Alone in the palace with hours to kill, Alex soon found herself restlessly pacing one long hallway after another. She considered calling for a taxi, but that seemed ridiculous, considering how many cars were parked in the garage she had stumbled upon in her wandering. She wanted to ask Zaiman if she could use one, but she didn’t want to interrupt an important meeting with an unimportant question.

Finally, feeling as if she would go out of her mind if she didn’t do something productive, she called Bassam.

“Hello, Alex. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes, everything’s fine,” she assured him. “I just had a few errands I needed to run, and was wondering if I could use one of the cars. I didn’t want to interrupt Zaiman.”

“Wise decision,” he told her. “The Sheikh is currently in a meeting with his sister, discussing the problem of homelessness in the city. They disagree fiercely on the matter, and are likely bordering on a shouting match at this very moment.”

“Wow! You must know them pretty well to make a prediction like that,” Alex said, impressed.

“Since they were children,” Bassam told her. “But I am the person to talk to, so it is not a loss for you. Are you near the garage?”

“I’m in it, actually,” she confessed. “I’m pretty anxious to get my things done before Amia is finished with her lessons.”

“Ah, yes, I understand. Do you see the hooks on the wall?”

“Yes.”

“There is a key hanging from one, on a bright pink keychain. Do you see it?”

“Bright pink camouflage,” Alex chuckled. “Where would that be useful, do you think?”

“In a cotton candy factory, of course,” Bassam replied, amused. “The button on the top will lead you to the appropriate vehicle. You may use this car whenever you please; it is not in common use in the household.”

“Thank you,” Alex said gratefully. “And I hope you and Zaiman have a good day, in spite of whatever argument he may have.”

“He would never admit it, but heated debates with his sister make a good day for him,” Bassam chuckled. “I believe he enjoys it.”

“Takes all kinds,” Alex laughed. “Thanks again.”

They said their goodbyes and Alex hit the button. A friendly beep answered her from the other side of the garage, and she discovered her ride: a ten-year-old hatchback, painted in a subtler version of the pink camo. The seat covers and floor mats were done in brightly-colored animal prints, making the whole car look as though Amia might have designed it. Alex loved it immediately.

“I can see why it isn’t used much,” she murmured with a chuckle. “Sweet little ride, though.”

She carefully followed the narrow, winding roads back to the highway. She was immediately comfortable with the roads, which was strange for her; she had been nineteen before she had earned her driver’s license back home, and driving in new countries had always been a little nerve-wracking for her. But something about the color palette of her surroundings or the way the roads were arranged soothed her, and she enjoyed her cruise immensely.

She found the shops quickly, and parked the car at one end of the bustling street. Nearly everyone was on foot, perusing the outdoor stands or weaving in and out of doorways, creating a low hum of activity which invigorated her.

An ATM near the door of the first shop informed her in three different languages that most of the shops could not accept cards, and asked her to please withdraw whatever she needed. She obliged, filling her wallet with half a week’s pay from her previous employer, and stepped through the door.

There were so many pretty things to look at, she didn’t know where to start. Rugs and pottery, paintings and sculptures…the whole shop vibrated with culture and life.

“Excuse me,” she asked the man behind the counter. “Do you have luggage?”

“No, sorry. Next door.”

“Thank you.”

She hovered around for a few minutes, absorbing the feel of the place. There was treasure here; she could feel it. She ran her fingers over the hanging rugs, enjoying their texture while she examined the paintings on the wall.

“There you are,” she said, spotting her treasure.

An impressionist image of a winking giraffe hung humbly between two overbearing paintings of a sprawling palace and a line of camels in the desert. She rescued it from its hidden place and brought it to the register.

“Do you know who painted this?” she asked.

“My nephew,” the man said proudly. “Ahmed Tehlil. He is a fine artist.”

“He is indeed,” Alex agreed as she paid for her purchase. “Is his artwork displayed anywhere else?”

The man scoffed. “No. It is difficult, breaking into the art world. Nobody knows your name, you are nothing.”

“Well, I will be sure to spread his name around,” Alex said sincerely. “He deserves the recognition.”

