The Sheikh was a few paces away by the time I caught up to him.

“Khabib, wait.”

He grinned.

“Yes...?”

Taking his arm, I declared, “I’m coming with you.”

As we walked out, I told him, “But it’s only so I don’t finish off that pastry plate.”

We laughed together and he grinned wolfishly.

“It’s something, isn’t it? Every one of those little pastries is different, a custom design. Delicious.”

We were outside then, in the night, and Khabib’s hand slipped to mine, guiding me.

“Now, there’s something I want to show you.”

“I don’t know, Khabib…”

He was leading me past the lit-up windows of the Majestic, towards its abandoned, tree-filled back.

“That’s ‘Boss’, to you.”

Another chuckle and we were there at the edge of a hill. The Sheikh sat down, and I sat down beside him, looking out at the lights half-visible through the trees.

“It’s something, isn’t it?”

I let myself relax, taking the view in and trying to remember to breathe.

“It’s beautiful.”

His hand was still in mine.

“It’s silly but, being here, in your country—my country, now—I enjoy the wildness, sure, all the things I couldn’t do back home like the clubs, dancing, drinks…women. I enjoy it, sure, but it’s the simple things like this, the quiet majesty of nature, that I find myself drawn to, time and again, no matter what else I’ve been doing.”

In the quiet, I found my voice.

“I’m the same. The wild nights you talk about…they never attracted me, I never really enjoyed any of it—the drinking, dancing, that sort of fun—until I met you. Nature, though, quiet nights with Oscar or my mom…for me, nothing beats them.”

“Why not?”

Khabib’s fingers were clasping and reclasping mine, as if untwining the balled-up truth I didn’t want to tell him.

“I’ve never really thought about it, but I guess it’s because of my mom. Too much drinking and craziness gave her a boyfriend and me a dad who didn’t give a damn. She was always well-meaning, but she had it tough. She got her dream job but, years later, lost it for no good reason. She started drinking again, and then she fell, ended up in a wheelchair. She’s not drinking now.”

At this sudden, horrible admission, I pulled away my hand. Khabib caught me by the wrist.

“Lucy, I’m sorry.”

He was looking at me; I could feel him looking. But I couldn’t look back.

“No, I’m sorry. We should go back inside.”

Khabib turned my face to his. Then, I couldn’t look away, had to see. His gaze was flicking from my parted lips to my eyes, and his face came closer and closer to mine, then…

“You’re right, we should. I’m sorry.”

He took my arm, and led me inside without another word. The rest of the night was heavy with it, with what had almost happened, what I had almost let happen.

For the rest of the launch, I didn’t talk to him, could hardly look at him. Regardless, Khabib lingered by me for a few more minutes before giving up and doing the rounds, talking to all the people he was supposed to, saying all the things he was supposed to.

I didn’t know what to do, so I ate the pretty pastries that were just as delicious and unique as Khabib had claimed. I drank some more, watched as the people slowly filed out, steeled myself for what was coming. Once everyone was gone, Khabib waited a minute before coming over to me. And when he did, he looked sad.

“May I sit?”

I nodded, still not looking at him, and he sat down.

“Lucy, I…words can’t express how sorry I am. I never meant to disrespect you or take advantage of you. I just got carried away by the night, us talking.”

“It’s okay. I got carried away, too.”

I still didn’t look at him. As long as I didn’t look at him, when he was close like this, I would be fine.

“I…You probably want to go home now, right?”

I nodded again.

“Would you…want to take a test drive in the car with me first? I can drop you off in it; there’s just something I want to show you first.”

At my silence, he continued, “Please, Lucy, I really want to make it up to you.”

Standing up, I took a step back, then looked at him. No, I couldn’t say no to Khabib. Not now, and probably not ever again. Refusing the kiss had been hard enough. My heart felt heavy with guilt; the spying was getting to me.

“Okay.”

As soon as he took my arm, I knew I’d made a mistake. Every step we took only dug my crush in further. I couldn’t help but think about how delicious Khabib smelled, how comfortable my arm felt in his, how I wished I had let him kiss me.

Inside the car, it was worse. I sat in the front and was immediately aware of how close he was to me. How caring and funny he was, as he poked me to remind me to put on my seatbelt.

