“This is City Hall?” Eloise asked rhetorically, stunned.

It looked like another palace. It was the bright colors that did it, she thought. This bold stonework was so different from what she was used to back home. She rested her hand on a tall column, following it upward with her eyes. It rose to an arch on either side that connected it with the adjacent columns. Eloise had seen on their approach that the columns spanned the perimeter of the building, which had a domed top and a golden spire.

No wonder Masoud wanted to be an architect, she thought. He’s living in an architect’s playground.

Masoud took her arm, and Eloise was grateful—the heels she wore under her dress were probably an inch higher than what she was used to, and her equilibrium was off. Plus, it gave her an excuse to cling to him as they made their way inside. They laughed together at her wobbly gait, but secretly, Eloise was enjoying the fact that she had to stick close to him, that he had to keep an arm wrapped around her for fear of her toppling over.

A man in a tuxedo held the door open for them, bowing slightly as they entered. Heads turned as Masoud stepped into the room and Eloise wondered who everyone imagined her to be. Someone important, probably. Someone wealthy. Maybe a visiting royal from another country. She felt like Cinderella at the ball, raising a stir by making everyone wonder who she was.

Masoud didn’t even seem to notice the attention. “Forgive me,” he said, turning to Eloise. “I have a few people to greet.”

“Oh. Right. Go ahead. I’ll just, um…” she glanced around, hoping to spot the bar.

“Come with me?”

“Really?”

“You don’t have to, if you feel you would be bored.”

“Oh, not at all!”

On the contrary, Eloise was excited by the prospect of being introduced to the kind of people Masoud was likely to have an obligation to greet. And, truth be told, she was extremely curious to see how he would explain her presence.

But he didn’t seem to feel a need to explain her at all. “This is Eloise,” he said again and again, resting a hand on her back. “And, Eloise, this is our head of national security.” Or, “This is the foreign secretary.”

The person to whom she was being introduced would always bow deeply, which made Eloise feel awkward because she was certain they were all more important that she was. Shouldn’t she be the one bowing to them? Or was she supposed to curtsy? What were the rules?

“You’re doing great,” Masoud assured her as Al-Zhera’s treasurer wandered off in search of a drink. “Just relax.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to embarrass you in front of all these important people.”

Masoud laughed. “You understand I’m more important than most of these people, right?”

“You are? Why?”

“Because I’m a sheikh.”

“But you’re not…you know. The Sheikh.”

“And?”

“Isn’t your royalty mostly symbolic?”

“You tell me,” he said. “You’ve been with me all day, now. Did it seem symbolic to you?”

She had to admit, it didn’t. Thinking about the way they’d been treated in the store, the fact that the saleswomen had fallen all over themselves to produce dresses for Eloise, made it clear that the people of Al-Zhera regarded Masoud as someone to be respected. The fact that he wasn’t in political power didn’t seem to make a difference to the way the people saw him.

And it hadn’t made much of a difference in his life so far either, she supposed. After all, hadn’t he grown up in a palace? Hadn’t he attended balls and state dinners, and wasn’t he just as wealthy as anyone could hope to be? If anything, it was probably advantageous to be in Masoud’s position, to have all the perks and benefits that came along with being a member of the royal family without any of the high-pressure concerns of running a country.

“Do you want to do a lap?” he asked.

Eloise nodded, feeling that this would get them away from the crowds and the necessity to meet and shake hands with any more dignitaries, at least for a while.

Masoud took her arm and led her out onto the promenade, which circumnavigated the building. It was a stone path situated between the interior of City Hall and the columns Eloise had noticed on the way in. Someone had taken the initiative to string a series of lanterns from the ceiling, which gave the area a sort of ethereal glow. Eloise felt like she had left the party far behind, like she and Masoud were all alone out here.

“How often do you come to these things?” she asked him as they set off on a slow-paced walk around the perimeter.

“Once or twice a month,” he said. “This is one of the nicer ones, because it’s a celebration of a holiday. Everyone’s just here to eat, drink, and have a good time. I predict that as the night goes on, people will start to loosen up, and then it will really be fun.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “What’ll happen?”

“Nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “More dancing. Less formality in conversations. I’m not overly fond of formality, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” she said. “Although I do love this dress.”

He smiled. “Well, that’s something we can agree on.”

“What other types of parties do you have to go to? Other than on holidays?”

“Usually it’s something involving official state business. Last month, for example, we had a president from another country visiting, and there was a celebration on his behalf.”

Eloise felt a little thrill at the idea of such important guests. “Can you tell me who it was?”

Masoud laughed. “I can’t, actually. His visit was confidential.”

“But was it our president?”

“Of the United States? No.”

“Oh.”

In a way, that was too bad. Eloise didn’t think of herself as a political person, but it would have been exciting to think that their worlds had collided in that peripheral kind of way before they had even met.

They walked on in silence for a time, Eloise’s thoughts spinning a mile a minute. Earlier, she had been certain that their day together didn’t count as a date, no matter how swept off her feet she felt by Masoud’s increasingly grand gestures. But suddenly, she wasn’t sure. Here she was, at an elegant party, in a gorgeous dress, walking arm in arm with an attractive man by moonlight. Did it get any more date-like than this?

But it couldn’t be, could it? Why would a sheikh want to bring her anywhere as his date?

I don’t know why, she thought, but hasn’t he done just that?

Hadn’t he introduced her to the important people at this party, the men and women who held high offices in his country? He hadn’t been afraid to let anyone see that he was here with her. And she knew, from her experiences today, that when Masoud did anything, people talked about it. It was inevitable that people would ask who the girl in the blue dress had been and what she had been doing with the young member of the royal family.

Maybe they’ll let me know the answer to that question once they figure it out.

“Are you cold?” Masoud asked. “Would you like my jacket?”

The night air was warm, actually. It was much warmer than back home. In fact, with the blazing sun out of the sky, Eloise felt more comfortable than she had all day. But the idea of Masoud’s jacked wrapped around her bare shoulders was awfully tempting.

“That would be lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”

He helped her into it, his fingertips grazing her collarbone and almost stopping her breath. Eloise clutched at the cuffs of the jacket and gazed up at him, wondering. How much of today had been deliberate? Did he know what she was thinking, what she was feeling? Had he intended it?

Did he intend to do something about it?

* * *

They completed their circuit of the promenade and headed back inside. The band was playing now, and though the dance floor was still mostly empty, a few couples had dared to move out onto it. Eloise hoped she would be able to grab a drink before Masoud directed them that way. The champagne she’d had at the dress shop had worn off, and she was feeling too shy to dance without any liquid courage.

“Should we get something to eat?” Masoud asked.

Eloise’s stomach grumbled in response; suddenly and to her surprise, she was ravenous. How long had it been since their lunch? Several hours, at least. She followed Masoud eagerly to a table full of small plates.

He picked one up. “Try this.”

It looked almost like salsa—a pile of parsley, tomatoes, and a grain, like couscous. The plate also contained two triangles of pita bread.

“What is it?”

“Tabbouleh.” He scraped some onto the bread with a fork and held it out to her. “Go on. It’s delicious.”

Eloise took a bite. The flavors of olive oil and lemon flooded her mouth, cut by the vegetables and bread. “Wow.”

“It’s good, right?” Masoud took a plate of his own.

“It’s amazing.”

“It’s my favorite food.”

“Really?”

“My mother makes it. Hers is better, of course. At home, we don’t even eat it on bread, we just put it in a bowl and eat it like a salad.”

Eloise laughed. “Like a taco salad.”

“A what?” Did he know what a taco was? She realized he might not. “I’ll show you sometime,” she said, liking the thought of a future sometime where they could explore Mexican cuisine together. Even if it would never come to pass, even though she was probably talking nonsense, it was fun to let herself pretend.

He picked up another dish and handed it to her. It was a triangular pastry, clearly stuffed with some kind of filling.

“Ooh, I know this one. Samosa,” she said.

“That’s right, though it’s known as a ‘sambousek’ here.” Masoud looked pleased. “These are stuffed with lamb, peas, and onions.”

“I’ve never had them with lamb.” Eloise took a bite. “It’s good.”

