There was a moment, a single moment, where a look of hurt fluttered over Rose's face, but it was gone so quickly he thought he might have imagined it.

  “Sure,” she said quietly. “I have a lesson to plan.”

  Fahim nodded farewell, and then, feeling as if he had forgotten something, he went back to his office to plan out a defensive strategy.

  13

  Rose knew she wasn't at her best during the lesson, but Jamila and Hasan didn't seem to notice, banging away as happily as ever on the small hand drums she had found for them. They were more enthusiastic than skilled, but that called to mind plenty of successful drummers she knew. They would learn in time, and right now, their enthusiasm drowned out her own fears, and that was just fine.

  She was distracted when Maryam came to look in on them, and she startled when Maryam called her name.

  “Oh! Maryam, I am so sorry…”

  “No, dear, not to worry. I assume these two have been running you ragged.”

  “Oh no, they're always a delight,” Rose protested, but Maryam only smiled her mischievous smile, the one that made it hard to believe she was a widowed grandmother.

  “Oh, darling, I have raised three children—I know what a fib that is,” she said. “Anyway, I was going to ask if you cared for lunch and spot of retail therapy. I was planning to take Jamila out, and oh, I thought maybe it would be nice to give you an afternoon out as well.”

  “An afternoon out with you and Jamila?” Rose said hesitantly. “I don't want to get in the way…”

  “You wouldn't be in the way, silly, you would be going with us,” Jamila said happily. “Nana will take us out and buy whatever we want to eat.”

  “It's true,” said Maryam with a twinkle in her eye, “I will, given the least excuse. I was thinking of taking you to one of my favorite teahouses. They do the loveliest fusion of French and Yeni cuisine…”

  In the end, despite Rose's persistent fear that she was interrupting, she gave in, and after that, there was no time or space to feel as if she were intruding because Maryam was there, talking a mile a minute, always with a clever observation or suggestion or joke. Jamila adored her grandmother, and it was easy to see why. Maryam's relentless energy and wit took Rose right out of her doubts and straight into a world of tea cakes and silk scarves.

  Lunch was as delightful as Maryam had promised, with boxes of pastries set aside to bring back for everyone else, and then set out for Maryam's favorite boutiques. Rose hung back at first, afraid of the publicity, but Maryam only smiled a little sharply.

  “My dear, I have been shopping at these boutiques since I was first married, and it caters to women just like me. You cannot imagine that paparazzi would be tolerated here.”

  Rose swallowed against the strange feeling of being protected, of being calmly cared for as if she were just as much Maryam's family as Laura or Sarah were. She found a smile for Maryam, and then Jamila was curious about the rings and pendants so she had to be shown those, and Maryam told them both a story about the sapphire that her husband had gotten her for their first anniversary.

  These are Fahim's parents, Rose thought with a deep warmth growing inside her. They're the people who made him what he is, into the man I love so much.

  Things were going so well that Rose let her guard down and even started to dream about some of these clothes for herself. Maryam turned to see her holding a gray dress up to her body in the mirror.

  “Oh no, Rose, you are far too young for that. That just drinks the color from you. Here, let me see…”

  Bemused, Rose set the gray dress aside, and Maryam brought her a dress in a pale green silk, something so light it seemed as if a breath could carry it away.

  “Ah, see, much nicer. You have a bit of red and yellow in your skin tone—”

  “I do?”

  “You do, and you need a livelier color to make you shine. Though perhaps we should stop for some makeup for you as well, something less subtle than what you usually wear.”

  Rose laughed a little at how completely Maryam was taking charge of it all, and smiling in return, Maryam reached up to brush a stray strand of hair behind Rose's ear.

  One moment Rose was laughing, and the next tears had come to her eyes, big, fat tears that stung and that ran down her cheeks whether she wanted them to or not.

  “Oh, no,” Rose whispered, but before she could flee, Maryam had taken her hand firmly, and turned to look for Jamila, who was examining a rack of ceramic bracelets closely.

