The next few weeks were a merry-go-round of highs with Khabib, and lows alone at home, hating myself after my latest call with his parents. Sure, at this point, I was telling them more lies than truths, but it still tore me up inside to lie to Khabib. He was so caring, so giving, so charming. So perfect for me.

Every day that passed, I found myself caring for him more. Mornings were filled with his sweet, cheery texts, my favorite bagel on my desk already when I got in, glances over to see him smiling at me through the glass. Afternoons were lunches together, a baguette and cheese in the park, a shared giant strudel at the café nearby. Nights held dates, adventures, and escapes: walks on the beach, in the park, by the canyon; horseback riding through fields; hiking through forests; wandering through Disneyland, half-drunk with happiness and the whirling celebration of rides; dinners at every swanky restaurant in a five-mile radius; drinks at all the hottest clubs.

On Friday, he let me choose where we ate. As I prepared to do so my usual way, with my eyes closed and my finger landing on whatever place on the city map, Khabib smiled at me.

“Tonight’s a special night.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I frowned.

“So, shouldn’t you choose? What if my finger lands on a fast food joint?”

Khabib’s dazzling smile broadened.

“Then we’ll have a really special burger and fries.”

Closing my eyes, my finger landed on the location of “Pen and Pencil” on the map. Khabib’s smile fell, even if it was barely perceptible.

“This should be interesting.”

Why exactly, he didn’t reveal until much later.

The place, as I soon discovered, was a hip concept bar with an old-fashioned boarding-school theme, with a huge vintage map on the wall, blue, studded booth seats, and hardwood floors. Only once we’d chatted about work, about Khabib’s upcoming 30^th birthday, and about Oscar’s latest transgression (pooping on a trainer’s foot), did Khabib bring up the relevance of the theme.

“I went to boarding school, you know.”

I glanced at him, surprised.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“My parents thought it would prepare me for coming over here, since they always planned to have me move here to expand the family business. What they didn’t count on was how much I hated it.”

“The school?”

“Yeah, the school, the States, everything. I didn’t fit in, didn’t understand why things were so different here. I pleaded with my parents, but it was only once I got expelled that they finally let me go home and stay there. I vowed to never come back.”

Khabib looked downright upset now, while I wasn’t sure what to say. My head was so full of questions that it felt like it was spinning.

“Why…”

“I was homesick. All the other kids, they seemed to have no love or affection for their families, didn’t even seem to miss them. They didn’t seem to care about anything, really. It was fun for them, tormenting me.”

His eyes had an angry sheen and I clasped his hand.

“It was brave of you, coming back to the States.”

He shrugged.

“I knew I had to come back. I needed to prove it to myself, I think. That I was different. That I wasn’t the awkward little boy who couldn’t fit in anymore.”

I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it.

“Well, clearly you’ve succeeded in that.”

He nodded, although he wasn’t looking at me, wasn’t smiling either.

“Yes, I suppose in the way I wanted to, I did. I don’t find it hard to talk to people, not anymore. It’s just…”

“What?”

Now his gaze met mine.

“I still feel alone. More alone than ever before.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, being here, seeing your country like this…I can’t go back home now; I’ve adapted to the L.A. lifestyle too much. I feel like the worst kind of hybrid, one who still holds the value of his home, but has seen too much of a different world to go back and be happy there.”

Smiling absently, he clasped my hand with both of his.

“Because your country’s way of life Lucy, your equality—how plumber and business mogul alike can toast drinks at the bar—your skyscrapers and your gardens, your malls and innovation…there’s nothing like it in my home country.”

When he met my eye again, his face fell once more.

“And yet, as with everything, with good comes the bad. From what I’ve seen, many people here take their families for granted, live in the future, don’t enjoy what they have. It’s ironic—the people who have the most, being the unhappiest in the world.”

As he nodded, I found myself doing the same.

“It’s hard, living in such a fast-paced environment, where the name of the game is striving for success, no matter the consequences. I think it’s easy to forget what’s important, and who is important,” I said.

Khabib squeezed my hands once more and his face lit up. It was as if he’d said the words himself.

Just then, our waiter came up. Khabib turned to him.

“Please, could we have some cake to go? We have somewhere to be.”

The waiter nodded and, a minute or so later, reappeared with a brown bag filled with presumably cake, and the bill. Khabib paid, took the brown bag in one hand, and my fingers in his other. And then, we were off.

Outside, Khabib paused and turned to me.

“Did I mention that you look stunning tonight?”

I giggled, feeling my cheeks burn infuriatingly.

“You look pretty handsome yourself; though I’m sure you get that all the time.”

Khabib’s smile turned into a confused look.

“What do you mean?”

“I…all I meant was that I know about your reputation regarding women, Khabib.”

He dropped my hand.

“So, what—you don’t take this seriously, then? Us?”

I gaped at him.

“Well?”

Slowly, I shook my head.

“I really like you, Khabib. I just…”

“You just what?”

“You’re my boss, and I—”

The truth was swirling in me, threatening to boil over. You’re my boss, and I’m spying on you.

Khabib grabbed my hand again, his face looking intense.

“I was going to do this after a nice walk in the park, but clearly it can’t wait.”

He got out his phone.

“Hi, Howard. Yes—could you come a bit earlier? Yep, Griffith Field. Yeah, ten minutes would be perfect. See ya.”

