“Let me help,” he said. I couldn’t meet his eyes but held up my wrist for him to finish. The bracelet came off, and I turned away and lifted my hair. There were four latches to the pearl and emerald necklace Maram had sat around my neck. I watched Idris in the mirror as he began undoing them.

He was so far from me now—further than I’d ever imagined him being while being in the same room. The first latch came undone, and the necklace sagged. I dropped my hair over my shoulder and began to work the rings off my shoulder. The second and third latch came undone. Maram, it seemed, had never done up the fourth one, so the necklace slid down my chest and hit the vanity dresser with a loud crash.

I ignored it—Idris’s thumb pressed against the exposed skin of my neck, the knobs of my spine as they disappeared beneath the collar of my gown. He pressed his face into my hair.

“Amani,” he said hoarsely. I was afraid to move, as if I might dislodge him, or worse, might turn to him and press myself into his arms. “I’m haunted by you—by us.”

I forced myself to turn around and raised my hand to his cheek. “I was told to reveal my identity to you—to protect myself. Tell her you don’t wish to see me anymore,” I said.

His forehead lay against mine. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You are the only one I want to see.”

It was that, for some reason, that broke whatever held back my tears. I disliked tears—they seemed to me at this juncture a waste of time. What was done was done—our story was over. And yet there was no clean end, no avoiding Idris or my heart. I pressed my face against his shoulder and clung to him as he put his arms around me.

“It isn’t fair,” I rasped through my tears.

“No,” he said into my hair. “It isn’t.”

My fingers tightened in the folds of his shirt, and at last I forced myself to pull away.

“Idris,” I said, “I’m serious. You must tell her—I can’t keep doing this. Please.”

“This is all we have, Amani,” he said and brushed a thumb over my cheek.

“It’s not enough,” I cried, pulling away. “Can you keep doing this? Stuck in limbo like this? You have a wife.”

“Amani—”

“You have a wife,” I repeated, voice softer. “Think about how painful that is for me. To be made party to your marriage. To be forced into its intimate spaces.”

“She won’t listen to me,” he said at last. “She never has.”