“Okay, I need to get off this thank-you train before the next stop,” Gigi interrupted.

Dorsey had never been more grateful to his sister. He eyed Liza’s big brown doe eyes under her dark sooty lashes. There were so many things he wanted to ask her:

• Do you still hate me?
• Can we laugh and feel like we did nearly two months ago?
• Can I touch you like I touched you then?

For the past two months, his mind had been playing a highlight reel of his interactions with Liza. If she just gave him tonight, he wouldn’t ruin it with prideful confessions of love. In fact, he had no pride left. He would settle for her in the same room as him for the next three hours.

Liza toured the embassy with the intensity of a graduate student.

Gigi teased, “You know there’s no test afterward, right?”

Liza smiled and ran her fingers against the textured tan wallpaper. She wanted to remember everything about this night. Visiting embassies felt like traveling to her. In the main hall, children weaved in and out of dignitaries, and beautiful dancers with gilded fans performed traditional courting rituals. Liza was even pulled up on stage and promptly embarrassed herself doing a complex rope dance. She noticed how the men followed Dorsey around and how the women preened in his company. Dressed in his traditional finery, he looked like the prince of some faraway kingdom. Solemn and resplendent in his bone-ivory and gold-trimmed tunic, he had what LeDeya would call drip.

The gallery tour was starting, and Gigi looped her arm in Liza’s. “Let me show you one of my favorite pictures of our mom.” Gigi led Liza to a picture of an elegant blonde woman holding a child’s hand. “This is the very spot that Mom found Dorsey and the orphanage she established there,” she explained.

Liza’s eye caught on another blown-up photo. It was Dorsey pulling a child out of the rubble after a terrible natural disaster. He was younger and thinner, but his eyes were unmistakable. The headline was confusing. His name was mislabeled.

Dorsey appeared behind his sister silently and touched the headline. Same cologne, Liza noted. She’d thought she would never smell that particular scent again.

“It’s my Tagalog name.” He answered the question her face was apparently asking. His arm reached up and grazed her shoulder.

“Blank Datu?” Liza tried the name out on her tongue.

“That’s Blank Datu-Ramos,” he said. “It’s a surname. Long story.” His tongue rolled over the words so effortlessly. The name sounded like a promise.

“It’s nice to meet you, Datu.” It did feel like she was meeting a new man. One she finally saw completely. But also one she already loved.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Alizé,” Dorsey volleyed back.

Liza covered her face. “Oh my god.”

“You failed to mention that you were named after an alcoholic beverage,” Dorsey teased.