“A chap at the American consulate next door. He brought me here for drinks once. Gave me the entire history of the place, ever since it was built in the late nineteenth century. For the Orient Express travelers, I believe.” How attentive he was, Amira thought. And how elegant, as he ordered a sumptuous meal in impeccable French. No one had ever taken such care to please her before, she realized, as he offered her choice morsels of grilled pheasant before he took a single bite himself.

She wanted to return the favor. So, when he asked if she’d like to visit a nightclub—“I warn you, however, that the entertainment will be limited to some mediocre belly dancing and some rather average singing”—she noted that his eyelids were drooping and thought he might be tired.

“Perhaps you’d rather go back to the hotel,” she ventured. As soon as the words were out, she began to blush, thinking he might take her suggestion as a sexual overture. When he agreed readily, she became quiet and a little shy, in anticipation of the intimacy they would share again.

Yet when they returned to the hotel and entered the elevator, Ali pushed the button that took them to the casino floor. The place was crowded with men and women in evening clothes and pulsing with the energy of winning and losing. Surely, Ali’s father would not approve of such a place, she thought, but she said nothing.

With a familiarity born of practice, Ali took a seat at the blackjack table with the highest limit and threw down a thick pile of bills, barely glancing at the pile of chips he received in return. A moment later, a tuxedo-clad waitress appeared at his elbow. “Glenlivet. Bring the bottle.”

His movements were languid, almost bored, as he played his hands with careless ease, signaling with a barely perceptible motion of his little finger whether or not he wanted another card. Within an hour, he had almost doubled his pile of chips. And though Amira had no idea what the game was, she gathered from the remarks of the people who’d gathered to watch that Ali played in a most unconventional way, taking “hits” when the odds called for standing fast. Soon, a crowd gathered to watch the dark, handsome prince in impeccably tailored evening clothes. But Ali’s eyes barely flickered.

O

Dutifully, Amira stood behind his chair, imagining they would soon leave. Yet as he refilled his glass again and yet again, he continued to gamble, tossing chips on the table, as if they had no meaning at all. Sometimes the pile grew; sometimes it diminished.