And as painstakingly as Farid and Amira had built it, just that quickly it all collapsed.

As Amira learned later—when everyone was talking about it—it started with a remark by Ali’s cousin Abdul. “So now the Badirs have a celebrity in the family.”

“What do you mean?” someone asked. Everyone said it was Omar’s old friend Fuad Muhassan who had overheard.

“Why, the woman’s a movie actress,” said Abdul. “I thought everyone knew that.”

“I would not call any man a liar,” said the older man sternly, “when I lack the facts myself. But I’ve known Omar Badir all my life, and he would never let his son marry a woman of that kind.”

“As you say, you lack the facts,” Abdul replied flippantly. “Young man, you need to learn respect—”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Ali himself stepped in, ever the diplomat. “It’s all a misunderstanding, nothing more.” By now, others were listening. “My cousin is mistaken,” he continued. “The young lady was never in a movie.”

Abdul looked betrayed. “Well, she had the chance to be in one. You told me so yourself.”

“I told you that in confidence, Cousin,” said Ali reprovingly. “It’s true that she was offered a role because of her fame as a singer, but she turned it down.”

Now half the room was listening, including Omar. “A singer! What’s this you’re saying, Ali?”

“It’s nothing, my father-in-law, nothing at all,” said Ali apologetically. “You said a singer. What kind of singer?”

Amira, noticing the break in the rhythm of conversation, slipped in from the kitchen.

“It’s nothing,” Ali repeated. “The kind of thing many young women do in Europe, while they’re waiting to find a husband.”

“A singer!”

“Please, Father-in-law, forget I mentioned it. It’s nothing.” “Where do you hear this?”

Ali looked uncomfortable. “From friends in Paris. But it’s nothing, really. She sings only in the best places, none of these dirty little boites. My friends say she’s quite good, a regular songbird.” He smiled his famous smile. “I’m sure you’ve heard some of this from Malik. Personally, I congratulate you on your liberal outlook. I know from my own father that many men of your generation—”

“Farid! Where is Farid? I want the truth about this!”

“He went to the airport,” someone said, “to meet Malik and—They should be here any minute.”

“Bah!” Omar was fuming. Everyone present understood his predicament: in front of all his friends, he would have to either reject his only son’s wife or allow a woman of loose morals—an infidel at that—into his home and his family.

Amira knew her father well enough to have no doubt which way he would choose. Something had to be done.

“Father,” she said, moving to his side, “you can see that there must be some mistake. It’s someone else, I’m sure of it.”