by Alyssa Cole
He took a step forward with his jacket hanging from one hand by one sleeve and reached behind her to pull the other sleeve around her waist. “If anyone is going to gossip about you today, they should be saying that you were so breathtaking that you were whisked away by an infamous playboy. That he was so overcome with longing that he couldn’t wait for the festivities to end to get you alone.”
“Well, if they’re going to spread lies, I guess that one is as good as any other.” Her gaze searched his, and he could easily see her confusion. A breeze blew, making the palm fronds behind her dip, dancing across her back and shoulders as if they, too, were swayed by the desire to touch her.
She shivered at their caress, and Johan found himself jealous of flora. He wanted to make her shiver, wanted to know how she liked to be kissed and touched and pleased.
“I don’t lie to make people feel better about themselves.” Johan pulled one sleeve through the other and tightened slowly. Slowly. Her breath caught as the knot came together at her waist. He should have let go then, should have stepped away, but she gasped at the cinch of the fabric as he tied the sleeves—it was a gasp of pleasure.
He tugged the knotted sleeves, bringing her a step closer to him. “And I don’t lie to you.”
“Phoko.” Her eyes were huge, but there was no fear in them. Curiosity. Puzzlement. Heat. That last one was the problem, because it seemed to require a response, one that Johan felt more than qualified to give her.
Although he knew that this was bad, bad, very bad, his head started to dip down toward hers.
His stepfather’s words echoed in his mind. Can’t you date this woman for a bit?
Linus misunderstood the problem. Johan could see much further than “a bit” when he looked into Nya’s eyes. He saw the bait that was laid down for the foolish protagonist in every fairy tale. Love. Shelter. Kindness. He saw it and he wanted it—wanted her—even though he knew the bait was inside a cage of eventual despair.
Despair seemed worth it, just then.
His mouth was so close to hers now, her stuttering breath a staccato whisper against his lips. A heady rush of possibility surged through him in anticipation of learning the feel of her, and the taste of her, making his head spin. When he inhaled, the scent of ylang-ylang tickled his nose.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned forward to meet his kiss . . . and then the palm fronds parted and the face of a disgruntled grandmother pushed through them.
“Eh, eh! What are you doing?” Annie Jerami snapped as Nya and Johan jumped apart.
The fronds rustled a bit more and Makalele stuck his head through. “Probably the same thing we were doing, love,” he said with a grin.
Panic swept over Nya’s face, then embarrassment.
“Nya said she needed some air, as the ballroom had become a bit stifling,” Johan said with a calm he didn’t feel. Nya’s grandparents had saved him from making a terrible mistake, but his body wasn’t quite as thankful as his brain was. “I was escorting her to make sure she would be safe.”
“Safe from what?” Annie asked, dropping a hand onto her hip as she looked him up and down.
“The peacocks have been very aggressive lately,” Nya added solemnly, surprising him.
“Right. You two can protect her from the dangerous peacocks—”
Makalele giggled, and Annie rolled her eyes at him.
“—and I’ll go see about transportation for you, Nya,” Johan said, then turned and jogged off.
He’d been millimeters away from kissing Nya, who had managed to drill through all of his defenses without even seemingly wanting to or trying.
Running away was the only logical action.
Chapter 7
ONE TRUE PRINCE, TEXT MESSAGE MODE
Hanjo: I’ve never met anyone like you before, Nya.
Nya: (B) There’s nothing special about me. Besides, you barely know me!
Hanjo: Let’s change that. I have an idea that might be a little wild . . . but then again, all of my ideas are a little wild.
The morning following the wedding, Nya lay in bed with a heating pad under her back and the blankets pulled over her head. She didn’t want to face this day, or the embarrassing memories that her duvet couldn’t block out.
After returning to her room from the gardens, she’d showered, left the voluminous linen dress to soak in cool water, and rummaged through the bathroom cabinet, coming up with a menstrual cup, which she’d had to look up instructions on how to use. Her period had always been irregular due to her health issues—the issues that had mostly disappeared once her father had gone to prison. This humiliation was another thing that could be blamed on him.
