Tiffany awoke to the scent of garlic and tomatoes, and the sound of pasta bubbling in water. Righting herself on the bed, she rubbed her eyes, trying to remember how she had gotten there. But before she could process it, the Sheikh’s head popped into the doorway. He waved at her with an oven mitt gloved hand, giving her a goofy, yet still terribly handsome smile.

“I was just about to wake you,” he said.

Overcome with happiness, Tiffany returned his warm smile. Wordlessly, she followed him back toward the kitchen, where he’d set up a table with two chairs. A candle flickered in the center of the table, and he had already arranged the plates and cutlery. A slab of garlic bread was cooling on the stovetop. He gestured at the table a little sheepishly, his eyebrows high.

“Not bad for a sheikh?”

Tiffany was floored, and she felt herself begin to giggle. “I didn’t know you had it in you,” she said, her eyes wide.

“I told you about my mother, didn’t I?” the Sheikh said, helping her into a chair.

Tiffany nodded. She definitely remembered the conversation and how innocent he had seemed. How kind. Much more like the man before her, now.

“She taught me things like this,” he continued. “Life skills. Cleaning. Cooking. She told me that when I have children someday, that my wife would want me to do my part. She said that it’s sometimes the difference between a happy marriage and a very sad one.”

Tiffany shook her head, incredulous. “I would have never expected this of you.”

The Sheikh passed a plate towards her, sitting across from her and diving into his pasta. He watched as she took her first, tentative bite. The flavor was undeniably rich, making her eyes close. It was a perfect balance of tomato and garlic, rolled into each bite.

“That isn’t the only surprise,” he told her, watching her physical reaction. “The other is that I put the dishes away. And! I vacuumed.” He gestured at the apartment, noting her appreciative glance. “And there’s more to do.”

“There’s always more to do,” Tiffany whispered. She dropped her fork, growing apprehensive. What did the Sheikh expect from her in return?

“The last few months have been difficult,” he told her, his voice growing pure, deep. “When my father died so suddenly, I was shaken to the core. I had pushed him away, and I suffered for it. I was partying hard, but you probably knew that already. My father was so hurt, and the last words we shared were angry.”

“I saw you in the middle of it,” Tiffany whispered. “At the car show.”

“Not my proudest moment,” Kazra said. “When I got the call that my father had been taken to hospital, I was driving that very car. I remember the wind whipping through my hair. I remember the color of the sky. But as my father’s advisor informed me of his illness, I knew that none of it mattered anymore. I needed to start preparing to be Sheikh. I had so much to atone for.”

Tiffany sensed the pain in his eyes. Reaching across the table, she gripped his hand and held his eyes for a long time. “I’m so sorry you lost him,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” Kazra said. “It’s always discussed in vague terms, you know? People always say the country lost their ruler, their rock. But they never speak about the man that was lost. I lost my father. I’m an orphan now.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Tiffany murmured. She traced her finger over his knuckles, still holding his gaze.

“The minute I ascended to the throne, I felt different,” he continued, moving his hand to grip Tiffany’s. “I looked out across the crowd and saw thousands and thousands of people. People that were relying on me to lead them,” he sighed. His voice was heavier than it had been before. “I knew I needed to step up, become the Sheikh my father could be proud of. The kind of Sheikh he was. But more importantly, I needed to be a man that my mother could be proud of.”

“He was friends with my father,” Tiffany said, remembering the stories her dad had told her about the previous Sheikh and his days in the palace. “He’d tell me about his honesty, and compassion, but he also told me funny stories about the jokes he would play on people. How human he really was. I loved hearing it. Your father never lost his spark or his humor. He didn’t let his position get in the way of his humanity.”

“Never,” Kazra agreed. Glancing down at Tiffany’s stomach, he gripped her hand tighter. “And he would have been overjoyed that his friend, Mike Ashworth, was going to be a part of his family.”

“Even if it means that he has to step down from his position as Ambassador?” she asked.

“In the end, family is stronger than politics,” Kazra told her.

Tiffany inhaled his words. She realized, with a small gasp, that the Sheikh was her family, now, and that the man before her would be a part of her life, for good. If she allowed it.

“I want to apologize for everything,” Kazra said then. He threw his napkin onto the table and sighed heavily, his eyes closing. “I wish I didn’t have to confess all of my sins, but I know I caused you a great deal of hurt. And for that, I am sorry.”

Tiffany’s eyes glittered. “Did you really mean to hurt me?”

Kazra shifted his weight in his chair. His fingers fidgeted, making it seem he was searching for the right words. But in the end, there was nothing he could say except the truth.

“I think I might have,” he sighed. “Life was a game to me. I wanted to beat my friends at whatever game they chose and show them who was boss. I wanted to show my father that I could be as outrageous as I wanted to be and never lose the love of the country. And unfortunately, Tiffany, you fell into that line of fire. I can never take it back. I can only ask you to please, please forgive me. For the sake of our child, yes. But also for the sake of our friendship.”

Friendship. Tiffany’s heart hammered, hearing this word. She crossed her legs under the table, aware of how attracted she was to this man. She wished she could deny it.

“You’re an amazing woman, Tiffany,” Kazra told her, his eyes alight, “and I want to be in your life. I want to be in our child’s life. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this right.”

Silence hung heavily in the air around them. Tiffany remembered the long months, during which she’d been sure she’d never be able to forgive the Sheikh. But alone with him in her kitchen, with the food he’d prepared lying forgotten on the table in front of him, she felt something much, much different.

“It’s okay, Kazra,” she whispered, sending the past out the window with her simple words. “That was a million years ago, now. So much has changed.”

Relief flowed over the Sheikh’s face. He squeezed her hand once more, telling her, “That’s the single greatest news I’ve ever heard.”

The pair spoke amicably after that. The final mountain between them had been breached. They had nothing to do now but to get to know each other better. They’d be bringing a child into the world. And, as they continued to speak, Tiffany couldn’t help but think that she wanted the Sheikh to be there for all of the major events in her life; every tiny victory and every failure, no matter what.

Hours passed, without either of them noticing. Glancing at the clock, Tiffany realized it was very late. She gave him a curious smile, wondering what his end game was. Someone like Kazra always had an end game.

But no. He stood up from his chair, giving her a firm, honest smile. Although they’d been holding hands off and on the entire night, he’d done nothing more. He was attempting to earn back her trust.

He was succeeding.

After picking up the plates and cleaning the kitchen, the Sheikh bid her goodnight. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him, inhaling her scent. And then, he pulled back, making Tiffany want to cry out for more. After taking a step back, he placed his hand on her stomach.

“You look wonderful…” he said, his voice low. “Please. Let me know what else I can do for you.”

“There’s only so much time,” she whispered back. “Before I head back to the States.”

“Then we’ll make the most of it,” Kazra told her. “For his sake. And for ours.”