Ketta Mayasan glared at her brother with impatience. Sitting on a couch, drink in hand, she watched him pace back and forth across the short-piled carpeting, her own patience wearing thin.

“What are you waiting for?” she snapped at him. “You should have done that woman over as soon as we arrived.”

Kamran stopped his pacing to look at her a moment.

“I’m not certain,” he said. “But something tells me that perhaps I shouldn’t use the same subject again. And besides, I’m finding myself rather…interested…in this girl.”

Ketta slammed her drink down on a table, ignoring that it sloshed all over, and jumped up.

“What do you mean interested?”...