She’d put on a new dress, refreshed her makeup, and then climbed into bed, too embarrassed and confused to return to the reception. Johan’s intentions had been good. He’d been convincing, too, trying to make her feel better with his jokes and his smile and his looking at her like she was the juiciest lamb shank at the feast.
She wasn’t foolish enough to think it had meant anything to him, though, beyond a kind gesture. It shouldn’t have meant anything to her. But then the thought of going back into the ballroom and seeing him laugh and flirt with others, or worse, having him admit that he’d only done it to make her feel better, had flattened her out on her bed.
He’s nothing but a frivolous fuckboy, she reminded herself. But somewhere in the last few days, that frivolous fuckboy had become her friend. The part of her mind that had daydreamed about him for months, despite her distaste, wished it was possible for him to be more.
Foolish girl, her father’s voice had chided. Your dreams are too big.
She’d attributed the tears that sheened in her eyes to hormones, and had fallen asleep with the memory of Johan’s face moving toward hers playing on a loop.
“Nya?” Portia’s voice sounded outside the door, paired with a firm, efficient knock that had to be Ledi.
Nya took a deep steadying breath. She was sad and listless, her back felt like it was being punched by tiny goblins, and her stomach seemed ready to betray her, but she’d already lost hours of quality time with her friends by wallowing in her embarrassment. She rolled to her side and called out, “Come in!”
Ledi and Portia entered looking radiant, in part because of the sunlight pouring through the door behind them. She glanced at her window to see that the heavy, light-blocking curtains were still drawn.
“What time is it?” she asked, sitting up.
“Time for the reception brunch,” Ledi said, coming to sit at the foot of her bed. Portia sat on the other side, and they each leaned back against a bamboo bedpost. “Are you feeling okay?”
She’d texted them what had happened when she’d awoken to an alarm to check One True Prince, and told them not to worry.
“I am embarrassed,” she said, flopping back onto her pillows.
“Don’t worry, no one saw your dress. Not a peep on social media so far. And even if they had, so what? It’s natural.” Portia’s resolute tone indicated she would kneecap anyone who bothered Nya about it.
“Not because of that. Because of Johan.” Nya pulled the sheet up to her chin. “He must think I’m ridiculous, not even knowing my own courses. But I almost never have them! I thought it was just the stress of returning home making me feel strange.”
“Have you been to a doctor about that?” Ledi asked, always the professional. “Irregular periods are fairly common, and they can put you on birth control to regulate it. You should also make sure it’s not something serious.”
“I will do that,” she said, then took a deep breath. “I was scared to go before because I was worried they would ask why a woman almost thirty from a nation with universal health care had never had such troubles looked at before.”
“So. Like. Why is that?” Ledi asked quietly.
Nya’s stomach roiled, and she wasn’t sure if it was with upset or because she was about to say something she’d never told anyone before. Ledi had always questioned her about her
health, and Nya had always evaded, but now . . .
She looked down, and so she was able to see both Portia and Ledi’s hands as they reached for hers and squeezed.
“Until you came to Thesolo, I was always sick. My childhood doctors assumed it was just my frail nature, as my father constantly told them, because there was no pattern and seemingly no cause, and I’d accepted that. But I’ve had time to think, without my father always telling me what was true and what wasn’t. He knew how to use the traditional plants to do many things, and—” Tears filled her eyes. She tried to say more but the words choked in her throat, blocked there like the warnings she’d wanted to give Ledi when Alehk Jerami had pressured her to drink more tea.
“And then he went to prison for poisoning me and suddenly you’re looking like a snack and getting your period,” Ledi finished angrily. “I had my suspicions and I didn’t want to push, but that motherfucker!”
Both of her friends squeezed Nya’s hands more tightly, holding on to her as if they were in a stormy sea together and they wouldn’t let her sink. She swallowed thickly.
