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She lived in one of the high rises in Manama, and as he pulled up to the building he realized that he should’ve worn the wool suit instead. He’d forgotten how cold the desert could be at night. It was too late to change, though.
He considered picking up a bouquet of flowers from the stand at the corner, but when he got there they’d all been wilted from a day in the heat, so he went to a shop and got a box of chocolates instead. Women like chocolate, right? The fact that he didn’t know this for a fact seemed rather embarrassing.
Inside the building the air conditioning felt nearly arctic for how cool the place was. It was one of those swanky apartment buildings built to cater to expats, as the brochure taped to the glass featured a blond woman and “Air-conditioning” printed in a giant block letters across the bottom. Bashir headed for the elevators and got in, pushing the button for the twenty-fifth floor. He called the number she gave him.
“Hi, Melinda,” she said, when she picked up.
“Its me, Bashir,” he said. “Are you, um, ready?”
“Relieved, mostly,” she said, with a laugh in her voice. “You don’t want to know how nervous I’ve been for this date.”
“Why are you nervous?” he asked, grinning despite himself.
“I’ve never dated a prince before,” she said.
“Well, last time I checked, I didn’t have wings or six legs or cloven hooves,” he said. “Of course, it has been an hour since I last looked in the mirror.”
She laughed. Always a good sign. “I’ll leave the door unlocked,” she said. “Just come on in.”
“Thanks,” he said.
He checked his reflection in the stainless steel door of the elevator. It was fuzzy, but it was enough for him to make sure that his suit wasn’t too rumpled-looking and that his tie was straight.
He stepped out and found her apartment. He took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock—and then he remembered that she’d said to go in. Could she really want him to just walk in, though? Didn’t women like their privacy? He wished he’d paid more attention to what his friends in London had said.
He ended up knocking and then opening the door. She was in the living room, fixing an earring. She was wearing a long-sleeved, emerald-green dress and white flowing pants, both trimmed in gold. She had a headscarf on, loosely framing her hair. “So how do I look?” she asked, smiling. He saw that she was wearing makeup, too. She’d done something with her eyes.
“You look amazing,” he said, smiling.
She blushed. “I didn’t know what would be considered appropriate,” she said. “I mean, you’re supposed to have a chaperone on these things, aren’t you?”
“This is Bahrain, not Saudi Arabia,” he said, smiling. He handed her the box of chocolates. “I hope I chose the right ones.”
“Chocolate is always wonderful,” she said, as she slid the box in her refrigerator. “And yeah, I know it’s not Saudi Arabia, but it’s kind of weird, here, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know, it’s always been normal for me,” he said.
“So what’s the restaurant we’re going to?” she asked, as she pulled on her heels.
“The Grill, in Jaffa.”
Her eyes got big: for all its modest name—because there was nothing special about a grill—the Grill was one of the best restaurants in the entire Middle East, holding two Michelin stars. The sultan of the United Arab Emirates was always trying to convince the chef, Alonso Frances, to give up his job and move into the Burj Khalifa.
“Too modest?” he asked, grinning. “I thought about taking you to Ocean’s End but their wait-list is at least three months.”
“No, I—I just never expected—that you’d take me there,” she said, locking her door and following him out to the elevator.
“Why not? I’m a prince, right? What use is a trust fund if you can’t have fun every now and then?”
“You do this with all of the women in your life?”
“I wouldn’t know. You’re the first.”
She flushed, but then she realized what he’d said. “But surely you’ve gone out with women before.”
“Never like this—just the two of us. When I was younger my mother insisted that we have a chaperone, and after I moved to London it was more about getting drunk with friends than romance.”
“How is it that you’ve never found anybody?” she marveled. “Surely it gets lonely?”
