The show had gone well. Better, even, than Ophelia had hoped. There had been something about that stage, that audience. She’d felt as if she was floating above everything from a great height. It had been all bright and wonderful, and she was proud and happy.

And completely, utterly exhausted.

The time difference, combined with the stress of the tour and all the last-minute changes to it, had left her in a more than usual post-show slump. As she peeled herself out of her costume in her dressing room, her thoughts wandered to the hotel room waiting for her, just a few minutes’ cab ride away. The softness of the sheets. The blackout curtains and the seemingly perfect sound isolation. The hot tub with the jets…if she were somehow able to avoid just climbing into the impossibly comfortable bed and passing out.

She was in a state of longing euphoria as she began cleansing her face of the heavy layer of stage makeup, when a knock on the door startled her.

“Come in!” she called out lazily, after making sure her dressing gown was on and closed, just in case the new owner was milling about backstage.

But she needn’t have bothered. It was only Katie, who had somehow had the opposite reaction to the show. Instead of exhaustion, the girl seemed to be vibrating.

“Did you hear?” she asked, and Ophelia noticed—not for the first time—that Katie’s voice went up almost a full octave when she was excited.

“Hear what? Was there something I was supposed to hear?”

“We’re all going out to dinner!”

Ophelia returned to the mirror and went back to removing her makeup.

“Oh, okay. Have fun, then. I think I’ve had more than enough excitement for one day.”

At that, the younger girl came all the way into the dressing room. Ophelia noticed that she had managed, already, to get out of her costume and makeup, and put on the perfect dress for an exciting night out, and re-apply her makeup to go from stage to evening. How she still had the energy to jump up and perch on the side of Ophelia’s dressing table, Ophelia had no idea.

“But you have to come! Everyone’s going. And the place we’re going to is supposed to be the best restaurant in London. Or, at least, that’s what people are saying. No idea how the Sheikh got the reservation at the last moment, but I guess being royal can have its privileges…”

Ophelia felt her hands stop moving involuntarily.

“The Sheikh? He’s here?”

Katie looked at her quizzically.

“Did I not say that? Yeah, the Sheikh’s taking us out. He saw the performance tonight, apparently, and was really pleased, and wants to take us all out to celebrate.”

Ophelia stared at her half-cleaned face in the mirror—foaming cleanser, blurred mascara, and all. The perfect, wonderful image of her hotel room— and the immediate sleep that it promised—would have to wait.

“I’m going to need a minute,” she told Katie, who squealed and ran off, doubtless to go ruin some other tired dancer’s evening.

He was here.

The thought of it kept reoccurring to Ophelia as she got ready for an evening out rather than an evening in. She didn’t know why she found it so shocking. He was the owner of the company, after all, and this had been the first performance with him as the owner. Why shouldn’t he be here? It would make more sense than anything.

But, at the same time, she felt somehow foolish for not knowing—as though her knowing he was there, sitting in the audience, would have changed anything.

She resented the space in her mind that this stranger, who had waltzed in with his pile of money and upset her life, was taking up. She resented that she was now going out to dinner, instead of going to bed, even though she rationally knew that it was her choice, and she could still very well go back to the hotel if she wished to.

But the instant she got to the restaurant, and sat down, and saw that she had, by chance, been seated quite a way down from where he sat at the head of one of their reserved tables, she found that she resented even more that she was not next to him.

She was tired. That was it. That was why her mind and her emotions were making no sense, she figured. She shook her head, trying to clear the weird haze of Sheikh-influenced thoughts and emotions from her mind, and focused on dinner.

The food did not disappoint. Ophelia couldn’t say for certain if it was the best restaurant in London, but she could certainly say that it was the best food she’d ever eaten, by quite a margin. And, between the amazing four-course meal, and the wine that paired perfectly with the food that she didn’t remember ordering, she found herself relaxing more and more, and letting her exhaustion turn from a problem to a source of calm.

Ophelia could barely remember, now, what she’d been so upset about. This evening was certainly better than any bed, no matter how perfect the bed at her hotel certainly was. All was well in the world.

So relaxed was she that she didn’t even startle when a voice, deep and firm, wound its way into her left ear.

“Ophelia? I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve missed getting to speak with you this evening. Would you be up for a walk along the river?”

Her exhausted body said no. Her brain, that knew she had another performance the next day, and that she needed to get some sleep to remain at the top of her game, said no. Her better judgement, which had been warned about rich men and their entitled attitudes, said no.

But, as a surprise to every other part of herself, Ophelia heard her mouth say yes.