  “My pearl,” she said, “why don't you choose a bracelet for yourself? It'll be a present from me to you, and when you are done, please help Nana out by choosing one for Laura as well. Her birthday is coming up.”

  Jamila chirped her assent, and Maryam drew Rose to a small alcove displaying gorgeous little ceramic pots and incense holders.

  “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” Rose said. “I don't want to spoil anything, and—”

  Her words cut off abruptly as Maryam took her into her arms, holding her firmly and stroking her back in large circles.

  “It's all right, sweetheart. It's all right. You let it go if you have to.”

  Apparently, all she had been waiting for was permission, because she broke into a fit of silent sobs, short but so violent it felt as if her body was being shaken to its core. When she finally managed to calm herself, she pulled away from Maryam, scrubbing her cheeks and blowing her nose with the tissues the older woman had produced from somewhere.

  “I'm so sorry—”

  “You've been holding on to that for a while, haven't you?” Maryam asked gently.

  “Years,” Rose said with a slightly wet giggle. “When you pushed my hair back from my face, it just…I guess it made me think of my mom.”

  “Ah,” said Maryam sympathetically. “You no longer speak?”

  “No, not at all. It was…well, it was my fault, really. I believed Darius when he said that my parents were controlling, not wanting us to go out and tour, wanting to keep track of my money and—and manage me. Looking back, I can see how they might have some feelings about their eighteen-year-old daughter running off to tour the world in her rock band. Then, of course, I had no idea.”

  “So you haven't spoken to them since?”

  “No. We've been radio silent for almost eight years now. We still talked when Rive started doing shows and touring, but it didn't last. I was eighteen, I thought I knew everything. I was such a—I was so awful during those last few conversations. I can't believe they would ever want to hear from me again.”

  Maryam pursed her lips thoughtfully.

  “Of course you know better than I do, Rose, as they are your parents. But speaking as a parent myself, you have done nothing that can't be fixed. There are many other problems in your life that have been caused by that man, but you are fixing them now, aren't you?”

  Rose was saved from replying by Jamila coming over with not only a bracelet for Laura, but one for Sarah and one for Rose as well.

  “Don't look, Rose,” Jamila said earnestly. “I want it to be a surprise.”

  Obligingly, Rose closed her eyes, and Maryam made an approving sound.

  “Very good, Jamila, but did you get one for yourself?”

  “No, Nana, they were all so pretty I couldn't decide!”

  “Well, I'll go pick one out for you, and that will be a nice surprise for you too!”

  Rose's mind was full on the car ride home, so she was startled when she heard the noise welling up in front of them as they drove up to the palace gates. Just as Maryam asked what was going on, they turned the corner to see a mob of reporters with cameras at the entrance, the noise rising up to a roar.

  “Nana, Rose, what's going on?” asked Jamila worriedly.

  “Nothing for you to worry about, my darling,” Maryam said soothingly, and then she pulled her phone out of her purse.

  “This is Maryam Khalid, and I want a contingent of palace security at the main entrance immediately to clear the way for our limousine,” she said crisply, giving instructions with the calm and confidence of a field general.

  Rose stared at the mass of reporters through the limousine's tinted windows, and Jamila came to curl against her side.

  “Are they angry with us?” Jamila asked, wide-eyed, and Rose shook her head.

  “They're not angry with you, baby,” Rose promised her, a hollow feeling in her stomach. “Uh oh, I think they've seen us.”

  Maryam's mouth tightened as she pressed the phone to her shoulder.

  “I think you are right.”

  Maryam leaned forward to speak into the intercom to the driver on the other side of the partition.

  “Approach the gate. The security team will meet us. Slowly, I don't want anyone hurt, but do not stop moving forward.”

