The next two days went by in a fuzzy blur. Time moved both too fast to retain any detail and so slow that it was bewildering. Heather's excitement made it difficult to focus on anything. She kept getting caught up in fairy-tale fantasies and memories of that first dinner together. Under it all, however, was a persistent worry. He still thought she was a professional model.
It was a lie of omission, really. She'd been modeling, technically, when she’d met him. She hadn't really said anything that was untrue. But every day she let him go on thinking she was something she wasn't, the bigger the lie became. She'd tell him on Wednesday; she was certain.
Through Monday and Tuesday, as she went about her work, she continued to text and occasionally call him, chatting in his few idle moments. She quickly realized he was incredibly busy, much more so than she'd expected him to be, given his career. He barely had a spare minute between business meetings, events, and the studio time he needed to design and create.
He attended several fashion shows a day, even when his work wasn’t being shown. Being seen at them and socializing with critics and others in his field was a critical part of the job. He also managed his own storefront as well as displays in major stores around the world, and he collaborated with other designers. Actual design work was often pushed to the end of the day, and he'd stay up late into the evening working only to get up early the next day and do it all again. After only two days of talking, Heather could tell he was working too hard. It seemed like he didn't have much in his life at that point except work.
Wednesday arrived at last, and Heather took Chloe downstairs to drop her off with her mother only to find Linda on the way out the door.
"Thank goodness," Linda said when she spotted them. "I was about to go up there and tell you. I can't watch Chloe tonight."
"What?" Heather’s heart plummeted down to her shoes. "What's wrong?"
"It's Eleanor," Linda said. "My friend from bridge club? She collapsed and she's in the hospital. Her son is flying in, and I have to pick him up from the airport. Things aren't looking good, and I really want to be there for her."
"Of course," Heather said at once, stunned. "Don't even worry about it. You should be there."
"Thank you, darling." Linda kissed Heather's cheek gratefully. "I'm so sorry about this. I'll see you both tomorrow."
She hurried off, leaving Heather standing in the hall and wondering what she should do now.
"Mom?" Chloe asked, looking up at her. "What about your date?"
Heather took Chloe back upstairs to their apartment and, reluctantly, called Altair.
"Hello," he answered cheerfully. "Are you on your way? I might be running a bit late—"
"No. It's just that a problem has come up," Heather said, her regret audible. "My mother usually watches Chloe, but she had an emergency and can't tonight. It's too late to find another sitter. Is it okay if we reschedule?"
"Why don't you bring Chloe with you?" Altair said without missing a beat. "I can change our reservation to somewhere more family friendly."
"You don't mind?" Heather asked, surprised.
Altair laughed. "Not if you don't. I told you, I like kids."
"I just don't want to make things awkward for our first real date," Heather said, her heart racing at even calling it that.
"I'm sure it will be fine," Altair said. "From everything you've told me, Chloe is a smart, wonderful girl. We'll have a great time."
"Thank you, Altair," Heather said, her affection for him glowing like an ember in her chest. "I'll see you soon."
She hung up and looked down at Chloe, who was staring back at her with starry eyes.
"Did you hear that?" Heather asked.
"I'm gonna have dinner with a prince!" Chloe shrieked. "I have to change!"
She ran off to her room, and Heather practically had to drag her out of her closet again before she tried on everything she owned.
Heather wore one of her nicest dresses, a floor-length, sleeveless, midnight blue, sheath gown. She normally reserved it for catering weddings and other events where, for one reason or another, her chef's whites weren't appropriate. She wasn't sure what level of dress was appropriate for dinner with a sheikh, so she'd decided it was better to overdress than underdress. Chloe ended up in her Easter Sunday outfit, which was pink and yellow and decidedly frilly.
They met Altair outside the restaurant, and Heather was pleased to see he was wearing a fine black suit that her dress wouldn't look out of place next to.
"You look stunning," he said when he saw her, taking her out of the view of the street before he hugged her. "And you must be Chloe. I love the dress."