As Khabib led me by the hand on a brisk walk, I searched his still-tense face for any indication of what that had been about, or where we were going.

“I thought you said…”

“You’ll see.”

And ten minutes later, in the middle of Griffith Field, I did see. No sooner had we set foot on the green than the helicopter started touching down.

“Khabib!”

At my awed expression, Khabib smiled, in spite of himself.

“Yeah, it’s really something, isn’t it?”

Inside, the helicopter was even more impressive. With red leather seats and black satin walls, it felt like I was in some James Bond getaway vehicle instead of Khabib’s personal helicopter.

“I didn’t take you in here just to brag,” Khabib explained with a smile. “We have a city to see.”

He leaned forward.

“Howard, you good to go?”

“Sure am, boss!”

And then the helicopter’s blades were whirring and we were rising. Higher and higher we went, at some point Khabib’s hand finding mine, both of us strapped in our seats, sneaking glances at each other when we thought the other wasn’t looking.

It was only once we were high, high up, once Los Angeles had been reduced to a collection of lovely lights, that Khabib spoke.

“I’m sorry for getting upset with you earlier.”

I could feel his gaze on me, yet couldn’t quite return it; not yet.

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I just…I really care about you, Lucy. More than I could have ever expected and hoped, and it scares me that you might not feel the same.”

I turned around to see his eyes on mine—intense, deep chocolate pools.

“Khabib, I—”

“I don’t know what’s happened to me. But ever since you moved into that office next to mine, I can hardly concentrate. Every other minute I have to see what you’re doing, what expression is on your face. My life has brightened in an undefinable way. I can’t say whether it’s your laugh, the way you blush when you’re embarrassed, the graceful way your body moves, or just the way you look at me when you think I can’t see. But I can, Lucy. I can see you—the real you—in all your splendor. The kind-hearted, fun-loving woman who every day challenges me to be half as good of a man as she sees me to be.”

His words were wonderful, horrible, snaking around my neck, choking me with how much I didn’t deserve them, or him. Now, his other hand was squeezing mine.

“What I’m trying to say, Lucy, is that I’ve never met anyone like you, and I won’t ever again. I want to try to be something with you—I don’t care that we work together, I don’t care what my parents will think. All I care about is making you as happy as you make me.”

My eyes were streaming, and I couldn’t stop looking at this man, this wonderful, surprising man who’d said all the words I’d been feeling for weeks, but hadn’t dared express myself.

“Lucy, what I’m trying to say, what I want to ask…is, will you be my girlfriend?”

The question was a slap in the face, a wakeup call. This was Khabib, my boss—my boss who I was spying on—who was asking me this question. My boss who I adored, and yet, could not accept, not yet. Khabib could see it written all over my face, too.

“I’m sorry, I… Was that too much, too soon?”

I shook my head and squeezed his hand back.

“Khabib, I can’t tell you how much I care for you. How much, from the start, you’ve surprised me with how caring and considerate you are. Every time I see you, it pains me to leave, and all I can think about every week is seeing you. But…this is a big step. With your parents and work, my mom and my job, everything…I need time. A few weeks, maybe, to figure everything out. Not whether I care for you, of course—I knew that the night of the launch. But of how we’re going to do this, how we’re going to make this work. Because, Khabib, I really want to make this work.”

The Sheikh was smiling blissfully, as dopily as I was probably smiling too.

“Of course—take all the time you need.” He pursed his lips. “All the time you need…up to a month.”

We laughed, our lips finding each other. As we kissed, I was enveloped with a whole new round of delighted giddiness. Khabib bin Samara cared about me, of all people! I was the one who he wanted to be his girlfriend, Khabib, the very womanizer who hadn’t settled down for a second since he got to LA. The first man who I could laugh with and be my true self around, the first man who I could see myself really loving and having a future with.

And yet, as we broke away, I was reminded of the real reason I couldn’t agree to his request. I was spying on him, for the very family he was willing to defy to be with me, no less.

“Lucy, is something the matter? You’ve been quiet all night. Was it something I said?”

I avoided his gaze, keeping mine on our intertwined hands.

Now was my chance. I had to tell him, to get this off my chest. I had to be truthful with him, let him decide what to do with me—the real me, not the flawless one he’d made up in his head.

And yet, when I looked at Khabib, at his handsome, understanding face, I couldn’t do it. No, I could see it now, how that same happy face would crumple with hatred once I told him the truth. Those warm eyes would never be able to look at me the same again, never again be able to trust me. I couldn’t ruin this perfect moment, no. I couldn’t tell him now.

“It’s nothing, just all the planning for your party, it’s a bit more than I expected. And then there’s Mom—she hasn’t been following the doctor’s orders or taking her prescription how she’s supposed to. Just a lot going on.”

“Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry. I hope she’s okay.”

I waved my hand, relieved at the quick save, which wasn’t completely a lie.

“It’s fine. I’ll manage.” I kissed him again and took his face in my hands. “Thank you, Khabib. For tonight, for these past few weeks, for everything. You’ve been more than I could’ve ever hoped for.”

The Sheikh kissed my forehead, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“As have you, my darling, as have you.”

My heart was fluttering, but when I turned to look out the window, it toppled to the floor. Now that I knew what I had to do next, I felt even worse. It wasn’t going to be easy.