  The driver answered in the affirmative, and the limousine started pulling forward as the crowd turned like some kind of awful monster, registering their presence for the first time. They swarmed the car, and the limousine slowed even further as cameras were pressed to the glass, looking for a picture, and questions were shouted.

  Oh God.

  Rose heard the words “ended tour” and “Darius Bright,” and her heart pounded in her chest.

  “Rose, you're holding me too tight,” Jamila complained, and guiltily, Rose loosened her grip.

  The reporters were all around them now, shouting questions through the glass. She knew that the windows were too dark for them to see much and that the cameras certainly wouldn't be able to catch anything, but her skin crawled at how close they were, how their voices rose up loud and demanding. She wished she could cover Jamila's ears against their noise; she wished she could cover her own at the same time.

  The car rocked as one over-enthusiastic reporter hit it rather hard. Jamila yelped in surprise, and Rose wrapped her arm over her more firmly, keeping her face averted from the window. The car was still moving. The gates were right there. It would be over soon.

  Suddenly the crowd shifted. Palace security had come out to clear the way, and the car picked up to a normal speed as it went through the gates. The gates clanged shut behind them, and abruptly there was quiet.

  Rose let out a long breath, and Maryam squeezed her arm.

  “It can be quite beastly sometimes, can't it?” she asked with sympathy.

  “You're talking like this is normal,” Rose said, not sure if she was relieved or upset.

  “It's not, but it is a thing that happens. We have professional staff who are trained to handle it when it does. Don’t let it get to you—everything is quite all right.”

  Rose was starting to feel better as the car halted in the underground garage, well away from the crowd. The driver let them out, and they were met at the elevator by Ziad and Fahim.

  The moment she saw her father, Jamila ran straight into his arms, and he hefted her up to hold her against his chest.

  “It's all right, sweetheart,” Ziad said, his voice gentler than Rose had ever heard it. “They're just looking for a story. They won't hurt you.”

  “They want bad stories,” Jamila said furiously. “I heard the maids talking about them. They should just mind their own business.”

  “I can already see you are going to have a great relationship with the press when you grow up,” the king said wryly, and Rose started to smile when Fahim came up, pulling her to one side. For one relieved moment she only wanted to melt into his arms, but his face was taut with tension as he offered her his tablet.

  “Have you seen this?”

  Biting her lip, she watched the video he had cued up, Darius holding a press conference. He was dressed neatly in a suit she didn't recognize, and he wasn't mugging for the camera as he usually did—no sly jokes, no rude gestures. Instead, he looked positively respectable as he told the crowd that his next concert was going to be the last for a while.

  “I've been doing a lot of thinking,” he said, looking down. “Right now, I need to do what's right for my child, mine and Rose's. Rose, if you're listening, I only want the best for you and for our kid.”

  She winced as he touched the silver pendant around his neck.

  “What's that mean?” Fahim asked, and she shook her head.

  “I had the same pendant. He bought them for us after we signed our first record deal. He was so excited. You know, he doesn't come from a good family. It was a big deal for us to be able to afford something like that.”

  “Did you keep yours?” Fahim asked, his voice careful, and she laughed.

  “Tossed it when I ran. Best decision ever.”

  She handed the tablet back to Fahim, squaring her shoulders. He needed this conversation to be professional, apparently, and she could handle that.

  “So what comes next?”

  “Ziad and I are working on that,” he said. “We'll let you know what we come up with. Right now, why don't you go to your suite and get some rest? All this trouble—it won't be good for the baby.”

  Rose flinched a little at the word trouble, but Fahim reached over to squeeze her hand. It was more comforting than she thought possible, and he gave her a smile, small but real.

  “It'll be all right. Go on.”

  She went to her suite, but instead of resting, she got her phone out. All these years, and she still had the number saved.

  She dialed, and she wondered if it would connect. Would they choose to take the call? They wouldn't recognize her new number. Would she find that another family had their old number now and her parents had moved on? She hadn't stayed in one place, maybe they hadn't either.