“You are very kind. Here, a gift for you. You like giraffes?”

“I do,” Alex replied with a grin. “I’m beginning to think they like me too.”

“This one certainly does,” the man said, handing her a tiny, carved wooden giraffe with heart-shaped spots. “Give her a good home, yes?”

“I will,” Alex promised. “Thank you.”

Such a friendly place, Alex thought. Friendly and open and warm. Not as hot as Australia, not as cold as Russia, not as crowded as China, and not as overwhelming as England. She chuckled to herself, realizing that she was beginning to sound like a very high-maintenance Goldilocks.

The store next door did have a huge selection of luggage. Some of it was obviously imported, and was the same stuff she would have purchased back home, but some of it was special.

A prominent display of locally-crafted luggage caught her attention. A full set in bold reds and blues woven together in concentric triangle patterns called to Alex instantly.

“Handmade,” the shopkeeper said, appearing at her side. “You like them?”

“I do, very much,” Alex gushed. “How much for the whole set?”

The woman hesitated for a breath, then repeated herself. “Handmade. One of a kind.”

“Yes, they seem to be very special,” Alex said fondly. “I would like to buy them.”

The woman named a figure which seemed more than reasonable, but said it while taking a step backwards as if she were expecting Alex to explode.

“Perfect, I’ll take them,” Alex said happily.

Relief washed over the woman’s face, and she quickly took the luggage and nested it carefully, placing paper sheets in between each piece.

“You like Al-Jerrain?” the woman asked, seeming more comfortable now.

“I do,” Alex said honestly. “So far, I love everything about it. How do you like it?”

The woman seemed surprised by the question, but only shrugged. “It is home,” she said simply. “I know only Al-Jerrain, and life is good.”

“That is certainly an argument in the country’s favor.”

The woman gave her a sharp look. “You are wanting to stay?”

“Oh, yes. At least for a while. Maybe a year, maybe five…a lot depends on how things go with my work.”

“What work do you do? Much work to be done in Al-Jerrain.”

“I’m a na—” Alex fumbled, remembering almost too late that nobody was supposed to know who she was or what she was doing. “A natural history student,” she corrected.

“Oh! Then you have seen the museum?”

“There’s a museum?” Alex asked, delighted. “No, I haven’t seen it yet; I haven’t been here long. Where is it?”

“Center of town,” the woman told her, sounding just as excited as she was. “Near the capital building. Dinosaurs!”

“Oh! How thrilling! I will be sure to see it as soon as I can. Thank you so much for the luggage!”

“Most welcome,” the woman said, beaming. “Do not use it soon!”

“Not if I can help it,” Alex answered.

Smiling, she stepped back outside into the sun, carrying her new luggage and decorations. She could have stayed in those shops for hours—there was nothing like casual shopping to give her the read on a new environment, and it was one of her favorite parts of arriving somewhere she had never been before—but she would have to hurry if she was going to get back before Amia’s lessons were over.

“Can’t mess that up on your first day,” she told herself firmly. “Wait a week, then show up late.”

She made a face at herself in her rearview mirror, mocking her own bad humor. She was practically floating on her good mood when she pulled back into the palace garage, and was even happier when she saw Bassam and Zaiman pulling in behind her.

“Hello!” she sang out happily as she pulled her purchases out of the car. “How was your meeting?”

She looked up at Zaiman and froze. He had grown pale, his eyes narrowed to furious slits.

“Is…something wrong?” she asked hesitantly.

“Who told you to use that car?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I did,” Bassam said firmly, his voice booming. “It’s about time the thing got some use. It breaks its little heart to sit there all the time, catching dust.”

Zaiman turned away from Alex and had a low, angry conversation with Bassam for several moments before storming into the house. Alex turned a worried face to Bassam.

“He’ll get over it,” Bassam told her kindly. “Until he does, he is angrier with me than he is with you. Did you have a good time? What did you buy? Come, let’s head inside.”

His kind eyes and gentle words did something to restore Alex’s good mood, though she still worried that she had somehow made an egregious mistake.

