of white pillows and blankets. “Can we really stay here?”
“Certainly,” said Zayid.
“Then let’s stay.” It was already too late to get back for the lesson, anyway.
He helped her down into the cushions and took his place across from her, then lifted the coverings off one of the silver dishes lining the center of the table. Something seemed...different. Laila tried to put her finger on what it was while Zayid put portions of rice and spiced lamb and vegetables swimming in a savory sauce on her plate.
“Are we alone?” she asked.
“We’re completely alone.” Zayid’s eyes caught hers and held. “There are guards at a desert post a quarter mile away in case of emergency, but I thought you would appreciate a night away. Just us.”
Laila tried to keep the heat out of her cheeks and the swoon out of her chest while they lingered over their meal. Zayid had thought of candlelight, he’d thought of her favorite chocolates from the marketplace—he’d thought of almost everything.
“What was your favorite part of the museum today?” He murmured the question into her ear as they reclined on cushions in front of a low fire that burned in a steel firepit just outside the tent.
Laila kept her eyes on the stars and leaned back in Zayid’s arms. “The pottery. I can’t get enough of it.”
He took a deep breath, and the pause beat on long enough to pique her interest. “I know a few things about pottery.”
She laughed. “Do you? I know you have quite a few pieces by the mysterious artist of Raihan in your palace, but I’ve never seen you hanging around the studio.”
“Fine. I know one thing about pottery.”
“What is it?” she teased.
“I know the identity of the mystery potter.”
The whole world ground to a halt around Laila, all the crickets singing in the trees and the babble of the stream going utterly silent. “You do?”
Zayid stroked his fingers down her arm and tugged up the blanket. “She was my great-aunt Zein.” Of all the jewels of knowledge she’d collected at the museum, this was the largest one, scattering all the others beneath it. “She introduced me to the world of art when I was young. It’s her pottery that you can spot from a mile away—that you studied in school.”
Laila could hardly find words. “You know all about pottery then.”
“Not as much as you. Enough to build a studio, with a little help from Zein.”
“But she—she was—she’s passed away?”
“Sadly, yes.”
There wasn’t enough air in all the desert for Laila to draw a full breath. “Then how—how did she help with the studio?”
“All the traditional equipment used to be hers. I kept it when she died.”
Laila let her head drop back against Zayid’s chest. “No. It can’t be.”
“Why not?”
She groaned. “Because now I can never use any of those tools again. Ever. They’re priceless.”
Zayid laughed, the sound reverberating through her entire body. “If you knew her, you wouldn’t think that. She didn’t believe that anything’s priceless. She thought art should be freely enjoyed. That’s why you can’t buy any of her pieces. She let a few be displayed at museums, but otherwise they’ve been given to family members. And she would have appreciated, more than anything, that another passionate potter was using her tools rather than letting them collect dust in a palace storage room.”
“I wish I could have met her.” Laila’s throat ached with the sudden sorrow of it. “She really wanted her name to remain a mystery?”
She felt Zayid shrug beneath her. “It’s a bit of an open secret in Raihan. Those who know respect her wish to remain semi-anonymous. That way, her work doesn’t displace those of the up-and-coming artists in our country, just because she was a member of the royal family.”
Laila sighed. “She sounds like she was amazing.”
“The two of you would have gotten along splendidly. I have no doubt.” Despite the fire, a shiver moved through Laila’s body. Zayid reacted instantly. “Go inside. It gets cold in the desert at night. I’ll put out the fire and join you.”
Laila went to stand by the table, the dishes they’d used neatly covered with their silver lids. Zayid had done it all himself when they’d finished eating. But it wasn’t the table that drew her attention now. It was the bedroom. The fluffed pillows called to her.
Zayid announced his presence in the tent by coming up behind her and kissing the side of her neck. “We’re all alone,” he said, his voice making her breath quicken. “Is it