“That asshole,” Portia said. “And he has the nerve to pull this now, after what he put you through?”
“Portia,” Ledi said in a quelling tone that made Nya’s head snap up. She drew her hands away and laced her fingers together.
“What do you mean ‘now’?” she asked, dread icing her from her feet to her scalp.
“Your father heard you were back,” Ledi said, and though her voice was calm her face was taut with anger. “He’s been demanding to see you. And he says that he will not share the extent of his dealings—of the danger he put Thesolo in—until you pay him a visit.”
Nya hugged her arms around herself. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry, but I cannot. I will not.”
She couldn’t explain the sickness rising in her throat, or why she started to shake. Her father had never laid a hand on her, except to give her a loving pat. Never raised his voice, except to run off people he thought might harm her. He’d treated her like a fragile teacup that needed to be wrapped in bubble wrap and stored in a dark cupboard to keep it safe.
He’d told her everything he did was out of love. And, even if they hadn’t realized it, so had everyone else, by smiling and remarking what a good father he was, by absorbing his belief that she needed to be treated with care and following suit.
She wasn’t certain what would happen if she sat in front of him and looked into that face she both loved and hated. If he opened his mouth and spoke those words that had kept her under his control for so many years.
You took your mother from me. Would you leave me, too?
She’d fled without telling him, but even after her time in New York, she worried that her answer would be what he’d programmed her to say. No father. Never.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Ledi said fiercely. “Sorry, but fuck this motherfucker. You don’t owe him anything. But it also isn’t right to keep this from you, because you’re a grown woman and you can make your own decisions.”
Nya nodded, though she wished someone would tell her what she could do to make the pain stop.
“Hey,” Portia said, coming to kneel beside Nya and rub her back. “Why don’t you take a hot shower, relax, and then come eat with us?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine. I just hate that he would use me like this,” Nya said on a shuddering breath. “It’s just how he is, though. A zebra cannot change its stripes.”
“We can kill him, right, Ledi?” Portia asked hopefully.
“I’ll look into it,” Ledi said, stroking her chin in a very Thabiso-like fashion.
Nya wasn’t sure how to tell them that death threats weren’t helping, but then someone cleared their throat and they turned to see a wide-eyed palace staff member in the doorway.
“Good morning, Indira,” Ledi said, inclining her head toward the woman.
“Excuse me, Your Highness and esteemed guests. Good morning. I am here to clean but I can come back if I am interrupting a matter of import,” the middle-aged woman said. She glanced at Nya, then down to the ground.
“No, nothing of import,” Nya said, trying to surreptitiously wipe at her face.
“Can I be of assistance to you?” Indira asked.
“Can you please take the item that’s soaking in the bathroom to be washed?” Nya said politely. “Oh, and please take Prince Johan’s suit jacket and have it cleaned and returned to him, too. Thank you.”
She pointed at the jacket hanging from the bathroom door and tried not to remember the look in his eyes when he’d tied it around her.
Indira glanced at the jacket. “Yes. I will do that.”
“Thank you,” Ledi said warmly.
“It is my pleasure to serve,” she said, then disappeared into the bathroom.
“Ugh, why does this have to hurt?” Nya complained, talking about both her period and life in general. “It really isn’t fair.”
“Did you take any pills?” Portia pulled a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers from some hidden pocket.
“I’ll take one,” Nya said, ignoring her instinct not to take any medicine at all. Portia wouldn’t harm her.
There was a splashing of water and then a sharp gasp, and when Indira came out from the bathroom with the dripping bundle of linen she looked stricken. Nya was awash in embarrassment, which she was starting to think had become her perpetual state. She had tried to scrub the dress, but apparently hadn’t done a good enough job.
“Ms. Jerami, I— Are you all right? Do you need any unguents, poultices, or herbal remedies?”
Nya relaxed. The woman was just worried about her well-being.
