When Rashid gently shook me and murmured in my ear, “Nearly there, now,” I almost jumped out of my seat.

At his chuckling, I stretched my arms high in the air. “I was sleeping?”

He nodded, smiling. “You just had your eyes closed for about ten hours, so my best guess is maybe.”

I gave him a light tap on the shoulder, which only served to further broaden his smile.

“I also wanted to warn you, though. About what to expect when we get off the plane.”

Just then, the seatbelt light came on and the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Hello again, just a heads-up that we’re ten minutes away from touching down, so it’s going to get a little bumpy. Make sure to strap yourselves in and enjoy the rest of the ride.”

I did so, at the same time as dryly reflecting that the second part of his recommendation, that of me enjoying the ride, was unlikely. Just then, turbulence picked up.

Squeezing my hand, Rashid continued. “There will probably be paparazzi and camera crews. I let my parents know as soon as you told me you’d come, and they let everyone else know, apparently. This is a big deal for my country. I just wanted to let you know so that you wouldn’t be overwhelmed.”

I could only manage a queasy smile. The plane dipped, my stomach flip-flopped, and I was unsure if it was due to the turbulence or what was set to happen once we landed.

I hated being the center of attention; as a child I had flat-out refused to perform for speeches and plays in school—a stage fright that no amount of punishment or coercion could dissuade me from. And now, I was going to be striding off a plane in front of cameras and paparazzi, broadcasting my arrival to thousands—possibly hundreds of thousands—of people. It was a nightmare come true.

The plane landed all too soon. As soon as the wheels touched the ground, the uneasiness in my stomach increased. The pilot was saying something else and Rashid was squeezing my hand encouragingly, but all I could notice was that the air in the plane had suddenly become thick; I was nearly hyperventilating.

“You okay?” Rashid asked as the plane rolled to a halt.

I nodded. By the time I’d gotten up on my shaky legs, however, and taken his arm, there was no more lying. No, when I reached the door and watched it open to reveal an actual army of blinding lights and deafening shouts, I was paralyzed. Everything was too loud and too bright, and I was frozen. I was trapped. And yet, in the blaring, searing swirl, I heard him.

“Lacie. Lacie.” I felt him, his warm hand squeezing mine. “You ready?”

I looked at Rashid, his kind, confident face, and I nodded. And, as I walked down the steps, I reflected that this time it hadn’t been a lie. No, the cameras were still snapping pictures every millisecond, the paparazzi were still howling over each other like hungry dogs…and yet, it was okay—all of it.

I was okay. Not because I was different or because this was any less overwhelming than before. No, all my calm was concentrated in the clasped hand by my side—the hand of the understanding, powerful man who knew what he was doing, the hand of the man who had my back, who would support me through this. The hand of my possible husband-to-be.

The sea of paparazzi parted as we made our way through the crowd, and, when one, clear shout reached us—“Rashid, how are you feeling right now?”—Rashid grinned and replied, “Happy.”

And then, we were stepping into a dark-windowed limo, Rashid closed the door, and it was over.

“Are you all right?” Rashid was looking at me with concern, his easy bravado gone.

I found my breath and squeezed his hand. “Yes, yes I am.”

Rashid’s worried gaze didn’t let up at my affirmation. “You looked like a deer in headlights back there.”

“I was,” I laughed. “That was pretty overwhelming. I’ll explain another time.”

Rashid indicated for the driver to head off, then turned to me. “I look forward to hearing the story.”

“Thanks for being so understanding.”

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Though, I wouldn’t say no to you telling me everything right here and now.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “Okay, well, let’s see. My favorite color is purple, I like to play badminton, and I hate salami.”

Rashid’s face transformed in mock-horror. “Are you being serious? You hate salami?”

When I gave him a sad nod, he responded with a supportive pat. “Well, nobody’s perfect.”

I shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t say that…” I said with a wink.

We laughed together at that. The rest of the ride was more playful, easy banter. Every time the conversation lagged, every time I started to notice how ridiculously good Rashid smelled, or how beautiful his gold-flecked eyes were, or worry that maybe we wouldn’t get along as well as it seemed, the conversation picked up again. Talking to him was like breathing; it may have paused or slowed, but it was easy—undeniably, incredibly easy.

By the time the limo had come to a stop and the door was opened, my face hurt from smiling so much. As he stepped out, Rashid gave the attendant who’d opened it an appreciative smile and thanked him, before turning his attention back to me.

“So, what do you think?”

I had to tear my gaze from his handsome face to see what he meant—the palace he was indicating behind him.

