During its 3-year existence, the Istanbul office of Harlequin Enterprises (HQN) translated and published a single sheik romance, Sharon Kendrick’s 2011 Monarch of the Sands. The Turkish translator, Zeynip Arda (a pen name), told me she despised this novel, particularly for what she saw as its apologist approach towards state-mandated modest dress. She also admitted to adding new material to another romance she was assigned to translate. Such opportunities for rewriting were facilitated by Harlequin Türkiye’s small staff, who provided minimal supervision—only the translators ever read the novels in English. Harlequin Enterprises outsources international translation and distribution to national affiliates, relying on “glocalization” to bridge the gap between its Anglosphere romance novels and local preferences. However, rather than simply easing cultural transitions, loose translation practices may instead invite translators to make substantive modifications with confidence that such rewriting will remain invisible to editors and readers. By examining a culturally problematic HQN romance in English and Turkish, I can assess Zeynip Arda’s redactions, additions, word choice, and other changes, along with our interview, as a measure of the cultural disjunction she experienced. In other words, I am considering Zeynip as a reader and the translation as her commentary on both the original novel and the subgenre itself. My study will reveal how a well-educated, politically liberal Muslim woman rewrote the subgenre for women like herself. Of the various subgenres of Anglosphere popular romance, the sheikh romance seems least likely to appeal to a readership in the Middle East. The subgenre emerged over a century ago with E.M. Hull’s The Sheik (1919), growing more popular in the 21st century. Also known as “desert romance,” sheikh romance depicts “fictionalized landscapes of the Middle East” carefully decorated with Arabic names and terms (Jarmakani xvii) but stripped of religion and nationality. Recent scholarship has explored its Orientalist fantasies; its fixed features, including sand, harems, and an occasional oasis; its links to US military and economic interventions in the Middle East; and its imperialist feminism (see works by Jarmakani, Holden, Burge, and Deal). However, romance scholars have not examined the subgenre’s reception in the Middle East. I have a unique opportunity to do so, thanks to my work with Harlequin Türkiye, the interview with Zeynip, and a rare copy of the ephemeral novel she translated.