The sound of Arabic breaks the trance. I turn to see the formerly stunned guards coming forward as if they’re reconsidering their earlier order not to pull a gun on me. Okay, well, let’s not give them time to make that call, I decide, turning on my heels and dashing back inside.

Thanking every deity ever, I find the twins on the dance floor with Wes and Ender, taking a well-deserved break as the DJ who has taken their place on stage spins “Watch Me Whip.”

“Hey, Auntie Prin,” Ender calls out with his still-thick Jamaican accent when he sees me. “Come nae nae with us, mon!”

“Hey,” I say quickly, dropping a kiss on Ender’s head. I also pulls Wes in for a top of the head peck because I consider him a part of my extended family now that his dad has married Sylvie.

But I can see Zahir having what appears to be a vehement conversation on the balcony with his guards. So instead of dancing, I tell the twins, “C’mon, we’re going back to your room to get your bags…”

Four hours and a shit-ton of teenage grumbling later, we’re waiting at the crowded Kingdom Air gate for the last direct flight out of Jahwar to New York.

“I still don’t understand why we had to leave the wedding and get here, like, a thousand hours early,” Kasha complains again, shifting uncomfortably in the seats we’ve been camped out in for over two hours.

“She probably just wanted to make sure we got here on time,” Sasha answers in my defense. “But even I think we left the party way too early. I mean, we still had another set planned.”

“I know,” I answer. “But my job is on my ass and you’re right, I want to make sure we get out of here on time.”

For more reasons than one…I silently add to myself.

“Wait until everyone at Hugs n’ Cuddles finds out I stayed in a real-life castle,” Kasha says to Sasha, deciding to abandon the aggrieved teen act and return to her usual bubbly self. “Take that, bouncy castle!”

“It’s a palace, not a castle,” corrects Sasha, who also likes kids, but unlike her high-spirited sister, opted to tutor during her after-school hours rather than work at an indoor playground.

“What’s the difference?” Kasha asks defensively. “I mean they both have a king living there, right?”

That question sends the twins down a research rabbit hole with phones whipped out like swords. It turns out Sasha’s right, it is a palace—technically a collection of palaces, of which Zahir’s is the largest. And many of his royal relatives, including Asir, have a mini-palace on the grounds.

“Look, all these sheikhs are like, fine 300, no unibrow,” Kasha says, scrolling through pics of the royal family. She turns the phone to show me a particularly tall and handsome bearded guy in a black-and-white patterned headdress. “See, if you’d let us stay longer, we might have literally met our prince,” she whines.

Yes, I ruined their chances to hook up with a prince. Just like I’d ruined their chance to get out of their draconian contract with Majesty Records.

I close the bar exam book I’ve been pretending to study from for two hours and turn to face them with a heavy heart. Zahir was an asshole on that balcony for sure, but he had one thing right… the twins choosing me as their representative was probably the reason they weren’t getting anywhere with Majesty Records.

“When we get home, we should talk about you getting real representation…” I tell them.

“What?” Kasha asks, face aghast as if I’ve announced that I’m kicking them out of our run-down mansion.

“No,” Sasha says at the same time, her voice clipped and final. “The music industry is cut throat, and you’re the only one who will look out for us. We already talked about this when you tried to drop out of law school…”

Don’t I know it. The only reason I bothered to finish my law degree after Dad died was because I knew the twins would need someone in their corner with their best interest at heart. But… “I don’t think me being your manager is doing you any favors.”

“No, you’re the best,” Kasha insists. “You take care of us, and schedule all our shows, and make sure there’s always hot cocoa in the house even when the bills are tight...”

“And we’re not going with anybody else,” Sasha adds, cutting off her sister’s list.

“You’re both so sweet. Seriously, I don’t know what I did to get such great little sisters.”

“Stuck around after the double funeral,” Sasha answered in the trademark tone that made it hard for most people outside our family to tell when she’s joking.

For the record, she is joking. We all know there was never any question of me bouncing out on them after their mom died. But I couldn’t let her derail a very serious conversation. “Look, guys, I’ve got to overrule you and resign as your manager. I did something today. Something that’s likely to get me full-on blacklisted at Majesty Records—not just regular old ignored.”

“Stop,” Sasha says, her face falling as her eyes bug out.

“No, just let me explain to you why I can’t be your manager anymore—”

“No, Prin, seriously, stop and look!” Sasha says again, cutting me off and pointing behind me.

I turn to look over my shoulder at the gate’s widescreen television. And my eyes widen when I see what’s happening behind a ticker tape of stock prices and a bunch of scrolling Arabic.

“Is that…is that you?” Kasha asks behind me.

I would have liked to say no. As broke as I am, I would have paid serious money to say no. But there’s no denying what we’re looking at…

A video of me talking to Zahir on the palace balcony. Someone captured the moment from a distant camera phone, and it doesn’t look remotely like what it really is. We were arguing…with him saying the most vicious things to me. But from the phone camera’s POV and without any audio, it looks like Zahir is talking to me intimately with his head leaned in close to mine…right before I pull him into my arms for what looks like a short but very passionate kiss.

For a moment, all sound disappears and all I can do is watch the video of us shrink as two official news commentators talk about the clip with dead serious faces. I don’t realize I’m not breathing until the program goes to commercial and a huge explosion of air leaves my body.

“What the hell was that?” Sasha says, coming to stand beside me.

“That was you, right?” Kasha asks on my other side, her voice breathless with delighted surprise. “That was definitely you! Kissing Sheikh Zahir!”

“Um…”

The answer gets stuck in my throat as I watch first one passenger, sitting in the rows beyond ours, then several more, turn to look at me. An excited murmur soon breaks out with a few of the waiting passengers even pointing at me.

“Excuse me, ma’am…”

A man in a ten-gallon cowboy hat approaches me. I recognize him as the one Zahir was talking to at the wedding. “You’re Princess Jones, right? My wife thought she recognized you at Holt Calson’s crazy wedding! She used to love that reality show of your daddy’s. And that was you there on the news, right?”

The only answer I can come up with is, “Most people call me Prin.”

“Alright, Prin it is. I’m Buck. And my wife, Jolene, is off powdering her nose. Do you mind waiting for her to get back here? I know she’ll be wanting to get a picture with you.”

“Um…” I say again. Not because I’m one of those D-listers who denies picture requests, but because I can now see a bunch of airport security guards headed toward me. And behind them, three men dressed in tailored black suits.

“Okay…is this the real reason you don’t want to be our manager anymore?” Sasha demands beside me.