I couldn’t wait. The whole day, as we picnicked together, stuffed our faces with cake together, walked off the cake with a stroll by the river together—all of it was wonderful, sure—but still, I was restless. Excited. How Khabib would love what I had planned for him!

At home, getting ready, I had to concentrate to make myself stop smiling that stupid smile so I could put on some lipstick without smearing it everywhere. But it was hardly my fault; I was just so excited.

Finally, I had the chance to do something nice and wonderful for Khabib, not something I was hired to do, not even something I got to do in reaction to another one of Khabib’s generosities, no. This was all coming from me, for him. I wanted this to be the best day of his life, the best night. I wanted to do all this to show Khabib just how much he meant to me, just how sure I was that we worked together, that I could really see myself with him.

Sure, I was still under contract to his parents, but Ra’id had agreed to it himself—I would be done in less than a week now. Done and free. Free to love Khabib, tell him the truth, finally let my guard down. Free to do as I wished.

As I walked into the Taglyan Complex, I almost forgot that I was the one who had commissioned its pillars to be draped with blue sashes, Khabib’s favorite color. It was only 7 p.m., the start time, but inside, guests galore were already meandering about, trying the chocolate fountain, sipping fizzy drinks.

A hand around my waist startled me, and Khabib laughed.

I wagged a scolding finger in his face.

“You! I told you not to come until eight!”

Khabib’s smile was indefatigable.

“Need I remind you, little lady, just whose birthday it is?” He grinned wider. “Besides, I missed you.”

And, once he kissed my cheek, I melted.

“You’re right, sorry. I just wanted there to be lots of people here when you arrived.”

Khabib scoffed and threw his hand out, gesturing at the large crowd.

“Yeah, you’re right—what is this? There’s pretty much no one here.”

We laughed together and then the guests spotted him. Khabib spent the next hour or so talking to friends and acquaintances who couldn’t get enough of him. All the while, as I drank and chatted to guests myself, the delighted birthday boy kept circling back to me, kissing me, squeezing me, whispering in my ear—all when I least expected it, of course. Each time he came up to me, he seemed happier, more alive.

“How did you find Billy? You know, he was my billiards buddy when I first got to L.A.”

With a shrug, I smiled mysteriously.

“Can’t divulge my sources.”

Khabib threw his arms around me.

“Whoever the source, however you did this—Lucy, it’s incredible, it’s…I mean, just taste this.”

Just as his drink’s deliciousness was seeping into my mouth, the teal blue overhead circular lights came on, throwing the whole room into a stunning blue and gold glow.

Khabib turned to me, his eyes searching mine.

“Lucy, does this mean…”

The only response to give him was to stride up to the spotlight-lit podium, down the rest of my drink, look out to the crowd, and speak.

“I’m not one for speeches, but tonight we’re celebrating a very special man, so I’m going to do my best. In fact, Sheikh Khabib is more than just a special man—anyone who knows him can attest to this. He’s an innovator, an instigator, an inspiration. And to me, over these past few months, Khabib has become much more than that. He has defied every assumption I have made about him, challenged me in ways I never expected, surprised me, and delighted me. This man, Sheikh Khabib bin Samara, has been generous without bounds, and not just with his money and his time. With his heart, too.”

The spotlight on me was so bright that I couldn’t see anything. Maybe it was better that way.

“Yes, Khabib is laugh-out-loud funny, impishly mischievous. And yes, you all already know how handsome and charming he is—” approving laughter sounded throughout the crowd, “but what you may not know about this man is how he is courageous in business matters, yet no less courageous in matters of the heart. Khabib is, hands-down, the most caring and compassionate man I have ever had the pleasure of encountering. You can see it in how he treats his family, his friends, and I’ve seen it each and every day with how wonderfully he’s treated me. To say that I’m lucky to have had the time I’ve had with this man would be an understatement. I…”

Just then, my hand was grasped. I stepped back, only to see Khabib grinning at me. He turned to the crowd.

“Is stealing the mic at your own birthday celebration a no-no?”

He received a mixture of cheers and boos, but continued regardless.

“Give me a break, though. You all have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, how I’ve been pestering this one—” he nudged me with the microphone, “because I don’t know how true all the great things she’s said about me are, but I do know one thing. I care for this woman, this Lucy Morrison, with all my heart and soul. I care for her in a way I never knew was possible and never suspected existed. She woke me up— in every way possible—to the joy in the world, the love, the possibility, both in others and in myself. Lucy Morrison, I love you.”

As we kissed, a roar of applause and cheers surrounded us. When we separated, I took another step back from the bright light, only to see, at the back, some out-of-place newcomers.

Dressed in extravagant clothes, they were gazing at us, stupefied. Only when I took a step forward did I realize who they were: Khabib’s parents, and a woman who I could only guess was someone they wanted to introduce as a bride-to-be.