“I am absolutely going,” Rose said. “Just give me a second.”

  She closed the door on him, and Fahim wondered what a second was in Rose's world. His mother took hours to get ready for lunch.

  He blinked when three minutes later, Rose appeared again.

  “Well?” she asked with a grin. “Do I pass?”

  She had shucked the jeans and T-shirt in exchange for a knit dress of some soft material. It clung to her torso and then spread out in a full skirt below her breasts, swinging gently at knee length. Her legs were long and lovely in black leggings, and rather than sporting heels, she wore a pair of elegant slender boots instead, well-polished and neat.

  “You look amazing,” he said, and her smile softened.

  “It's very sweet of you to say so,” Rose said. “I'm glad it passes. Everything else was good for teaching children or good for thrashing around with a guitar, and this is the closest thing to formal I have.”

  “Amazing,” Fahim said reassuringly. “Let's go.”

  “Amazing,” Rose said later that night. “Utterly amazing.”

  “Interesting,” Fahim corrected. “It was novel, and of course the musicians were exceptional, but the end effect was only interesting.”

  “Oh, but it was new,” Rose said enthusiastically. “That counts for a lot. Some of the older musicians during the Q&A were so excited about what this could mean, and it will only get better and better from here. Imagine what they could do if they found Western pieces that were more suited or possibly even less! They could make music that is entirely new and exciting.”

  “New doesn't mean that it'll automatically be better,” Fahim insisted. “Sometimes, it's just new.”

  “But you have to go through new to get to better,” Rose said, and then she reached up to cover her mouth with her hands.

  “I'm sorry,” she said in surprise. “I know you don't need to be lectured or—”

  “Sometimes I do,” Fahim said with a smile. “It makes for a nice change.”

  After the concert, neither of them wanted to go back to the palace right away, and so they ended up exploring the old town instead, close to Symphony Hall.

  “When I was a young, my mother would have fainted if I had told her I was coming down here,” Fahim commented, and Rose laughed, glancing at the slick boutiques and shops that were operating out of buildings some two hundred years old. The mesh of new and old made him think of the concert that they had just attended, and he thought there might be something to Rose's affection for the performance.

  “Oh, because this looks so terribly dangerous,” Rose said, and Fahim grinned, guiding her into one of the coffee shops

  “In all fairness, it was a great deal rougher when we were children. Investor money got involved, and things improved. It's lost some of the charm, but it's much safer now. This place, this was one of Ziad's favorites, and it hasn't changed at all. The floor dates back to the 1700s, and I think the recipe for milk coffee goes back almost that long.”

  Rose looked around, impressed, and Fahim couldn't help thinking how lovely she was, an utterly modern girl in that traditional Yeni coffee shop. While she was distracted looking at the stained-glass windows and the ancient fixtures left on display, he ordered them two coffees to go.

  “Oh!” Rose said in surprise at her first sip. “Sweet and…spicy?”

  “Cinnamon, nutmeg, some paprika and black pepper, as well as likely all the sugar someone should have for a week,” Fahim said, sipping carefully at his own. “It was my favorite when Ziad would condescend to bring me down here when he was a teenager. Imran's too.”

  “A family tradition,” Rose said admiringly. “I have to admit, it's a little hard to see Ziad doing anything like breaking the rules. He's always so strict and so very stern.”

  Fahim snorted.

  “He is if you are facing him across a negotiation table or if you've been called up to spar with him or ride against him at a race. You will never have to see that, however, because you're connected to his soft spot.”

  “His…soft spot? It's a little hard to imagine him having one at all.”

  “No, really. It's his niece and nephew. He's a marshmallow of a human when it comes to Jamila and Hasan. He adores them. He'll bend over backwards for them, and basically everyone who treats them well, they just sort of become family.”