“If you die, I can’t ever make it up to you.”

The whole ride to wherever we were going was one easy conversation, one long laugh. Khabib seemed genuinely interested in me—my silly little scrapbooking hobby, how I still took Oscar to obedience courses time and again, even after he’d peed on one councilor, knocked one over with the force of his head-butt, and even frightened one into a corner with his exuberant barks.

When I explained, “Oscar just doesn’t like being told what to do. He doesn’t trust anyone other than my mom and me”, Khabib chuckled.

“What?”

“Your dog, you. That’s what I love most about you, Lucy. You see the best in everything.”

Suddenly, he wasn’t looking at the road anymore, but me. The light changed and the horn of a car behind us blared. Khabib jerked back to face the front, slamming his foot on the gas.

“Whoops. We’re almost there, anyway.”

“There” as it turned out, was nothing less than the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. After Khabib exchanged a few words and a grin with a guard in a booth and parked the car, he opened my door and took me there, to the low stone wall on a hill that overlooked the city. Then, he was sitting once again, patting the top of the wall beside him. I shook my head.

“I could fall.”

“Do you think I would let you fall?”

Silence, then we both laughed. Khabib crossed his arms and made a face, feigning annoyance.

“Get over here. I mean it.”

“All right, all right.”

I gingerly sat down beside him, clutching the wall with white knuckles.

He was close beside me, too close. I had sat too close to him and now it was too late to move; the whole sides of our bodies were touching, our legs nearly intertwined.

“Would you just look at that,” he said, though there was no need.

No, the sight before me, the spanning expanse of lights, the little celebrations of luminescence needed no introduction. This was Los Angeles, the City of Angels, of beauty, my home.

A soft finger brushed my cheek.

“You’re crying. Why?”

With his finger poised there, his face inches from mine, I was about to say it. To explain. But his gaze was flicking to my lips, and saw mine doing the same. So, it wasn’t his fault, really, what he did next. It was our fault.

His lips were soft and insistent, his hands equally so. It was like he was enveloping my entire body with his, like he had been waiting for this, wanting this, as long as I had. When we finally broke apart, when we were warm with arousal and excitement and breathless, he smiled again, gently.

“That was…” Remembering himself, his smile fell. “I’m sorry. Was that wrong of me?”

Now I was the one smiling, shaking my head.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Relief washed over his face, then he grinned again.

“Can I show you something else, then? One more thing?”

“I’d love you to.”

It was only when we were back in the car and on the road that he mentioned that that one more thing was in his penthouse apartment. Seeing me tense up, Khabib squeezed my hand.

“Spoiler alert: it’s my fat wiener dog.”

I smiled, and on we drove. By the time we pulled up to the towering skyscraper Khabib lived in, I didn’t feel so worried anymore. No, my worry only returned when we got to the top floor, when the elevator doors opened to reveal clear glass doors in front of the most stunning room I’d ever seen.

It was an open-concept room, which meant that his whole, huge apartment was also, in a way, also his bedroom. My attention was momentarily distracted by the fact that his place was nothing less than a lush, verdant paradise. Ornate pottery pieces housed plants on every table and in every corner, with more greenery hanging from the walls and ceiling.

“Did I mention I have a bit of a green thumb?”

Just then, the room was filled with high-pitched barking. Visible a bit of a ways off, wobbling towards us in a frenzied fervor, was—true as Khabib had described—a big, fat, wiener.

When the little brown dog did finally reach me, and I’d managed to get a pat in amidst his frantic barks, suddenly, he jumped up on his hind legs. With one final, now-jubilant yip, he licked my leg and rolled onto his back.

We both laughed, and Khabib took my hand, squeezing it.

“He’s easily won over, though I’ve never seen him react quite like that.”

Releasing my hand, he raised his to my cheek.

“Lucy, I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“I lied.”

Our gazes were locked. I was pretty sure that I knew exactly what he meant, but I asked all the same.

“About?”

“Why I brought you here.”

And then, as his lips hit mine and his hands picked up where they’d left off, I knew.

I wasn’t afraid or worried anymore. I was happy.