After showing Bassam her purchases and letting him exclaim over them until she beamed with pleasure, she took the things to her room. She had just enough time to shower and rinse the dust off of her skin before Amia would need her, so she left her things on her bed and her clothes on the floor, hurrying to her bathroom.

“Alex? Miss Alex!” Amia’s little voice rang through Alex’s rooms just as she turned off the water.

“I’ll be out in one minute,” she called. “Did you see what I bought?”

“It’s pretty! Better than those ugly bags.”

“I didn’t know you thought my bags were ugly,” Alex said, sounding a little hurt, though she didn’t really mean it.

She stepped into her dressing room from the bathroom and put on her bathing suit and flowing cover-up, sighing happily at the sensation of thin cotton on her newly-cooled skin.

“I’m sorry,” Amia said as Alex walked into her room. “I didn’t mean they were ugly. I meant that they aren’t as pretty.” Amia wrung her hands, looking anxious.

“You’re absolutely right,” Alex told her with a kind smile. “They aren’t very pretty at all. The new ones are much better. How were your lessons today?”

“The lessons were fine,” Amia said in a wilted tone. “Boring, but fine.”

“Then why do you sound so sad?” Alex asked.

Amia sighed and looked away, out the window, fighting real tears. Worried, Alex pushed her things aside so she could sit beside her little new friend.

“I think Papa is angry at me,” Amia said quietly. “He didn’t say hello when he came home, and he had his mad face on and he just went right to the study and locked the door.” A tear slipped down her face, and she scrubbed it away. “I don’t know what I did wrong!”

Neither do I, Alex thought.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Amia. Something made your papa mad before he came into the house.”

“What was it?”

“I’m not sure. I think it had something to do with a car.”

“The pink car?”

“How did you know?”

Amia looked guilty for a moment. “I was really little. Really, really little.”

“I understand. We all do things when we’re young that we grow to regret.”

Amia nodded miserably, and Alex suppressed a smile. Every person was always older than they had ever been, and everyone had lived a lifetime. Perspective was her key to communicating with children and adults alike, and it worked like magic.

“I was playing hide-and-seek with Bassam,” Amia explained. “I liked that car, so I hid in it. Papa came home, and I forgot I was hiding, and I jumped up to surprise him. He got mad. He took me out of the car and told me to never, ever go back in it, ever, ever again.”

“Did he tell you why?” Alex asked with a frown.

Amia shook her head. “But I heard Bassam shout at him later. He said he was being insane. I don’t think he was insane. His hair wasn’t crazy and his eyes weren’t all…” she drew spirals in the air in front of her eyeballs, and Alex laughed softly.

“Insane people only look that way in movies,” she told her. “But I think you’re right. I don’t think your papa was insane then, and I don’t think he’s angry at you now. I think there’s something about that car that makes his feelings hurt.”

“How can a car hurt your feelings?” Amia asked incredulously.

“That, my dear, is an excellent question. But I don’t think he’s ready to answer it just yet.”

“He should throw it away if it hurts his feelings,” Amia said seriously. “It’s just a car. We have more.”

“People keep funny things for silly reasons,” Alex told her. “Are you ready to go swimming?”

Amia nodded, but she didn’t seem very excited about it.

“We could organize your room instead. I can talk to Rashad some other day.”

“No,” Amia sighed. “Let’s go swimming.”

Alex nearly collided with Zaiman as she stepped into the hallway.

“Oh! I’m sorry, excuse me,” she said in a rush.

“No, no, excuse me. Ah…I must apologize for my behavior in the garage. You are welcome to use that car whenever you are not on duty.”

“Thank you,” Alex said hesitantly, trying to read his face. He was closed-off to her, completely stoic. He softened when he turned to Amia, who was half-hiding behind Alex.

“Hello, darling. I’m sorry I didn’t give you your hug when I came in. Am I forgiven?”

“Papa…” Amia paused, shifting from foot to foot.

“What’s troubling you, my love?” he asked, crouching down to her eye level.

“Why does that car hurt your feelings?” she blurted out in a rush.

