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has invited us to a lovely Lebanese restaurant about twenty minutes away. I might have taken you all there before, actually, the last time you came with your mother and Jamil… They also serve a certain sweet pastry that some people around here are fond of…”
    I laughed as Lalia stopped swimming and perked up. “Baklava?” she asked, wide-eyed.
    “Yes.” My grandfather grinned. “Yusuf has a son around your age, River—Hassan is his name.”
    “Sounds fun,” I said, swimming to the edge of the pool and climbing out. I grabbed my towel and sat down in a chair, watching my sisters as they continued splashing in the water.
    We spent the rest of the day in the backyard with my grandfather. Dafne and Lalia stopped swimming only for a light lunch, and soon enough, it was time to get ready for dinner.
    I headed with Lalia back to our bedroom. We rummaged through the array of beautiful clothes Bashira had bought for us. Lalia picked out a light pink cotton dress. I helped her change into it, then tied her hair back in a French braid.
    “I’m real pretty,” Lalia said, checking herself out in the mirror and swinging her long braid from side to side.
    “You are ,” I said, smiling. And oh so modest, too.
    “Why don’t you wear that purple one?” she asked, pointing to a long flowing gown.
    I eyed it. “Meh. Purple isn’t really my color.” I opted for a dark blue dress instead. It was long but sleeveless, and had a cooling feel to it. I brushed out my hair and was about to tie it up in a bun when Lalia reached for my hand. “It looks nice down.”
    I paused, looking at myself in the mirror. She was right that it looked better down. It was just so long that it got in the way—I was in the habit of tying it up all the time. Still, this was a special occasion, so I took my little sister’s suggestion.
    Once Lalia and I were ready, we left the bedroom and went downstairs. My grandfather and Dafne were ready and waiting for us. Dafne had chosen a pretty green gown that complemented her purple glasses.
    “Well?” my grandfather said. “Are we ready to leave, princesses?”
    “Yep,” I replied.
    We left the house and walked down the steps toward the car. Fariss was already waiting by it. He opened the door to the back seats and my sisters and I climbed inside, while my grandfather sat in the front. The restaurant wasn’t far away, as my grandfather had said. Soon we were pulling up outside a familiar building. Its exposed brick exterior had an ethnic charm and deep blue fabric draped down from pillars that lined the restaurant’s terrace. This restaurant was right on the edge of town and it had a stunning view of the desert—indeed, the sand started just twenty feet from the entrance.
    “Are you hungry, Fariss? You should join us,” my father said.
    “I have eaten already,” he replied. “But thank you for the invitation.”
    “Then you don’t need to wait around here if you’ve other things to do. We’ll be here at least a couple of hours. Why don’t you aim to return by nine-thirty?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    We left Fariss with the car and walked into the restaurant. It was adorned with beautiful bamboo furniture and cozy lanterns dangled from the ceiling. It was more crowded than I’d expected. We walked up to the woman standing behind the welcome desk.
    “Do you have a reservation?” she asked.
    “Yes. My name is Samir Haik, and my two friends…” His voice trailed off as his eyes fixed on two men sitting in the far corner of the room—at one of the tables with the best views of the desert. “I see they’ve arrived already.”
    “Enjoy your evening,” the woman said.
    We headed toward the table and the father and son stood up when they spotted us. Yusuf had graying black hair, a thick mustache and tan skin. He positively towered over my short grandfather. Hassan looked like a younger version of his father. He also had a mustache, albeit much less salubrious than Yusuf’s.
    “Samir!”