broken out a few of the tea lights they kept in the back, forming a flickering line of flames down the center of the table. Anita made a mental note to tell her father they’d done well tonight.
Still, the setting was a bit dim, even with the tea lights and the lights spilling through the windows of the restaurant. So Anita set to work, quickly stringing the white fairy lights around and across the wrought-iron frame that would eventually hold a canopy, once the patio was finished and open to the public. She had to work quickly—she didn’t want to keep the prince waiting after he’d been so understanding and stood up for her in the face of his underling’s anger.
When she stepped back, she thought it still looked a little bit dim. They’d done well, but was it suitable for royalty?
Anita watched the men’s reactions carefully as she led them out to the table. They were, by and large, stone-faced men, but she thought she overheard a few appreciative murmurs.
She seated the Sheikh at the head of the table. It seemed like the right thing to do, until she remembered, with a pit in the bottom of her stomach, that when she was ten she had carved her own name, surrounded by the shape of a heart, into the table—right in front of where he was now sitting.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice, she thought. Hopefully the light was dim enough.
They ordered drinks quickly enough, and Anita was able to get back to serving her neglected tables. Her fellow waitresses had had to step in in a few cases, and Anita couldn’t help but curse herself for the lapse. The rest of them were regulars, who didn’t seem to mind the delay too much. Some even seemed almost honored to be neglected in favor of a prince, once Anita confirmed, in as low-key a way as possible, that it was, in fact, him.
Things seemed to be going well enough, but still Anita felt nervous. She’d already gone out three times, asking the Sheikh’s table if they were ready to order, and three times they’d told her that they were still making up their minds.
Finally, she decided she should do something. She wandered over to where the Sheikh was sitting and summoned up all her courage.
“Do you have any questions about the menu?” she asked.
He looked up, startled, as though she’d interrupted his thoughts. “Yes, ah…” He seemed like he was considering saying something, but wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “I know you’re quite busy, and you’ve already bent over backwards to accommodate us. I appreciate it, really.”
“It’s really no problem,” Anita rushed to say.
The prince continued. “It’s just that I didn’t realize until now how much I had my heart set on chakchouka. I think you have it in Al-Dali, as we do.”
Anita was nodding as though she was trying to make her head fall off. She didn’t mean to be so accommodating. She wanted to come across as cool, calm, and laid-back. But there was something about the Sheikh that made her want to please him, and she had a feeling that it wasn’t just his status.
“We do,” she said. “My father used to make it for me when I was a little girl, actually. I don’t really know why we don’t have it on the menu, but I’m sure my father could make it for you.”
He cocked his head. “Your father?”
Anita blinked, suddenly unsure she should have shared this much about herself. “This is my family’s restaurant… mine and my father’s.”
This only led to another confused look.
“And your mother’s?”
Anita looked down. “I have no mother. Fadi, the head chef here, is my adopted father.”
The Sheikh apologized, but Anita waved it off, saying that it had happened a long time ago, and she had never met her birth parents, as far as she knew.
She thought that was the end of it, but her explanation was met with another blank look. He didn’t press her for more information, though. He only thanked
Still, the setting was a bit dim, even with the tea lights and the lights spilling through the windows of the restaurant. So Anita set to work, quickly stringing the white fairy lights around and across the wrought-iron frame that would eventually hold a canopy, once the patio was finished and open to the public. She had to work quickly—she didn’t want to keep the prince waiting after he’d been so understanding and stood up for her in the face of his underling’s anger.
When she stepped back, she thought it still looked a little bit dim. They’d done well, but was it suitable for royalty?
Anita watched the men’s reactions carefully as she led them out to the table. They were, by and large, stone-faced men, but she thought she overheard a few appreciative murmurs.
She seated the Sheikh at the head of the table. It seemed like the right thing to do, until she remembered, with a pit in the bottom of her stomach, that when she was ten she had carved her own name, surrounded by the shape of a heart, into the table—right in front of where he was now sitting.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice, she thought. Hopefully the light was dim enough.
They ordered drinks quickly enough, and Anita was able to get back to serving her neglected tables. Her fellow waitresses had had to step in in a few cases, and Anita couldn’t help but curse herself for the lapse. The rest of them were regulars, who didn’t seem to mind the delay too much. Some even seemed almost honored to be neglected in favor of a prince, once Anita confirmed, in as low-key a way as possible, that it was, in fact, him.
Things seemed to be going well enough, but still Anita felt nervous. She’d already gone out three times, asking the Sheikh’s table if they were ready to order, and three times they’d told her that they were still making up their minds.
Finally, she decided she should do something. She wandered over to where the Sheikh was sitting and summoned up all her courage.
“Do you have any questions about the menu?” she asked.
He looked up, startled, as though she’d interrupted his thoughts. “Yes, ah…” He seemed like he was considering saying something, but wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “I know you’re quite busy, and you’ve already bent over backwards to accommodate us. I appreciate it, really.”
“It’s really no problem,” Anita rushed to say.
The prince continued. “It’s just that I didn’t realize until now how much I had my heart set on chakchouka. I think you have it in Al-Dali, as we do.”
Anita was nodding as though she was trying to make her head fall off. She didn’t mean to be so accommodating. She wanted to come across as cool, calm, and laid-back. But there was something about the Sheikh that made her want to please him, and she had a feeling that it wasn’t just his status.
“We do,” she said. “My father used to make it for me when I was a little girl, actually. I don’t really know why we don’t have it on the menu, but I’m sure my father could make it for you.”
He cocked his head. “Your father?”
Anita blinked, suddenly unsure she should have shared this much about herself. “This is my family’s restaurant… mine and my father’s.”
This only led to another confused look.
“And your mother’s?”
Anita looked down. “I have no mother. Fadi, the head chef here, is my adopted father.”
The Sheikh apologized, but Anita waved it off, saying that it had happened a long time ago, and she had never met her birth parents, as far as she knew.
She thought that was the end of it, but her explanation was met with another blank look. He didn’t press her for more information, though. He only thanked
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