With a slight gesture of her hand, she summoned her older daughter, Munira, who produced a velvet case from her Hermes shoulder bag. “May God’s happiness be with you always,” Faiza said, presenting the case to Amira. “Wear this on your wedding day with our blessing.” She opened the box, which contained a magnificent, diamond-studded platinum tiara.

Amira’s breath caught in her throat. She had never seen gems like this before, and for the first time, she understood that the life she would lead as a princess was far, far beyond the comfort she had known in her father’s house.

“Your blessing is more precious than diamonds. I pray I’m worthy of your generosity.”

Faiza nodded her approval of Amira’s words. As the aunts oohed and aahed over the gift, pots of mint-flavored tea appeared, along with platters of sweets, the product of hours of baking. First came the kanafi, a shredded wheat pastry stuffed with sweetened cream and drizzled with honey. This was followed by ma’amul, a rich shortbread filled with dates and nuts, and baklava, made of phyllo dough and pistachios, sweetened with sugar and rosewater syrup.

Amira took a fine porcelain plate from the sideboard, filled it with pastries, and offered it to Faiza, who acknowledged the gesture with a slight inclination of her head.

“Please try the kanafi,” Aunt Najla urged. “Amira made it herself.” Faiza took a bite, chewed it carefully, then swallowed. “Very nice,” she pronounced, “though the syrup could use a bit more rosewater.” Encouraged by this demi-compliment, Najla continued, “The French dressmakers say Amira has a perfect figure. She will look like an angel in her wedding dress.”

Faiza’s eyes flicked over her two daughters, neither of whom could merit such a compliment. “Physical beauty can be a blessing—or a curse, especially if it leads to vanity.”

Aunt Najla retreated.

“My Ali has just been appointed minister of culture,” Faiza announced proudly—though in fact the appointment had been made by his own father. The women murmured their appreciation of this honor.

“It’s a position of great responsibility and respect. My Ali will supervise the completion of our new cultural museum. And he will travel all over the world, to England and France and Italy, perhaps even America, to show what is best of al-Remal.”

Amira was dazzled. England and France and Italy—storybook countries rich with delights she could only imagine. Perhaps the prince would take her with him. Perhaps they might one day visit Malik and see all the glorious places she’d been reading about for so many years.

“His wife will have to set the highest standard for herself,” Faiza continued. “She will have to be chaste and unassuming—and above all, obedient and modest.”