I met up with Alim the following morning, catching him in the corner of the little coffee shop between our penthouses. The place was bustling, filled with gorgeous women who studied me with interest. I nodded to them instinctively, still unaccustomed to the fact that I was going to get married—married!—to a woman I barely knew, all for a bet. Whatever. I was sure I’d done crazier things.

Alim eyed me suspiciously as I sat down, probably already aware of the secret that sizzled in my brain. He shoved a cappuccino toward me, gesturing. “I got this for you.”

“So thoughtful of you,” I told him, sounding sarcastic. I gave him a meaningful smile and took a long sip. “I don’t suppose you have anything big to report in the twenty-four hours since we last saw one another?”

“What?” Alim asked. His smile faltered. “No. I just had that business meeting. And an early night.”

“Ah. Not all of us can have big, dramatic nights, now, can we?” I said to him, chuckling.

“Come off it. Who did you get to sleep with you this time?” he asked, his cheeks reddening with jealousy.

“Actually, Alim, I returned to our agreement, knowing that if I fought just a bit harder, committed just a bit more, I could latch our girl into seeing me again.”

“The American?” Alim asked, aghast. “There was no way she was going to see you again. She hated you, man.”

“Turns out a bit of apologizing and a bit more sweet-talking will always get the job done. I should have relied on it to begin with,” I told him, tilting my head.

“So? What happened? Is she going to go out with you again?” Alim asked, leaning in conspiratorially. “Surely she has more self-esteem than that…”

“It’s not an issue of self-esteem, Alim. She sees something in me. And it’s not because I’m a sheikh. It’s because I’m handsome, charming, and a good conversationalist. I’ve wooed her, wholly and completely, and it’s time for you to see just how far my charms can go.”

It was a mess. But I felt I was high-rolling, impressing my friend. I stood up from my empty coffee cup, pointing toward the door. “And tonight, we’re going out together. Just the two of us.”

“Is that so?” Alim asked, hardly able to comprehend my words.

“It is.”

It wasn’t. At least, not yet.

As I marched from the cafe, I lifted my phone and texted Angie, knowing that I had the power to influence her. I had the money awaiting her. The first ten thousand dollars had been a taste, luring her deeper. And her exclamatory text, which read: “I can’t believe we’re doing this. But okay, count me in,” had assured me she was in for the ride.

“I’ve just spoken with my friend,” I wrote to her, “and I think we should go out on a date tonight. We have to prove that we’re rekindling our relationship. Or kindling it for the first time, maybe. You in?”

I walked down the road for a few minutes more, anticipating the text back. But it didn’t come, not for another two hours. By then, I felt rattled and strange, fearing she was going to back out. We had no written agreement. I realized she could have taken ten thousand dollars from me and bounced.

But as I perched over my lunchtime sandwich, I received the message back.

“Fine. I guess we’ll have to start this at some point. What time?”

The message was stunted, without the usual excitement I received from women I took out on dates.

Feeling dejected, I puzzled over it for a moment, nibbling at the end of my sandwich. The bread was growing soggy. I dropped it back onto the plate. Why was this girl getting under my skin? Was it really that I was so frightened of losing to Alim?

“Let me pick you up at seven, like a proper date. That way, if Alim follows me, he’ll think he’s seeing something romantic between us. What’s your address?”

“Can’t we just meet there?” Angie responded moments later. Another blow!

“Fine,” I typed out, irked by her stubbornness. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. It’s a hole-in-the-wall downtown called Tommy’s. Paparazzi normally don’t follow me there.”

“Sure. See you there.”

I found myself anxious, my stomach stirring for the next few hours. Even my normal routine—lifting weights at the gym, meeting with my father to discuss what was happening in parliament, and shopping for the perfect new suit for the date ahead—did little to calm me down.

Shrugging into a perfect dark grey suit, I gazed at myself in my bedroom mirror, certain that I would sweep Angie off her feet that night. How could I not? I was desired by half of Al-Jarra. People couldn’t stop saying my name.

I reminded myself that it couldn’t have mattered less. After all, Angie was playing along with my game. She didn’t need to fall in love with me for me to get the best of Alim. But the fact that she wasn’t even open to it, couldn’t see the benefits… It was annoying, at best. And a bit too much to bear.

* * *

Tommy’s was a place I’d discovered as a younger man, around 22, when I’d had an enormous appetite and an even bigger desire to hide from the cameras. It was around this time that I’d become known as something of a Casanova, yet wanted to ensure that the girls I was dating weren’t frightened by the flashing cameras. Plus, I loved the feeling of watching shoddy sports television and digging into an enormous American-style burger. It felt like heaven to me.

Now, I went there at least twice a month, and knew Tommy well. He was a good guy, an American from New York City, who grilled burgers and smoked cigarettes out the side window. Somehow, the smell of the cigarettes didn’t get into the food, and it added to the general “greasy” quality of the place.

When I entered, I realized that Angie was already there, seated at the bar. Her head of thick black hair was tilted slightly as she watched a television near the top corner of the room. On it, basketball players raced down the court, popping the ball into the net to rapturous applause.

Angie seemed unmoved, and a bit out of it. As I approached from the side, her eyes looked glazed, almost lost. Tommy himself was working behind the bar and placed a pitcher of beer in front of her, along with two pint glasses.

“Here you are,” he said, glancing over at me. “Oh, hey there, Rami! I didn’t expect you today.”

I shot my finger toward the pint glasses, giving him a grin. “Actually, I think one of those glasses is for me.”

Tommy’s eyes turned from me to Angie and back. I could almost see the lightbulb above his head, a realization that Angie was just another woman on my “list.” But Angie tossed her hair to the side, lifting the pitcher of beer and filling her own glass. The motion was so uncharacteristic of the many girls I’d brought into the restaurant, and it made Tommy chuckle.

“I always wondered when you’d bring an American in here, Rami,” he said. “I’m not sure you can handle the American girls. They’re tough.”

“People keep saying that, don’t they?” Angie said, giving me a side smile.

The smile felt powerful, like a wave crashing over my heart. But in just seconds, I regrouped, giving them both a nod.

“Good to see you.” I leaned forward, giving Angie a brief kiss on the cheek. She didn’t flinch, but didn’t react warmly, either. Her skin was smooth beneath my lips, and she smelled vaguely of hazelnuts and cream.

“We’ll take the usual, then, Tommy,” I told him, sitting beside Angie and watching as she poured my drink too. Behind us, the bar was completely empty. The speakers blared with ’80s music, which rang in my ears, taking me back to another time.

Tommy disappeared to make our burgers and smoke out the side window. I shifted in my chair, trying to make eye contact with Angie, but she’d turned her face back toward the television, excluding me. Outside, I wondered if Alim was watching. I wondered if he could sense the distance between Angie and me, a distance I desperately wished didn’t exist.