He offered a hand to Chloe, who took it and executed her best curtsy, imitated from the hundreds of times she'd rewatched Cinderella. Altair laughed, amused, and bowed back accordingly.
"I'm sorry again about changing our plans," Heather said, but Altair quickly dismissed her concern.
"It's absolutely fine," he said. "I should be thanking you. Tonight I get to have two beautiful girls on my arm."
Chloe giggled, flattered, and Heather smiled. Together they headed into the restaurant, the maître de leading them to their reserved table in a sheltered alcove near the kitchen. They could watch the chef work while also having a degree of privacy from the rest of the dining room.
"This is a fantastic seat," Heather said as they sat down.
"I had a feeling you'd enjoy seeing the cooking as it happened," Altair said as he settled into his seat, unbuttoning his suit jacket deftly. "If we stay late enough, I may be able to get you the chance to talk with the head chef. If you're interested, that is."
"Oh, I would love that," Heather said, overwhelmed. "But I don't want to impose—"
"It's nothing," Altair said, shaking his head. "I want you to have the best evening possible tonight. It's the least I can do to repay you for helping me out at my show last weekend."
"I'm pretty sure you've already repaid me for that a few times over," Heather said with a laugh.
"Maybe I just enjoy indulging you," Altair said, and he winked playfully.
Chloe, sitting up as straight as possible beside Heather as she read her menu, was doing her best to imitate the princesses from her movies, but she was clearly struggling to resist her excitement and curiosity.
"Are you really a prince?" she asked, losing the fight.
"Not precisely," Altair said, smiling. "But it's close enough to the truth. I am the brother of the Sheikh of my country, which is kind of like a king. My title is also sheikh, however."
"Doesn't that get confusing?" Chloe asked, tilting her head.
"Not really," Altair replied. "But then, I grew up with it. One thing I didn't grow up with was a subway system. Now that's confusing."
They all laughed at that, and soon the waitress arrived to take their orders.
Once the food was on its way, conversation resumed, though Heather was frequently distracted by the activity in the kitchen, which she watched with a powerful interest.
"Mom can do that," Chloe said as they watched a line cook skillfully spin his knives as he chopped vegetables. "She can do it faster, I bet."
"I like to show off in the kitchen sometimes," Heather said, laughing.
"Mom's the best at cooking," Chloe said proudly. "Everybody says so."
"I used to think my mother was the best cook in the world," Altair said fondly.
"Nana Linda is definitely not the best. Right, honey?" Heather said, shifting the conversation away from her cooking abilities. "Remember that tuna casserole last week?"
Chloe shuddered dramatically.
"Nana tries," she said, "but she should probably stop trying."
Altair laughed, and the conversation continued on the topic of Chloe's grandmother. Heather was relieved to see it moving away from her cooking. She didn't want the catering business to come up and have to lie about it. She'd planned to tell Altair she wasn't a model tonight, but she couldn't tell him in front of her daughter. It was too embarrassing. She'd tell him next time.
The food soon arrived, and it was, as Heather had expected, phenomenal. Even Chloe devoured it enthusiastically, and she was usually wary of more modern, “weird” foods. Heather eagerly explained the techniques and ingredients to Altair, who, despite being a little lost, seemed actively interested, if only because Heather found it exciting.
After a little while, the conversation shifted to Altair's work, and Heather listened to him describe the surprisingly involved process of designing a shoe. She was fascinated by his passion as much as by the actual subject. Chloe, having lost interest, was doodling dresses on a sketchpad Altair had provided.
"Everyone's trying to push innovation in shape," Altair said as they picked at their desserts, "which is a fruitless endeavor. The field has been more or less stagnant for decades. You can't push much beyond the basic pump and have something still remotely wearable. There was the armadillo heel, what, a decade ago? And even that can't be sold commercially. Half the models refused to do the show, they were so afraid of the things."
"I thought wearability wasn't the point," Heather teased. "Your shoes weren't exactly the height of comfort either."