“It’s traditional in Al-Zhera. You can almost never find them with beef or potatoes or any other stock ingredient, because Al-Zherans are so offended when anyone gives them one that isn’t lamb. That’s not a sambousek, we say.”

Eloise laughed. “There are definitely things like that back home.”

She thought of her extended family getting together every Christmas and fighting over whose part of the country made pizza ‘the right way.’

“Wait here,” Masoud said, steering her over to the wall. “I’ll go get us some drinks.”

She watched him retreat into the crowd, towards the bar. They were still hitting it off so well. It seemed miraculous. Eloise wandered back over to the food table, picked up a plate, and scooped up some hummus with crudités. Returning to her spot by the wall, she scanned the crowd idly.

If she’d known about this party for more than fifteen minutes before arriving, she supposed she would have fretted, worrying that her dress was wrong. It didn’t seem to be, though. A lot of the guests wore similar gowns. Those who didn’t were outfitted in more traditional garb. It didn’t seem to be a problem that the guests wore such a variety of attire, so Eloise told herself not to feel self-conscious.

Masoud reappeared, a drink in each hand. “What is this?” Eloise asked, accepting hers. “More traditional fare?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d like Al-Zheran liquor, so I just got you a vodka soda,” he said. “We can be more adventurous later, if you’d prefer that.”

“I might,” she said. “This is perfect for now.”

“Come on. I want you to meet someone.”

“I thought we were done meeting someones!” she said playfully.

“Yes, but my cousin has just arrived, and you really do need to meet him. And I want to say hello, too.” He tugged lightly on her wrist, almost childlike in his excitement. “Come on.”

“You want me to meet your cousin?”

“Of course!”

Eloise couldn’t believe it. Always before, the men she had been involved with had run for the hills at the mere suggestion that she meet a member of their families. She had been perplexed by the behavior for years before Alani had explained to her that by meeting their families, she was becoming a permanent figure in their lives. Men didn’t want their mothers asking them what had happened. They didn’t want to make explanations for where she had gone; it made her harder to get rid of.

Why wasn’t Masoud showing the same reservations?

They stopped in front of a man who appeared to be a couple of years younger than Masoud. He was bare-chinned and bright-eyed, talking enigmatically to a crowd of people.

“Ah!” he said, spotting Masoud and breaking away from the group. He strode over and the two men hugged enthusiastically.

“Eloise,” Masoud said, “this is my cousin, Ahmad Khan, first in line to the throne of Al-Zhera. Ahmad, this is my date tonight, Eloise Lang, from the world of finance.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” Ahmad Khan bowed.

Eloise was flustered. “Oh. Um. I, uh, Your Highness…”

The man laughed. “Call me Ahmad! Any friend of Masoud’s is a friend of mine.”

“Okay,” Eloise agreed, knowing there was no way she could possibly call him by his first name.

The band struck up another song.

“I’m so sorry I can’t stay and get to know you better,” Ahmad said. “I’m supposed to be meeting my father—I’m five minutes late, in fact. He’s arranged for me to escort someone tonight…it’s going to be a disaster, Masoud. I don’t know why they don’t give up on getting me married.”

Masoud laughed. “I can’t wait to hear about it. Try not to scare her too badly.”

“I will. And you,” he turned to Eloise. “Make sure this one treats you right. If he doesn’t, you can send a letter of complaint to the palace and we’ll handle it.”

Eloise managed a smile, and Ahmad ran off.

“He is nothing but trouble,” Masoud laughed. “Would you like to dance?”

“Here?” In the palace ballroom with no one watching had been one thing, but this was public. “Everyone will see us.”

“So?”

“Am I allowed to dance with you?”

“I’m asking you to, aren’t I?”

He held out his hand. Slowly, Eloise took it.

“Did you call me your date?”

“Maybe. Would it be okay if I did?”

She hesitated. What would it mean, to be his date? Were there real feelings between them, or was this just about tonight? Would she ever see him again after this?

Either way, she realized, the answer was the same. Whether this moment was the end of a beautiful day or the beginning of something more, there was only one way she wanted it to be. There was only one thing she wanted to do.

“I’d be honored,” she said, and took his hand, allowing him to pull her into a dance.