Which is why I’m surprised when Nabida announces Zahir will be coming for dinner that night. And I mean really surprised. I’m still wearing a dress when Nabida suddenly rushes in, carrying the phone for my now daily call and one of the missing chairs. She places it on the other side of the table and hands me the phone before informing me the sheikh will join me for dinner.

“Um, the twins had a show last night and they’re probably not even up yet,” I say, trying to process the second chair at the table. “Maybe I could call them after dinner?”

There’s some consultation and a subtle call made by Raima, but then Nabida says, “Yes, you can keep the phone and return it to us after the sheikh leaves.”

But she gives me a worried look like I’m skating on thin ice.

“And you must remain in your dress,” Raima tells me.

I look down at the black kaftan, which I’m now not allowed to take off. “Seriously?” I ask

Yes, seriously. And so… I’m still in the dress a few hours later when I’m sitting across from Zahir at the table, in the formerly missing chair with my hands unbound.

Strange, just a few weeks ago I dreamt about being able to sit in my own chair and eat with my own fingers and utensils. But tonight, feeding myself while sitting on a surface with four legs instead of two makes me feel anxious and unfettered…like I’m being punished. And though I didn’t eat much of a lunch, I find myself pushing food around on my plate with no appetite.

“Eat,” he commands me.

And I eye the suit he’s now wearing as I consider his order, and how much easier things will go for me if I just do as he says. As far as punishments go, this barely counts. He’s here, isn’t he? No two-day disappearance, just a slight deviation from our normal routine. And then after this meal there will probably be security sex, since he’s leaving for Asia in a couple of days. And that will make me feel all warm and glowy as opposed to someone serving out a prison sentence in the world’s most luxurious jail.

Yes, that’s how I want tonight to go. How it will go, if I just put my head down and eat. I actually cut of a piece of succulent lamb and raise my fork halfway to my mouth, but then…you know… Jersey

“So, what? We’re just not going to talk about your mother?” I ask, frank as all get out before I can stuff the lamb in my mouth

Zahir goes very, very still on the other side of the table. “Prin. No,” he says, his voice dangerous and low.

And it feels like I’m playing with my life as I tell him, “I liked her room. The record player—that was really cool. Did she grow up in India or here? I know Jahwar has a 60% Indian population, but—”

I cut off when Zahir abruptly stands and flips the table. Everything goes flying, metal and porcelain crashing and breaking on the medallion patterned carpet. And Zahir stares down at me, breathing hard, the sound coming out of his chest somewhere between a wheeze and as hiss.

We stay like that. Him standing and me sitting in my now tableless chair for a very long time.

Then he says, “Cal-Mart.” His voice as hot with emotion as I have ever heard it.

A few seconds later, he is gone and Raima and Nabida reappear to clean up the mess.

Here we go again, I think as I watch them empty out the walk-in closet. Right in front of me, as if they’ve been specifically commanded to do it this way. Like the clothes are to blame for me finding out about Zahir’s mother, and then having the nerve to ask about her.

I sigh and creep with the phone I’ve been given and still haven’t used to the much smaller coat closet in the main room. Once there, I close the door and hunker down to quickly dial Kasha’s number.

“Prin!” Kasha yells. “Hold on, let me put you on speaker. We’re both downstairs eating breakfast!”

Breakfast…well, it’s 9pm here which means it’s about 12pm on Saturday morning there. Sounds about right.

“Hi, Prin,” Sasha says, as sedate as her sister is animated.

“Hey guys,” I say, my heart squeezing at the sound of their voices. “I um…might not be able to call for a while, so I wanted to check in and see how your performance went last night.”

“Oh, my God…sooooo good!” Kasha answers, and I can just imagine her happy smile. And Sasha’s curmudgeonly one as she says, “She’s actually not exaggerating this time. It went really well. There were a lot of industry people there.”

God, I miss them…

This thing with Zahir. It’s unhealthy. It’s not real. And most of all it’s crazy. It feels like I’ve been deluding myself, that the warm feeling I feel when we do what we do is a byproduct of me going insane while trapped in this room under his command.

The twins are my family. They’re my touchstone. They’re my real. And I vow then and there to put everything I’ve got into getting them a good deal at another record label as soon as I get home.

But then Kasha says, “And you’ll never guess who gave us his business card! Darius Ross!”

Darius Ross?

I damn near drop the phone. “Darius Ross. The rapper?”

“He produces, too,” Sasha says in the same chiding tone as Aisha’s mother.

“He says we’ve got ‘it’ and he wants to meet about signing us to his label now that you’ve gotten us out of the Majesty deal. We might have a contract before you get back!”

What? “No,” I say. “You can’t meet with him.”

“Why not? Sasha thinks it’s a good idea,” Kasha points out, her normally bubbly voice taking on a pouting tone. “She’s our representation now that you’re not here.”

I can hear Raima and Nabida outside the door, talking to each other in Arabic, obviously looking for me. And their voices are getting closer.

“Look, can you just wait until I get home before meeting with anybody or signing anything?”

“You don’t get home, until, like September,” Sasha answers, as if September is a thousand years away. “And it’s not like hip hop stars are giving us their cards and asking for a meeting every day.”

“I know, but—”

Before I can finish that sentence, the door suddenly opens and there’s Raima and Nabida standing on the other side.

“Hold on, guys—” I say to the twins, so I can make my case to the two women.

However, before I can even open my mouth, Raima snatches the phone away and Nabida hits me with an apologetic look.

“We are very sorry, but we must take this,” Nabida says as Raima succinctly ends the call and pockets the phone.