I gasped. My eyes, couldn’t decide where to stop, whether it was the lush acres of garden all around the majestic building, the ten-foot-high fountain in front of it, or the palace itself. And palace was even too paltry of a word for the structure, for it was made of ivory-white pillars and gold trellises, everything topped off with a large, teal dome.

No, this building before me was something between a temple and a palace, a fairy tale and a dream.

Self-consciously, I cleared my throat before speaking. “Rashid, it’s the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen.”

Rashid didn’t even turn to look at it. Clearly pleased, he came up to me, took my arm in his, and smiled down at me.

“Thank you, Lacie. Thank you.” Seeing the question in my face, he continued, “For everything.”

Inside, the palace was one spell-binding sight after another. There was a library the size of the one in my neighborhood, with bookshelves as tall as elephants, everything a green-upholstered and dark-wooded vision. There was a pool bigger than I’d ever seen, with clear blue waters fanning out like the horizon on the sea. The kitchen looked like that of a small restaurant, while the bathroom was the size of my whole house, with a silver jet tub so shiny, it almost looked like a mirror.

Rashid saved the best for last: the marble-floored, tastefully decorated room he explained was his own. He opened the blinds, then gestured out to his backyard, which was a natural paradise, with lush trees and exotic plants alike.

“When the sun shines into the room in the morning, I…” He shook his head. “Of course, you aren’t expected to sleep here until after the ceremony. Or ever, if you prefer.”

The last words he said with a touch of sadness that made me impulsively grab his hand.

“Rashid, I…”

But he was already continuing on down the hallway.

“Let me show you your room.”

And then, I was speechless once more before this latest gorgeous sight. A purple-themed room, with a mauve satin-sheeted bed, lilac curtains, and a plum-colored armchair.

“As soon as you mentioned what your favorite color was, I knew this room had to be yours. It was…” He fell silent, then shook his head as if shaking a thought away. “I think you should have it.”

I hugged him, grinning. “Rashid, thank you.”

But, suddenly, the mood had dampened. Drawing himself away, Rashid addressed me monotonously, as if I were a stranger.

“In a few minutes, we’ll have dinner with my parents. I’ll come get you in twenty.”

And then, he was gone, leaving me wondering what had caused the change and what I was supposed to do about it. As I slumped onto my new bed, a glance in the silver-bordered mirror revealed that I was as ill-dressed for a meal with the Sheikh and Sheikha as I had expected.

At the sound of someone at the door, I walked over to see that Rashid or someone had hung a dress bag on the door handle. So, taking it and closing the door, I set to changing. Pulling on the gown wasn’t easy, but a quick look in the mirror revealed that my trouble had been more than worth it.

I looked…

“Stunning,” Rashid said when he came to the door a few minutes later. He was smiling as if he’d never hurried off strangely at all, so I took his hand with a smile of my own.

“Thanks. Whoever left it by my door must have good taste.”

Rashid nodded with a gleam in his eye. “Mm, exquisite taste, actually.”

The dinner with Rashid’s parents started off well enough. The food was delicious—succulent lamb, spiced chicken, stuffed grape leaves, crisp salads—there seemed to be no end to the dishes that were placed before us.

The conversation was pleasant enough, too. Rashid’s beautiful, elegant mother, Salma, asked me about fashion and shopping in the U.S., and was insistent that I could be a model in Zayed-Kharan with my looks. Rashid’s father, Jamal—a somewhat frail-looking older man with a thick mustache—talked to me about badminton; he apparently used to play before his health took a turn.

Then, Jamal let slip that our wedding was in ten days. I shot Rashid a surprised look, but he only nodded in acknowledgement.

“Yes, the day seems to have crept up on me, too.”

I said nothing and tried not to let it show in my face how disappointed I was—and afraid. I guess I’d figured I’d have more time with Rashid—ten days was only a little over a week. My reverie, however, was broken by Rashid’s mother.

“That dress, it’s beautiful and…familiar. Where did you get it?”

“Thank you. Rashid got it for me.”

At this, her face froze, while her gaze shot to Rashid.

“Where did you find it?”

Rashid, for his part, only shrugged and waved his hand.

“Oh, I found it hanging it one of the rooms. One of the old, unused closets. I figured it was one of your old things. You don’t mind, do you?”

Salma’s face had grown white, like she’d seen a ghost. “No, no… I…of course not.”

Rashid noticed the change in his mother’s face, too.

“Mother? I’m sorry, should I have asked? Mother… Oh…”

Now, his face was miserable with understanding, too. He closed his eyes for a moment and, when he opened them, they were directed to her, almost pleading.

“It didn’t belong to…”

Both his mother and father looked ready to sink into the table, while Rashid jerked upright.

