“If you will, I will,” she offered, and something in her sang at how Fahim immediately reached for the violin and the offered bow with no more protestations.

  She recognized what he was playing immediately, the first lines of Paganini’s 20th caprice. They were slow, and careful, but yes, there was something there, something bright, a spark that could blow into a fire if she only knew how to blow on it.

  Fahim shook his head after the first few lines, pulling the violin away.

  “It's been a long time,” he said, offering the violin to Rose, and the moment she had the gorgeous instrument in her hands, she was lost.

  She set the violin under her chin, and when the bow touched the taut strings, she picked up the Paganini piece where Fahim left off, letting the familiar melody fill her ears and letting her fingers add her own embellishments, a held note here, a liquid trill there.

  This was what she had missed with all of the teaching she had been doing, and if she were honest with herself, she had missed it when she was with Rive as well. It was the pure experience of herself with an instrument, playing it as she was meant to, letting the music flow through her until it belonged to her, until it was as much a part of her as her eyes or her hands.

  As the last notes faded from the air and Rose pulled the violin away, she realized that Elazar and Fahim were both staring at her. Fahim's jaw was slightly open, but Elazar burst into wild applause.

  “Beautiful, beautiful, my dear,” he said. “You must be classically trained. You are, aren't you? Where have you studied? What orchestra claims you?”

  Rose laughed at the man's effusive praise, shrugging and suddenly self-conscious.

  “Nowhere at all, really. I had some lessons when I was young, and I picked up a lot over the years. I play guitar mostly. Really, the real star is the instrument. She's beautiful, sir.”

  Fahim shook his head.

  “I had no idea that you could do that, Rose,” he said softly. “You have more talent than I ever imagined.”

  She offered him a shy smile, and then as if sensing her unease, he reached over to squeeze her shoulder gently.

  “She's an inspiration,” Fahim said to the violin maker. “As a matter of fact, she has inspired me to buy this violin—”

  “Oh, but you can't!” she exclaimed, suddenly panicked at the gift. A violin like the one she had just held could easily be tens of thousands of dollars, and the idea of Fahim buying it for her—

  “Of course I can,” he said with a wink. “Maybe if I keep this violin around, I'll be inspired to practice.”

  “I'm willing to give you whatever lessons you need,” she said with a relieved smile. “I have it on good authority that I'm pretty good at this whole teaching thing.”

  Fahim arranged for the violin to be shipped to the palace in Yeni, and then they were back on the street and in the cab.

  “I can't believe how dark it's getting already,” Rose said with a happy sigh. “Thank you, Fahim. I know we were there hours, but I could have spent the whole night in Mr. Dahan's studio.”

  “Well, he might have objected, given that he probably needs to sleep sometime, but how are you doing? Just worn out and wanting to head home?”

  “Actually, no” she said, startled by her own energy. “I think I might like to stay out for a while, if it's all the same to you.”

  Fahim took her to a small bistro not far from Elazar's studio, a quiet place where the dinner crowd was just beginning to clear out.

  “It's weird, I've been in Israel more than a few times for Rive, but this is the first time I've gotten to try any local food,” she said after Fahim ordered for both of them.

  “Oh? I would think that was one of the pleasures of touring, especially internationally.”

  “Ha, no, hardly. I mean, you have to get everyone to decide on the same thing, and most of the time, people just want something fast and easy. When you're on the road about three hundred days out of the year, you start to want anything familiar, anything that keeps you grounded.”

  “So…fast food?”

  “A lot of fast food,” Rose said with a small laugh. “I think the meals that I have been getting at the palace have been the best food I've gotten in my entire life, to be honest.”

  Fahim looked like he wanted to say something about that, but then the food came, and Rose was drowning in new flavors and new textures, eager to try a bite of every new thing. Amused, Fahim told her what they were eating, giving her the names for the local dishes and appetizers, and repeating them when she invariably forgot and had to ask again.

  “Sorry, sorry, it's just all so good, and I want to remember.”

  “I'll remember,” Fahim told her warmly, and Rose smiled at the idea that he would be with her the next time they ate in Tel Aviv.

  Perhaps it was the exhilaration of the violin maker's shop or perhaps it was only the food giving her energy, but Rose suddenly felt as if the world was boundless, as if she could go anywhere as long as she was holding Fahim's hand. When they finished their meal, they came out onto the sidewalk into a warm night, the streets filling up with people out for a good time.

  “Something tells me you're not ready for bed yet,” he said, amused, and she gave him a shy glance.

  “Actually, if you're willing to indulge me just a little longer…”

  “Always.”

  “Dancing. That is…do you dance?”

  Fahim smiled at her, taking her hand and leading her down the street. “I do not do it well, but for you…well, I will see what I can remember from my foolish school days.”

  Fahim, it turned out, was a liar. He danced very well at the crowded club they went to, staying close to Rose in the crush, matching her motions as easily as he might read a brief or argue a case.

  Musician, Rose thought with pleasure. He's like me. He knows beat, and he knows rhythm…

  He also knew about the habits of clubs in Tel Aviv. About an hour after they arrived, a chime went off, and he looked up, startled.

