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It’s a shame, too, really, because this iteration had started out so well. ‘Allow me, Mademoiselle,’ he had said. ‘Why thank you, Monsieur.�...� Jane took his arm at its oft-mended elbow patch and stepped lightly out of the limousine. It was one of the things she’d always loved about him, his tendency to wax romantic while wearing a sloppy blazer and self-satisfied grin. He’d been to France once, in college, but any culture he’d acquired was pure affectation. He wasn’t rich, either-certainly not. I smiled, my headscarf wrapped covering my hair and swaddled about my face. I doubt anyone walking by on the streets realized I was the only futa in Saudi Arabia.The door opened, and I grinned at the sight of Fahima.“Oh, Nova,” she said in her accented English. “What a wonderful surprise. Come in. Come in.”“Are you here alone?” I asked her as I swept in.“My husband is at the mosque and Rizwana is visiting her mother. She does it every week on Wednesdays.”I smiled. I knew that from talking to. More

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