But before fantasy had a chance to become anything more, the past again stepped in. The tenth anniversary of her disappearance was approaching. A Reuters reporter, doing a standard follow-up, discovered that someone else had been investigating the nearly forgotten case. It was Ali, of course, although the reporter’s inquiries through the Remali royal press secretary met the long-established official response: What Princess Amira had been doing in Anatolia was a mystery, perhaps part of an elaborate abduction scheme; she was assumed to be dead, although the prince still held on to his faint hopes.

It was enough for an item on a television magazine show, full of speculation and rumor that Amira might still be alive. The writer was astute enough to suspect that Prince Ali Rashad was not so resigned and disinterested as he wished to appear, and this suspicion was voiced in his story.

When Jenna read a sensationalized version—“Have You Seen This Princess?’’ complete with an old photo—in one of her habitual tabloids, she felt the old fear as if it had never left her. After all this time, all this deception and disguise, she still wasn’t safe.

Her self-deception ended. She couldn’t continue to see Laila—it might endanger both of them. Even as it was, the girl had to dodge paparazzi, and certainly Ali could employ more subtle methods.

She could easily vanish from Laila’s life. The girl didn’t even know her last name. But she couldn’t do that, just couldn’t.

Feeling a wrenching sense of loss—it wasn’t fair, she thought, yet again to have to let go of someone she loved—Jenna kept the appointment Laila had suggested. They went to a diner—a trendy Upper East Side version—and shared an oversized cheeseburger and a platter of French fries. To anyone watching, thought Jenna, the two of them must look very much like a mother and daughter from the upscale neighborhood. It made what she had to say all the harder.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to see you so often,” she began. “In fact, not very often at all. I’ve been neglecting my patients. And I have a book contract that’s going to eat up every free moment.” None of it was quite true, but there was enough truth in it that it wasn’t exactly a lie, either.

Laila’s eyes reproached her, then turned away. “That’s okay,” the girl said with forced casualness. “I always wondered how you found so much time for me. And to tell you the truth, I had to lose Ronnie today to see you. These last few days, I don’t know why, but Papa’s become really worried about me. So it won’t be easy for me anymore, either. No wonder nobody wants to date me,” she added morosely. “It’s like going through Israeli security.”