  “Come on,” he said, taking Rose's hand. “If you want to dance, we should likely dance somewhere else.”

  She followed him in confusion, and then she yelped, startled, as foam started to fall from the ceiling in white and blue drifts, enormous mountains of the stuff coming to settle on the dancers. The going got tougher as more dancers stepped onto the floor to play in the foam, but finally and with minimal exposure, they were back out on the street.

  “They really will not let this trend die,” Fahim said with some exasperation. “Just when you think it's safe to go dancing again, someone starts talking about how much fun foam parties are, and—Rose, why are you laughing?”

  “Because we are both too old for this stuff.” Rose giggled. “Oh my God, dancing in foam…why in the world?”

  “Because it actually is kind of fun until you're soaked to the skin and driving an hour to get home, and you have a court hearing in five hours,” he said, and he reached up to flick a bit of foam off her hair. “I don't think they got you very badly. Will you be all right while I hail a cab?”

  “Sure, it'll let me see if I can make myself foam-free,” Rose said.

  She seemed pretty clear of foam, actually, so she just leaned against the corner of the building while Fahim was hailing a cab. When her phone chirped, she glanced at it without thinking, and then suddenly, it was as if she had been plunged into a cold-water bath.

  Hey baby, I'm in London! Christ, remember London the first time we were here? That was fucking awful, that hostel that Xander found for us. Remember waking up in the middle of the night to all those bug bites?

  She swallowed, because she did. For a brief moment, she almost pitched her phone hard against the brick wall behind her, but then she took a deep breath and made herself keep reading.

  That's such a dumb thing to think about, but it's been on my mind ever since I checked in tonight. I'm at the Ritz, no bug bites for me, and I remember the first time we were here, too. We had just come from that gig in Paris, and we couldn't believe it. Rags to riches, right?

  I'm thinking about you. Here in London, it's like at any minute, I can come around the corner and see you smiling at me, some new songs in your hand and those coffee drinks we both like. I'm thinking about you a lot, Rose, and in London, it's worse. Are you thinking about me?

  She waited, tense, but no more messages appeared. It was too easy to imagine Darius in a suite at the Ritz, a hotel they had chosen just because it sounded fancy after their first big break in Europe. She remembered the sad little hostel too, and she remembered how freaked out she had been, and how Darius had spread cream on the itching bites so she wouldn’t scratch herself bloody and…

  No, I wasn't thinking about you until you sent me that damn message, she thought, and she started to shake.

  Had she really forgotten Darius and the fact that he was out there? Had she really let her guard slip that much? She knew that he was in London while she was in Tel Aviv. She wondered how he had gotten her number. Marya, her best friend from Rive had her new number, he could have weaseled or stolen it from her; he could have bribed someone who worked at her carrier. There were endless ways he could reach her. She knew that there was nothing he could do to her, but now she felt as if she could come around any corner and see him standing there, waiting for her, and not just him, but her whole life as well—

  “Rose? Rose, what's the matter?”

  She looked up to find Fahim watching her with concern, but when she opened her mouth, she found that she couldn't speak, couldn't get a word through her chattering teeth. Panicked, she tried harder, but the tumult she was feeling must have become clear on her face, because Fahim simply folded her into his arms.

  “All right,” he said. “Get into the cab with me. We have a hotel room waiting for us.”

  The cab was better. The interior was dark, and there was a partition between the passengers' seats and the driver. It felt private, safer, and she started to take deep and gasping breaths.

  “Oh, Rose,” Fahim said, and he took her in his arms, rubbing her back.

  He didn't say anything else. He only allowed her to regain her breath, let her breathing even out and her racing heart calm down. Rose was grateful that he didn't ask her what the matter was in the cab. Instead, he guided her out of the car and into a lavish hotel. It was a gorgeous place, all marble and glass, but she couldn't begin to enjoy it until the room door was closed and locked behind them.

  “Rose, tell me what's the matter.”

  In response, she handed him the phone, and she watched with some brief satisfaction as he read the messages she had received, his expression dark and stormy.

  “You need to change your number again, and you need a more secure service,” he said with a frown. “I should have thought of that sooner, one he doesn't have. We can see to it as soon as we get home.”

  Rose laughed at his practical solutions, and Fahim put the phone down to gather her into his arms.

  “You will never have to go back to him,” he whispered to her. “You never have to see him or speak with him again, I promise. That time in your life is over. I promise, it's over. You're safe now.”

  Fahim always seemed to know what to say, and she let out a deep sigh as she sank into his embrace. She believed him. She believed him with all her heart, but deep inside, she wondered. Darius had had a hold on her life for ten years. What was going to happen now that she had broken away?

  12

  Fahim woke up to a persistent knocking on his door, and he frowned reflexively at the disturbance. Rose was in her own room, fortunately, and he slid on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt before venturing to see who it was.

  “Ziad,” he said in surprise, and then he frowned. “What's wrong?”

  “Things don't have to be wrong for me to want to see you,” Ziad said, coming in, and Fahim shook his head.

  “If you wanted a friendly visit, you would have asked me out for coffee,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Something's going on.”