He smiled, an amused glint in his green eyes.
"No," he said. "But with commercial editing, they're marketable—unlike that mess I saw earlier this year with a second false shoe sticking out of the heel of the first shoe. Honestly, what is the point of that? I went to six shows yesterday, and every single one of them had some kind of absurd attempt at reinventing the heel."
"Six shows?" Heather's eyes widened. "Isn't that a bit much for one day?"
"I've done more," Altair said, shaking his head. "I did around twenty a day, one after another, for several days during New York fashion week one year."
"How did you not die?" Heather asked, wide-eyed at the thought of working so many events in a row. Even if the shows only lasted an hour or less...
"Caffeine, primarily," Altair said with a small laugh. "Gallons of it."
He paused, looking like he'd surprised himself with an unpleasant memory.
"That was also right after my wife left me," he said quietly. "So I was...reluctant to go home."
"I know the feeling," Heather said gently. "I was a mess after Chloe's father left."
"She wasn't a mess after Craig though," Chloe said proudly. "She slammed the door right in his face!"
"Craig?" Altair asked curiously.
Heather sighed. "My ex. We broke up about a month ago."
"He was a jerk," Chloe informed Altair as Heather wilted in embarrassment. "I’m glad he’s gone. She let him come back a bunch of times, but this time he’s definitely gone."
"That's enough, sweetheart." Heather patted Chloe's hand. "Sheikh Altair really doesn't need to hear about Craig."
"I'm curious," Altair said, frowning. "What ended the relationship this time?"
"Nothing unusual," Heather said with a sigh, realizing she wasn't going to escape this topic. "He ran off with another woman."
"I take it this wasn't the first time," Altair said sympathetically.
"No." Heather looked away, humiliation making her skin crawl even remembering it. "I let it happen too many times."
"Love can blind us," Altair said with surprising gentleness. "And the desire to be loved even more so. Even when love is not there, the need to create even an illusion of love can drive us to forgive the unforgivable, if only to go on imagining happiness is possible a little while longer. Starting over from nothing can seem so much more unbearable than enduring the collapse of what we already have in a false hope that it can be saved."
"You've spent some time thinking about this," Heather said, hearing her own worries in his words.
"I told you about my wife," he said, frowning down at his plate. "The man she eventually left me for was not her first foray outside the bounds of our marriage vows. It can be very difficult to continue trusting after trust has been broken that way."
Heather nodded in understanding. She'd been there.
"My first thought when Chloe mentioned another man was suspicion,” he confessed. "I won't let that control me, but the feeling is there regardless."
"Craig is never going to be a part of my life again," Heather said. "And I would never do what he did to me to anyone else."
"I'm glad." Altair smiled at her, sitting back. "That kind of dishonesty, it's poison to a relationship."
Heather felt a twinge of guilt and had to look away. Sure, she wasn't cheating on him, but she wasn't being honest either. Would he be able to forgive her if she told him? The longer she waited, the worse it was going to get.
She shook off her nerves as they finished their meal and lingered at the table over coffee until the restaurant was beginning to close and Chloe was becoming restless with boredom.
"I think it's time," Altair said, glancing at his watch. He stood and offered Heather a hand. "This way."
Chloe followed as he led Heather to the kitchen, knocking on the open doorframe.
"Is Chef Antonia busy?" he asked when the line cooks looked up. "We'd like a word."
One of them went and got the chef, a short Italian woman with dark straight hair. She shook Heather's hand.
"I am a huge fan of your work," Heather said, her heart fluttering with excitement at meeting the woman. "Tonight was spectacular, but I've been following your progress for a while. The photos in that article in Food and Wine last month looked amazing."
"Thank you," Chef Antonia said proudly. "Are you a chef?"
Chloe opened her mouth to answer for Heather, and Heather stopped her quickly.
"Not really," she said. "I love cooking, though. I wanted to ask how you did that infusion with the lamb earlier tonight. I couldn't figure it out, but it was incredible."