Rising, he addressed his parents regretfully. “I’m so sorry. Mother, Father, I…We will be retiring now.”

Not knowing what else to do, I got up from the table as well. They could only manage half-hearted nods as we strode away.

As we made our way up the winding marble staircase, Rashid avoided my gaze. Once we’d reached the top, speaking in a bleak, monotone voice, he said, “I’ll bid you good night, now, Lacie. If you need anything, just let one of the attendants know. There’s a little bell in your room if you need to talk to them.”

He left without a second glance at me. Back in my room, I gave myself a more involved tour of the place. The dark, wooden furniture was gorgeous, and everything perfectly matched. The bed was made of wrought iron which had been hammered into complex, swirling patterns, and even the phone on the dresser was a coordinated matte black.

The phone. I stared at it for a minute before picking it up and dialing the U.S. area code, followed by my parents’ phone number. My dad picked up on the third ring.

“Lacie?”

It was then that I remembered the time difference.

“Sorry, Dad, what time is it there?”

“Almost noon, honey. Glad we didn’t miss you during lunch.”

“Oh, sorry. Do you want me to call back later so you guys can eat?”

“No.” His voice became stronger-sounding and more cheerful. “No, not at all. Please, Lacie, your mother and I want to hear about your trip.”

At his trusting, enthusiastic voice, I sighed. No, I couldn’t keep this from them a minute longer. I needed to tell someone.

“Dad, what if I were to tell you that I met an Arabian king-in-waiting and that he had proposed to me?”

Dad laughed. “C’mon, Lacie, tell us where you really went. We’re dying to know.”

“Dad, I’m not joking.”

Through the phone, I heard a sharp intake of breath, then Dad’s voice again, sounding tired.

“I’m putting your mother on the phone.”

A second later, I heard my mom’s strained voice.

“Hi honey, how are things?”

“They’re good.”

“What’s this about a prince and a proposal?”

I laughed.

“Okay, so it’s a bit crazy, and I probably shouldn’t have said it like that. But there’s this man I met, Rashid, at the cellphone store. Turns out he’s a Sheikh, next in line to the throne in this tiny Middle Eastern country, Zayed-Kharan. He needs a…bride within two weeks; otherwise, he can’t become leader. He offered me a huge amount of money—a million dollars—if I agreed, so I said yes.”

Silence.

“Well, I said probably. I have ten days until the ceremony to decide.”

More silence.

“He’s been really generous and understanding so far, and hasn’t pushed me into anything. He flew me here in his private jet and has me staying in his palace.”

An even longer, more awkward silence.

“Mom, I know it’s a lot to take in at once, and it sounds kind of crazy, but it’s perfect, don’t you see? With this money, I can take care of you, Dad, all of us. I won’t have to live in that horrible dump and you can get the care you need, and—”

I was cut short by her half-strangled sob.

“Mom? Mom, what is it?”

Her voice was tear-filled and heartbreaking.

“I…your father and I…we never thought that it would come to this. That you would have given up not only your career for us, but now your heart, too.”

“Mom, it’s not like that. I mean, I don’t know Rashid really well, but we do get along great, and—”

“No, no. I can’t agree with this. This is too much. After all this disease has made you give up for me, for us—I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You’re not, Mom; this is something I want to do, something I know is right.”

“Do you, though? Do you know that it’s right?”

Her insistent question caught me off guard. I found myself speechless, staring off into space. I’d known Rashid for less than a week, and after today’s strange occurrences, did I really know for certain that this was a wise decision?

“Mom, I…”

“Just think about it, Lacie, please. I always imagined that the day of your wedding would mean so much more, would be the culmination of a beautiful love story, a love story that my beautiful daughter deserved. So, please, before you decide, before you throw your heart away to save me, please, just think about it. Really think if this—living away from your family and friends, married to a man you don’t love—is really what you want. Please, promise me that you’ll at least think this over.”

Filled with doubt and emotion, all I could manage to say in my own strained voice was, “Okay, Mom, I promise. I will.”

I stayed on the line for another minute, my head buzzing with things to say, more explanations. Like how Rashid and I had the same sense of humor, how this did feel right…mostly. But then, I thought of Rashid’s strange silences today, the scene at the dinner table, and I realized that as charming and handsome as this man was, I didn’t really know him at all.

I could hear my Mom’s sad rasps of breath and, after another futile minute, I couldn’t take it. So, with a husky “Bye, I love you,” I hung up the phone.

There was nothing left to do but turn off the light, collapse into bed, stare at the ceiling and, once again, will myself to sleep—this time, miserable for an entirely different reason.