“I appreciate your offer,” Nya said. “I am in pain, but it’s not that bad. Nothing uncommon given the situation.”
Indira nodded sharply. “Yes, it is exactly that, Ms. Jerami. Blessings of Ingoka upon you, and her wrath on those who have caused you any distress.”
The woman marched toward the door, came back to snatch the suit jacket up, then marched out again.
“What was that about?” Portia asked.
“Maybe she heard about my father,” Nya said, then sighed. “Okay, go to the brunch. I’ll be there soon.”
Her friends hesitated.
“I swear on my stash of dating games.”
They each hugged her before they left, and she made her way into the bathroom, feeling both heavier and lighter. She decided not to think of visiting her father. She was good at pretending everything was okay, after years of practice. She would smile and laugh and not let anyone know that her father could still hurt her, even from behind bars.
THE BRUNCH WAS still going strong when Nya arrived clad in one of the rompers she’d bought when she planned on running wild in New York City, but had never dared to wear. She’d chosen the outfit because the red silky material was stretchy and comfortable and the brunch was outdoors in the summer garden, but as she’d stared in the mirror and dabbed at her red lipstick, she’d thought of Johan. Johan who was suddenly a friend, but a friend who she wanted to appreciate how nice her legs looked in heels and how her melanin popped.
She’d also thought of her father, who’d only allowed her to wear drab, dark, loose-fitting clothing because “men were like dogs.”
Do you really want to wear that outfit, child? What will people say?
If someone was giving him information about her, he should know that his daughter was wearing bright colors, showing skin, and inviting the dogs to feast their eyes on her.
Okay, she only had one particular dog in mind. A fox, to be more precise, and one whose mouth had been so close to hers the night before that their noses had brushed.
As soon as she walked into the gated-off area of the garden where the brunch was being held, her gaze landed on him. Everyone was laughing and talking but he sat staring at his jollof like the meaning of life could be found in the grains. He looked up suddenly, his gaze locking right on to hers, and she wobbled in
her Mary Jane stilettos even though she knew how to navigate grass in high heels. Ledi had taught her in Central Park, outside the royal town house.
“Cousiiiiiin!” Thabiso called out happily, seemingly having indulged in the apricot mimosas that were on the brunch menu. “Come, we saved you a seat!”
He pointed to the seat across from him—next to Johan. She was starting to wonder whether the goddess wasn’t testing her. In the many visits to New York he’d made, he hadn’t spoken a word to her, but now she couldn’t seem to escape him. She’d comforted herself with the fact that he was a spoiled jerk who she didn’t want to talk to anyway, but she’d been wrong on that front. She wanted to talk to him, about anything and everything, even if he was exactly the last man in the world she should get ideas about.
He was looking at her curiously, and she wondered if she’d made the wrong fashion choice. Maybe red had been the wrong color to wear the day after her incident.
She slid into the seat, aware that Johan was still looking at her oddly. Maybe he’d been drunk the day before and had forgotten what passed between them. Maybe he was disgusted. Maybe he thought she was shameless, strutting in with her skin exposed and—
No, that was her father, not Johan. She was fairly certain her Phoko had no idea the word shameless existed.
“Gutten jour,” he said, his voice husky. She wondered if he’d stayed up late partying, and that was why he sounded like a sexy Franco-Germanic vampire. He would make a good Rognath the Vampire Lord, especially if he kept staring at her like he was capable of eating her—which he had already offered to do.
Which I might not turn down next time.
Heat rushed to her face at that thought.
“Mmoro,” she replied, turning from him so he couldn’t guess what she was thinking. Across the expanse of grass beyond the tables, a few of the royal guards stood overlooking the small gathering. Lineo, who had definitely seen Nya’s breasts in the sauna and witnessed her weird exit from the reception with Johan, gazed at her, then at Johan, then back at Nya. She said something to the woman beside her—was that Indira, the palace staff woman? Nya cringed; they were probably talking about how weird she was, running from the reception and ruining expensive fabric.