  Fahim's throat felt tight. He told himself that it was just his affection for his brother and the family that Ziad had found, but he knew it had something to do with Rose and imagining her as part of his family, as something more than just a teacher. He shook the thought away, because it wouldn't lead anywhere logical, but Rose was already venturing down another lane in the old town, curious to see what it had to offer.

  “Oh, it's beautiful,” she murmured, stepping out into one of the more modern parks, and Fahim had to agree.

  Well, modern might only be accurate in the context of Yeni’s culture. Some ninety years ago, a falling-down city block had been cleared away to open up an enormous space now taken up with a beautifully clear reflection pool. Arranged along both sides of the pool were elegant white pillars rising into the sky and inscribed with the names of both modern and traditional Yeni artists.

  “My grandfather always said that this was one of his favorite civic improvements,” Fahim said with pride. “But do you see the secret?”

  “The secret?”

  Fahim led her to the edge of the pool, close enough he could see her hesitate.

  “Here, come with me.”

  “Oh!” Rose exclaimed in surprise as Fahim seemingly took a step onto the clear water and then stood atop it, a grin on his face. He grinned, reaching a hand in welcome, and then to his surprise, she took it, her calloused fingers lightly in his and warm enough to make him draw a silent breath. She stepped out after him onto the water and blinked.

  “Oh, my feet aren't even wet!”

  “It's a walkway that goes from here all the way to the end of the pool,” Fahim said. “The light breaks up the edge of the clear glass walkway so that it's nearly invisible. You can walk across the entire length of the pool as if you were walking on water.”

  “How beautiful,” Rose said, and Fahim smiled as she realized that she was still holding his hand and let it drop with a blush. “I mean. It'd be incredible for a music video or maybe even a concert if the walkway is wide enough.”

  “It's most often used for weddings,” Fahim said. “Some of my friends have gotten married here, just as the sun sets and the water is dark and lovely.”

  “Would you want to get married here?” asked Rose, and Fahim laughed very softly. Marriage had always been something necessary for Ziad and a point of passion for wild Imran. For him, it hadn't been much of a priority, but now he thought of it.

  “Well, I don't have many plans, but here? I suppose here would be…well, it would be perfect.”

  “Everyone deserves to have the wedding of their dreams,” Rose teased. “Tell me. So it's here. What would you really want?”

  Fahim considered. In the corner of his eye, Rose was framed by the white pillars celebrating the artistry of his ancestors, and something about that made his heart beat faster, took his breath away.

  “There's a dais at the far end,” he said. “I would like to wait there, something that Yeni and American customs have in common. I like the old tradition where the groom gives many gifts to his guests to thank them for coming, and then he waits for the bride with presents for her, things that will ensure an auspicious start to their marriage together.”

  “Oh, I like that tradition,” Rose said softly. “I don't know much about weddings—it's not something that's come up a lot in my life. What then?”

  “Ah well, let's see. I would be waiting at the far end, and you would start at the pillars here,” Fahim said, now more than a little taken with the vision of Rose emerging from the pillars to begin a long walk to him over the water.

  “I would like to imagine you walking towards me, a dress down to the ground. It would look like you were floating or perhaps even flying. A cousin told me that there is a trick to it. If you walk quickly, it would make your gown flutter just right, and you would appear as if you were being blown to me across the sea…”

  “I would?”

  “Hm, yes. I like that idea, and then I would come and help you step from the bridge down the steps to the canopy where we would—”

  Belatedly, it came to Fahim what he was saying, and he trailed off, color and heat coming up on his cheeks and embarrassment hollowing out his belly. Had he really just planned his wedding to Rose?

  “Ah, yes, anyway, you asked,” he said a trifle defensively, and Rose only laughed, graciousness itself.

  “Believe me, it was worth it for the look of panic you got on your face when you figured out you were talking about marriage to a grubby little musician,” she said lightly. “I'm telling you, Fahim, pure fear is a good look for you. Kind of cute, really.”

  Fahim snorted, shaking off the embarrassment and a sting of hurt that he had no idea how to read at all.

