring her “Our Graduating Girl!” and one that must have been taken right before she left for Yeni.

  A lump came up in his throat. They loved her so much. He knew about her family. He knew how she loved them—how could she not? Laura was an incredibly loving woman. Somehow it had never struck him before how very much they must have missed her as well.

  Laura felt as if her brain had been lightly clobbered with sticks, and only now, as she pulled her mother's car into the driveway, did she think it was finally recovering.

  I am so glad that the specialists are willing to work with us, but God, do they order a lot of tests. I’ve got to get Mom and Dad out of the hospital for a break.

  Despite all of Ziad's aid, there was still so much to be done, and though Andrea's team was likely one of the best in the world, it didn't change the fact that there was still a large family that needed to be cared for. Today had been all about making sure that Marcus's school had the immunization records it needed and getting her grandfather's social security sorted out, and now her entire body throbbed with a low hum of exhaustion. But at least she’d left the four walls of Andrea’s room—her parents hadn’t even gotten that.

  I want to go home, she thought as she sat in the car for a moment.

  It wasn't just because she was tired. The truth was that at some point in the last couple months, she had come to think of Yeni as home, and of the palace as the place she lived. Of course she thought of Jamila and Hasan as her kids; she had expected to get attached to them. How in the world could she not, when they were so sweet, so loving, so dependent on her?

  What she hadn't expected was that she would miss Fahim and Imran and Maryam as well, their laughter and the way they had invited her into their home and their hearts.

  And Ziad…

  She missed Ziad with every fiber of her being, and if she thought about him too much, she was certain she was going to start crying.

  Can't cry. No time for it. Need to stay moving. I can sleep after I get everyone home and make dinner.

  There was a dark SUV she didn't recognize in the street, and she wondered as she made her way to the front door which of her neighbors had a fancy visitor.

  Coming in the door, she headed straight for the kitchen.

  “Hi, Grandad,” she called, and then in Russian, “I'm just here for a minute to grab some food and then I'm heading back out to pick up Mom, Dad, and the kids from the hospital…”

  He called something back, which didn't make much sense in her tired state. She was just wondering whether her Russian had gotten much worse while she wasn't looking, when suddenly she was pulled into a strong embrace, and—oh God, it was Ziad.

  It would have been hard to tell who started the kiss, but it was everything that she had dreamed about, everything she had wanted and privately cried for over the last week. It was perfect, consuming, and she gave herself to it completely.