Alex’s face burned hot with the fear that she had misread his reactions, and was now exposed. But the flash of pain across Zaiman’s features confirmed what she had suspected.

“That is a long and complicated story,” he told her softly. “Too big for your little ears, I’m afraid.”

“My ears are big!” Amia objected. “I’m almost seven, Papa!”

“Yes, you’re growing up very quickly,” he said affectionately, touching her cheek. “But I’m afraid that is a story best told to grown-ups.”

“Then will you tell Alex?” she pressed.

Zaiman glanced up at Alex, who didn’t know what to do.

“Maybe someday,” he said. “But for now, I would be happier to forget it.”

“Okay,” Amia sighed. “I won’t forget it, though. I’m going to ask you when I’m growed up.”

“And when you are all grown up, I will be happy to tell you,” he said with a gentle smile. “Go and do whatever it is your nanny needs you to do, now, all right?”

“Okay.”

Zaiman left with a polite nod to Alex, leaving her more flustered and confused than she had been before. She was fairly certain that her job was safe, though, which was a relief. She got Amia changed quickly, taking note of the condition of the room as they walked through it, making a mental plan of attack to get it sorted out.

The pools were absolutely breathtaking. A perfect circle of shallow water hovered above a teardrop-shaped deep pool, and below that was a stylized V-shaped row of fountains splashing into a polished stone basin. Broad-leafed trees spread over the pools, casting them in gentle shade.

Rashad was waiting for them on a lounge chair, relaxing in sunglasses and a hat in his tutoring clothes.

“Ah, Miss Alex! How has your day treated you?” he asked as he rose, offering her his hand.

“Very well, thank you,” she told him, clasping his hand. “I did some shopping, which was positively wonderful.”

“We do have some gloriously quirky shops,” Rashad said with a gleaming grin.

Amia jumped into the pool, and Alex spun around, her nanny-senses on high alert.

“She’s a very competent swimmer,” Rashad told her. “Watch, but don’t worry.”

“All right,” Alex said, taking a hesitant seat.

After a moment of watching Amia, she was able to relax. The little girl swam like a mermaid, darting back and forth across the big pool with as much confidence as if she were running down a hallway.

“How are you taking to your duties so far?” Rashad asked.

“Like a fish to water,” Alex answered, gesturing to Amia in amusement. “She seems like a pretty easy kid.”

“She is a very easy child to like,” Rashad said slowly. “She is intelligent and humorous, and of course very spirited.”

“But…?” Alex prompted.

“But I believe she is sorely lacking socialization with children her age. She banters like an adult, but has the emotional control of a younger child than she is. My suggestions to date have fallen on deaf ears; I admit, I am hoping that you will be able to convince the Sheikh where I was unable to.”

“What were your suggestions?” Alex asked, thinking of a few of her own right away.

“I have a colleague who tutors five children at a time. Before I began working for the Sheikh, I was part of his group, and did the same for my clients. The Sheikh offered me six times my asking salary for a single child, and with grandchildren and my eventual retirement to think about, I could hardly turn it down.”

He sighed, stroking his beard.

“I told Zaiman my concerns when I began, two years ago. I offered to bring her into a group of children of her age and status, who would offer her the social interaction she requires without compromising her education. He turned me down flatly.”

“Why?” Alex asked.

“He did not offer a reason. I broached the subject again the following year, and once again, he said no. The third time I asked, six months ago, he threatened my job if I ever brought it up again.”

“Really?” Alex said in disbelief. “He doesn’t seem that unreasonable.”

“That was my thinking as well. I believe that he and I have inadvertently entered into a sort of power struggle. I am hoping that a softer, more feminine touch will yield better results.”

“I’ll try,” Alex said. “At the very least, she should be in some sort of extracurricular class. Dancing or soccer or something.”

“It would be good for her,” Rashad said. “She is growing old, I fear.”

Late for another appointment, Rashad bid Alex farewell. Alex spent the next hour mulling over what he had revealed to her as she watched Amia swim. It was only when Amia exited the pool and told her she was finished that Alex realized she hadn’t even gotten her own bathing suit wet.