  “Please, that wasn't fear. It was—” He paused, because what was it, really?

  “Anyway, the place is very beautiful,” Rose said firmly, and Fahim nodded in relief.

  He was just opening his mouth to say that they should move on when a camera flash went off behind them, the shock of light making Fahim draw Rose behind him with a hissed curse. Had the paparazzi found them? Had they trailed them from the concert?

  “No big deal,” Rose said. “Just a model and a photographer.”

  She was right; it seemed to be just another influencer getting her picture taken by the gorgeous water, and Fahim nodded in relief.

  “Good,” he said. “But honestly, we shouldn't push our luck. Shall we return to the palace?”

  “Yes, let's,” Rose agreed, and they walked back to the car in a pensive silence.

  7

  Fahim woke up the next morning feeling better than he had in a long time.

  Been a while since I've been out in the evening for anything less than palace business, he mused, getting dressed. And of course, I can't deny that the company was good…

  The moment he thought about Rose, Fahim realized that somewhere in the back of his head, he had been thinking of her since they split last night, she to her bed and he to his. He had woken from dreaming about her warmth and her weight next to him, wondering whether she would smile sleepily in the morning or bury her head under the pillow for a few more minutes of sleep or—

  I'm being ridiculous, he told himself, dressing and making his way down to the family dining room. Just a good night out with good company. Nothing more.

  He expected to find Laura and the children in the dining room, perhaps Ziad as well if he was having a quiet moment, and Sarah and Imran if they were still awake after the baby had kept them up all night, but this morning, he was startled to be greeted only by Ziad and Maryam.

  “Well,” he said, closing the door behind him, “this only looks a little like an ambush.”

  “Better an ambush from your loving family than a mauling by the tabloids,” Maryam said tersely. “Here.”

  She pushed her tablet across the table, and Fahim sat down, frowning at the headline in front of him.

  Rose Adams Trades Bright Stars for Royal Crowns!

  Rock's genius bad girl Rose Adams has always had a taste for bad boys, but is the lewd, crude and rude lead guitarist of Rive singing a different song these days? We have the scoop on what Adams has been up to during her so-called sabbatical from Rive's international tour…

  Fahim had to stifle a growl at the description of a woman who bore no resemblance to the sweet and passionate Rose he knew, but he kept reading. If his brother and his mother were up and forcing him to read a tabloid first thing in the morning, it likely meant something.

  A quick scroll showed him that the model and photographer hadn't just been catching pictures of the gorgeous pool. Instead, there were a pair of pictures of himself and Rose together, and even as angry as he was, Fahim had to admit that they were good shots. In one of them, Rose was reaching for him, her eyes full of light, and in the other, they were gazing into each other's eyes, every inch the lovebirds. Fahim could protest all he wanted that the photos were taken out of context, but he knew that the images spoke for themselves, and that anyone who saw them was already making their decision. Grimly, he forced himself to keep reading.

  Of course Rose's departure left a hole in Rive's lineup, but less obviously, it has left a hole in the heart of her former boyfriend, lead singer and front man Darius Bright.

  “Well, of course it's hard to see Rosie on a date with another man,” Bright said when we caught up with him in his London flat. “We've had our share of ups and downs, of course we have when we've been together so long. Rive was always us together, and it's as much a part of me as my own heart, right? She's always known where her heart was too, or that's what I thought.”

  Bright takes a deep breath. It's clear that the last few weeks without Adams hasn't been easy on him. He looks gaunt, every inch the Byronic figure from Rive’s album art.

  “She's always been my girl. I thought she always would be. I guess, though, life on the road, it isn't always glitz and glamour, even if it’s the purest form of art possible. I guess I can't blame her for trading up for a prince. She's tired. I should have seen it sooner. I should have seen the signs. Maybe then I could have told her what touring is, what music really is…”

  Fahim put down the tablet, just barely stopping himself from slamming it down on the table.