  “I need to stop forgetting how sharp you are,” Ziad said wryly. “The palace communication team forwarded me a letter last night. I thought you should look at it. I just sent it to your inbox.”

  Frowning, Fahim pulled up his email on his phone, and as he read, he could feel a cold descend over him, something so chilly that he was surprised it didn't frost his eyelashes or turn his fingertips blue with cold. The rambling thing addressed to the palace's press office went on for three whole pages, three pages too long as far as Fahim was concerned. The only thing that kept him reading past the first disjointed paragraph about how Rose had always been a “lost soul in need of direction” was his formal training as a lawyer. He gritted his teeth, continued to the end, managed to avoid actually spitting when he got to Darius Bright's signature, and carefully laid his phone aside so he wouldn't throw it.

  “Before you fly off into a rage,” Ziad said, “I want you to know that I don't believe a word of it. Bright can hardly be considered a reliable source, and I have seen nothing of the woman he describes there in Rose. She's never shown herself to be erratic or dependent on 'strong guidance' or any nonsense of that sort. He's not describing Rose, and her position here and with my children is safe.”

  Fahim nodded, more relieved than he cared to be. He wanted Rose to be safe, but he couldn't argue with Ziad about the safety of his children. He had no idea what he might have done if his brother had chosen to believe otherwise.

  “That's good,” he said, “but that Bright would send this letter—”

  Ziad nodded soberly.

  “He sounds unhinged, possibly unstable. Do you think Rose is safe with this man lurking around and throwing aspersions at her?”

  “So far, it's only been aspersions. They're insidious, but Bright has been clever enough to steer clear of anything actionable. But no, I don't like the idea that this lunatic has his eyes on Rose. I would appreciate it if you could beef up the security detail.”

  “Yes, I think that would be a good idea. Which brings me to my next point. You say Bright has been careful to avoid anything that would be actionable. However, some of these things are his experiences, and very open to interpretation. Do you think he might go public with any of it? If he does, I don't want Jamila to get any wrong ideas about Rose. Is there anything we can do to shut him up before it gets to that point?”

  Fahim thought for a moment and shook his head reluctantly.

  “This kind of case—he said/she said, conducted across international borders—gets tricky. Even issuing a cease and desist might start more fires than it puts out. Rose wanted things kept quiet, and so far, I think we should respect that.”

  Ziad nodded, and Fahim thought that his brother was going to take his leave, but instead, Ziad paused, giving Fahim an appraising look.

  “And you, how are you doing with all this? I know you're fine, I know this is your job…but this is hardly a normal situation, is it?”

  “No, it isn't,” Fahim admitted. “Honestly, I'm worried. Bright sent Rose some texts a few days ago while we were in Tel Aviv. She's been a little shaken since then.”

  “You should go see her. She's bound to be feeling nervous and ill at ease no matter how secure the palace is.”

  “Giving me love advice, big brother?” asked Fahim dryly. “That's never been a thing you did.”

  “Times change,” Ziad said expansively. “Besides, my job is to look out for my family. That includes you now, and in a way, it includes Rose.”

  It was good advice, even if he somewhat resented Ziad taking that paternal tone, so after Ziad left, Fahim went looking for Rose. It was going to be several hours before she held class for Jamila and Hasan, but she wasn't in her suite, and the maid wasn't sure where she had gone.

  As Fahim searched, his fears rose up, the ones that seeing that email had had roused from sleep. It wasn't doing what Bright intended it to do, but the email reminded him of what a precarious position Rose had been in when he had hired her, how it had been his choice to bring her on, his choice to fall in love with her. Was his brother going to have to explain how terrible people were to Jamila? Were they all falling in love with Rose only to lose her?

  He realized with a wince that for the past few days, he hadn't been thinking about Darius Bright at all. He should have been. Fahim was the family's guardian as much as his brothers were, even if his own realm was drier and less passionate and showy. He had been sleeping on the job.

  He found Rose at the pond in her favorite spot, trailing her fingers through the water for the fish to follow. Just seeing her smile eased something in him, but Fahim had not come as far as he had by being easy or by trusting calm appearances.

  “How are you doing today?” he asked, coming to sit beside her.

  “Good,” she said, closing her hand over his. “Calmer today. I'm going over the lesson plans for this afternoon and getting some sun.”

  Fahim hated to disturb her rest, but he knew he had to.

  “Listen, Rose…”

  She listened as he told her about the email. He was truthful about what was in it, and he winced as her eyes went deep and dark, as she almost seemed to draw in on herself. By the end, she was as pale as a leaf, and he had no idea how to comfort her.

  “Do you think there is anything we can do to make Darius go away?” he asked.

  “Give him what he wants,” she said hollowly, and Fahim shook his head.

  “Under no circumstances,” he said, his voice steel, and the fleeting look of comfort across her face made his chest ache. He shook his head.

  “That isn't an option. Do you have any other ideas?”

  She took a deep breath, pulling her hand away from his. She looked into the water as if it might have some answers, and perhaps it did because she turned back to him.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked, and he wondered if there was an odd, hopeful tone in her voice.

  Fahim let out a long breath and shook his head.

  “We're still in the planning stages. I'll tell you later what Ziad and I come up with.”