  After a small eternity, someone picked up the phone, and tears sprang to her eyes at the slight pause and then the soft throat-clearing sound that her father always made when he answered the phone. Rose was so overwhelmed that she couldn't speak, her hand tightening so hard on the phone that she was startled that she hadn't broken it.

  “Hello?” her father asked. “Is anyone there?”

  He's there! He's still there, and even if he never wants to hear from me again, he's still there, he's still him!

  “Hello?” he repeated, slightly sharp, and then, more hesitantly, “Rose? Rose, honey, is that you?”

  That was what broke the dam inside her. The hope in his voice, as well as the longing, reached her as nothing else had and she sobbed.

  “Hi, Dad,” she managed.

  14

  Fahim couldn't seem to stop pacing. Ziad had abandoned him twenty minutes ago with a sigh.

  “We're going around in circles,” the sheikh had said, shaking his head. “You've told us that we are already taking the strongest measures we can take legally. I'm telling you that the security is going to be upgraded to an appropriate level. If Bright tries anything, he will be met with extreme prejudice and made to wish that he hadn't. There's nothing else to do at this point.”

  Fahim had seethed, because he knew his brother was right, and Ziad clapped him on the shoulder.

  “I'm going to see about spending some time with Jamila. She's pretty angry on Rose's behalf, but I think she's a little more rattled than she lets on. Laura's got her right now, and I want to make sure she's not getting worn out. Take care of yourself, all right, Fahim? This is going to be all right.”

  But it wasn't all right. In less than twenty-four hours, Darius Bright had put the palace on alert, terrorized Jamila, irritated his mother, bothered Ziad and Rose…

  Fahim couldn't stop a dark tide of anger rising over him when he thought about Rose getting out of the car, steady as a rock but so very pale. No one in the world should ever make her look like that, and he hated Darius Bright in a way he hadn't before.

  He picked up his phone, looking at it for a long moment. Ziad was right—he had done everything that was appropriate for him to do as a lawyer—maybe it was time to make things a little more personal.

  He had Bright's information through the background checks he had ordered, and now when he dialed the rock star's number, a cold calm settled over him. The fury was there, so strong that he wondered if he would ever be free of it, but he wasn't sure he had ever seen things so clearly.

  Bright picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Who is this? How'd you get this number?”

  “Darius Bright, I am Fahim Khalid, legal counsel for the royal family of Yeni and brother to the sheikh. What you are doing is despicable, and it will not be tolerated. If you persist in following this course of action, this is what will happen. I will have a restraining order issued against you on Rose's behalf in Yeni. If you ever set foot in my country, there will be a warrant out for your arrest, and believe me, I would take pleasure in knowing that you are in jail.”

  “You can't—”

  “I think you may be surprised at what I can do,” Fahim said coolly. “On top of that, I will issue an order banning not only you from the country but also everyone related to your band. If you won't consider what the news will make of you, think of what it will make of that.”

  “Finally, if you persist, I will do everything I can to make sure Rose's side of the story gets out. Believe me when I say that with Khalid money behind it, her voice will drown yours out. You need to think very carefully about what you want to do next.”

  Fahim expected Darius to laugh or maybe to swear at him. He had thought the other man, given his reputation, might simply shout abuse. Instead, there was a long pause, and when Darius spoke, his voice was pained.

  “Look, man,” he said, “I don't know what Rose told you, but I'm just worried about her. You can do what you want, but fuck, I'm not going to hurt her. I never would. She's my life.”

  “When your life runs and cuts all ties with you, you may want to reconsider how you’ve been living,” Fahim said. “I've told you what you need to know. What you do with it is your business.”

  He hung up.

  Fahim took a deep breath, and then another. Slowly, the urge to find Darius and personally wring his neck was going down. He had never been like Imran or even Ziad, prone to passionate outbursts, and he refused to start now. This was for the best. This was the way things had to proceed, with clear boundaries and lines drawn.