  “This is trash,” he said, glaring at Ziad and Maryam. “Bright's making himself look like the forsaken lover and Rose like…some fickle gold digger. He's trying to sell the world his version of the truth, and he's using the press to do it.”

  “Of course we can all see that—” Ziad began, but Maryam interrupted him.

  “You are very upset, Fahim,” she said. “I wanted to show that to you before you got surprised with it. Are you all right?”

  “Of course I am,” Fahim said impatiently. “This isn't about me. Bright is being a spoiled monster. Has anyone seen Rose? Has she seen this yet?”

  The moment the words were out of his mouth, Fahim felt oddly guilty. It was a scandal involving the royal family, and all he wanted to do was to see if Rose was all right.

  “I've not seen her yet,” Ziad said. “Perhaps you should go look for her.”

  Fahim almost rose from the table to do just that, but then he shook his head.

  “I should deal with the press first. I'm in this article too, for all I get off lightly, and I need to make a statement, tell them that nothing inappropriate is happening.”

  Ziad snorted.

  “That's a tabloid, not a real paper. They can wait. If you wait long enough, you might cycle out entirely, replaced by the next celebrity having a baby or the newest scandal. We've all had tabloid articles featuring us before, and this one's very mild. Mother and I were more worried about Rose, who just seems to be finding her feet. You should go check on her.”

  Fahim nodded, reluctant to accept his brother's generosity, but Maryam gave him a firm nod.

  “You hired her,” she pointed out. “You made promises of how she would be protected. Go prove to her that you will be making good on those promises.”

  That did it. He was barely out of the room when his mother and brother started talking again, and almost against his will, Fahim listened through the not-quite-closed door.

  “It may not be a terrible idea to have Fahim make some kind of statement. This really isn't ideal,” mused Ziad.

  “Oh, who cares about that? Just look at this piece of trash. This Bright man. Nothing but garbage, all art and his girl. Rose isn't some little toy he can drag after him…”

  Half of Fahim was warmed by his mother's defense, but he winced at the pressure this had put on them both. They were both busy people with positions that put them squarely in the public eye; most people in his family would fit that description.

  Had hiring Rose really been the most prudent decision?

  It was a beautiful day. The sky overhead was blue and bright, and the cool breeze brought Rose the scent of something heavy and sweet growing close by. The ornamental pool was so crystal clear that Rose could see straight to the bottom, and Rose couldn't resist sliding her shoes off to dangle her feet in.

  It would have been amazing, nearly perfect, if not for the tabloid articles.

  What is he doing? Are people going to listen to him? Is he actually upset this time?

  Further back in her head, so quiet she didn't dare look at it too closely, was another fear: Will he get me back again?

  She wished things were simple again, before she had opened the news that morning, but one thing she had learned was that time only went one way.

  A rustle on the path behind her made her flinch, but before she could scramble up, Fahim was there, already shaking his head and coming to sit beside her.

  “No, you look so peaceful there. Don't stand. Just keep an eye out for the snapping turtle that lives in the water. She's mean.”

  Rose laughed, but it came out all wrong, high and nervous and barely real at all. She sounded awful, and she knew that whatever Fahim was going to say, it wasn't going to be improved by her own nerves.

  If Fahim was getting ready to fire her, however, he was certainly taking his time with it. Deliberately, he removed his shoes and his socks, setting them neatly close by, and then to her surprise, he dangled his feet in the water as well. It would be easy to see playful Imran do this, but Fahim did it with his characteristic solemnity and care, making her smile.

  “Thought you said that there was a snapping turtle in the pond,” she said, and he nodded seriously.

  “Don't you know that turtles never bite you again after they've already eaten one of your toes? I'm very safe.”

  Blinking, Rose looked down at the water, but Fahim had the standard ten toes and feet, which she thought looked surprisingly handsome. He laughed softly as she looked up.