"I have a little time," Antonia said with a smile. "Anything for a friend of the Sheikh. He designed my shoes for the last James Beard Gala. Want me to show you?"
"Really?" Heather's heart just about stopped. "You wouldn't mind?"
Antonia laughed. "Not at all. And I have some spare desserts for the little one."
She winked at Chloe, who looked thrilled.
Heather watched in frank awe as Antonia worked. Altair kept an eye on Chloe, sharing desserts with her at a small kitchen table.
"You really know what you're doing," Antonia said after Heather easily picked up on a technique she was describing. "Are you sure you don't have training?"
"Four years of culinary school," Heather said without thinking. She scrambled quickly to cover. "I just kind of stumbled into the modeling thing recently, so—"
"So cooking is your fallback," Antonia said with a laugh. "No need to hide it. Whatever makes you happy, you know?"
Heather relaxed, relieved, and watched over the chef's shoulder as she demonstrated a tricky knife technique.
"And it seems like you really make Altair happy," Antonia said idly. "He's been a friend for a long time. I'd really hate to see him get his heart broken again."
She gave Heather a significant look, spinning the knife in her fingers.
"Just be honest with him," Antonia said. "And if you aren't serious about him, say so now. He doesn't need anyone leading him on. You seem like a good person, but I've been wrong before."
Heather nodded, swallowing a guilty lump in her throat. Antonia eyed her one last time and then returned her focus to the food.
"Now, pay attention to this cut. If you go against the grain, it's going to come out ragged and uneven..."
Afterward, they left the restaurant and walked through the cool, fragrant night toward Altair’s car. Chloe, stuffed full of dessert and up past her bedtime, rode on Altair's shoulders, dozing on his head.
"Thank you so much for letting me bring her tonight," Heather said. Altair's hand was warm in hers, and she felt like she was walking on air. "I had an incredible time."
"As did I," Altair replied. "I really needed tonight."
"You really shouldn't work so much," Heather said, concerned. "You're going to burn yourself out."
"Everyone says that," Altair said with a small laugh. "But it's easier to just work. There isn't much else in my life to focus on. Or at least, there wasn't until I met you."
He smiled down at her, squeezing her hand, and Heather felt her heart skip a beat.
"Well, if it means you'll take more days off, I'm happy to occupy an evening or two a week for you," Heather joked, smiling.
"You really are too perfect," Altair murmured, pausing to touch her cheek, brushing her hair back behind her ear. "I keep waiting for the catch."
"Me too," Heather said. "It feels like I'm not allowed to be this happy. Something has to go wrong."
Altair nodded, the same feeling reflected in those beautiful green eyes.
"If it does, I promise to do everything I can to make it right," he said.
"Maybe it would be easier to just let go," Heather said a little sadly. "You said it yourself earlier. Holding on to something that can't be fixed isn't good for us."
"How do we know what can't be fixed until we've tried to fix it?" he asked. "I don't think I have it in me not to try."
She smiled at him, her heart aching. He really was incredible—kind and strong and brilliant. He was even good with Chloe. If there was even the tiniest chance this could work, she had to take it.
"But that's talk for another time," Altair said, squeezing her hand as they started walking again. "Nothing has gone wrong yet. And hopefully nothing will for a good long time."
Heather smiled, nodding in agreement, and together they walked to Altair's car. He drove them home, and Heather put Chloe to bed before falling into her own, feeling like a princess in a fairy tale. It would surely all go to pumpkins eventually, but for right now she was so happy she could hardly see straight.
The only flaw in her otherwise glowing evening was knowing that, eventually, she was going to have to tell Altair the truth. Cinderella was a maid, not a princess, and she was a caterer, not a model. It was not a conversation she was looking forward to having. She would tell him the next time she saw him, she told herself. And if that was the end of her time with the Sheikh, then she would have to accept that, even if the thought made her feel like her heart would break.