A Princess in Theory

by Alyssa Cole

  Dammit, he was right. Working at the NYC Health Department would give her something to write about, but it would be a bottom of the barrel thesis unless something remarkable happened. She was fairly certain no other grad students in her contingent, and perhaps the whole of the US, would have access to a small-scale outbreak in a homogenous African kingdom. She hated that people were suffering, but if she went, she’d get to help stop that and to make a name for herself all in one shot. And . . .

  “You can also learn about your history. Your people. The country you never knew.”

  “I told you that I don’t care about that,” Ledi said, even though her heart squeezed at his words.

  “You can meet your family,” he said quietly, as if he were ashamed to pull that card.

  “I . . . I have family?” She felt a brief, unexpected burst of joy, followed by a chaser of rage. “I have family and you waited to tell me?”

  The words came out louder than she had controlled for. Thabiso flinched and Ledi pressed her lips together, mentally slicing away at the anger and hope and betrayal that were coagulating around her. She couldn’t be overwhelmed. She refused.

  “I asked you directly and you said you didn’t want to know,” he said. “Was I supposed to force the information on you against your will?”

  “Yes!” A fierce whisper, then she remembered how adamant she’d been at Fort Tryon Park. “No. Well, just tell me now.”

  “You have an uncle and a cousin. Your grandparents, your mother’s parents, are among those who have fallen ill. We’re trying to save them.”

  Ledi stared at him; she was shit at telling if he was lying, but she couldn’t believe he’d sink so low as to lie about that.

  “What do I have to do? And what’s in this for you?”

  Thabiso sighed, but this time he didn’t look away.

  “You don’t have to do anything more than you’ve ever done, really,” he said. “You just have to be my betrothed.”

  Ledi held one hand to her forehead and another up in front of Thabiso. “Wait. Wait. You came here to apologize for lying about your identity, and now you’re asking me to lie about mine? You’re ridiculous.”

  “I’m not asking you to lie,” he said. “You are my betrothed, by royal and religious decree. I’m not asking you to pretend that you love me—”

  “Good. I’m a scientist, not an actress, Bones.”

  “Bones?”

  She stared at him, and he dropped the query.

  “Never mind. Right.” Thabiso shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “Rumors are already spreading after the event last night, but we can spin this. We can go with the story that you were unaware of who I was, who you were, and you can return a prodigal daughter. That should placate people who were angry about your parents fleeing. Then, once the outbreak is handled and things go back to normal, you can say that you miss the US and go back home.”

  Ledi was trying so hard not to care, but his last words shanked her right in a vulnerable spot. Some stupid romantic part of her had hoped he might beg her to stay, even if that was the last thing she wanted. Didn’t she deserve that lie, too? Then she remembered that no one ever wanted her around for long.

  Defective Velcro.

  She almost told him no.

  This is for work. This could make your career.

  “Fine. I’ll pretend to be your betrothed,” she said holding out her hand. She squeezed his hand hard, and then dropped it. “And then I’ll leave.”

  Chapter 22

  Ledi had packed and repacked her suitcase several times over the course of the last week, between bench exams, finding a mouse sitter for the Grams, and getting last-minute vaccinations, a passport, and special visas that were expedited at the behest of the Thesoloian Consulate.

  All that, and dodging Portia.

  I should have just confronted him myself and asked once I was suspicious. I didn’t think it would hurt you this much if I was right.

  Ledi had to admit that she’d spent years convincing Portia, and herself, that nothing a man did could hurt her. But Portia should have known how much she could hurt Ledi.

  I shouldn’t make excuses. What I did was wrong, and I’m so sorry.

  Ledi put the phone away, her sadness weighing down on her. She missed her friend, despite Portia’s ridiculous, thoughtless behavior, but she needed time to think before speaking to her. She needed to figure out how to break the bad patterns of their friendship and create better ones, and whether Portia would be able to do the same.

  This was why her phospholipid bilayer was so important. Once someone got through, it was all over. They could hurt deeply and she’d still care about them. Caring was the worst, despite its evolutionary necessity.

  She refocused on her packing, deciding between a more reserved skirt set and bright pink skinny jeans. She stuffed both into the suitcase and zipped it resolutely. There was no perfect outfit for meeting your countrypeople for the first time. Or for making a prince eat his heart out.

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  She’d barely see Thabiso—she hated that name. Each time she had to mentally correct from Jamal to Thabiso it was a reminder of how she’d been played for a fool. What’s in a name? Acute embarrassment, apparently.

  She had plenty of things to keep her occupied while she was there; she’d downloaded all available info about the possible epidemic and dozens of case studies onto her phone to read during the long flight. She’d also compiled the emails about Thesolo, the most recent ones that had suddenly started explaining the country’s history and culture. She now realized those emails had been Likotsi—Thabiso’s mystery friend, actually his assistant, who she’d met in the hallway of her building—prepping her for Thabiso’s confession that never came to fruition.

  She’d read through all of those already, soaking up the facts and photos like a sponge left away from the water until it was hard and dry. It was too much to absorb at once, and she’d read them again and again, telling herself it was the same thing she’d do with any assignment she received in class. The only unread email’s subject was right to the point: Libiko and Kembe Ajoua, Your Parents. Ledi hadn’t been able to lie to herself about that one, so she hadn’t opened it. Not yet.

  Her phone rang, the sound jolting her out of her reverie.

  “Ms. Naledi Ajoua, betrothed to His Royal Highness Prince, Bringer of Light and Love, Thabiso Moshoeshoe of Thesolo?” The man on the other line could have been an auctioneer with his smooth, fast delivery.

  It jolted her, hearing her real surname instead of the one on all of her legal documents. Smith had given her anonymity, ensured she was always at the back of the class and at the bottom of lists. Ajoua was a front of the class, top of alphabetically ordered lists kind of name. It was a name that didn’t allow for shrinking. She wondered what her life would have been like if the social workers hadn’t found her parents’ fake identification papers, but that led down the perilous path of wondering what her life would have been like if her parents had lived and why they’d had fake IDs to begin with.

  “This is she,” Ledi said, automatically slipping into formality even though she was considering hanging up and throwing her phone into the trash compactor, for real this time.

  “I’m your driver, hired by the Thesoloian Consulate to bring you to the airport. Do you need me to come up and get your bags?”

  Well, that was certainly way better service than she was used to. Likotsi had said she needn’t worry about a thing in regards to her trip to Thesolo, and the woman had meant it.

  “No, I’m good,” she said. “I’ll be down in five.”

  “I’d be more than happy to assist,” the driver pressed.

  “I need a moment,” Ledi said, looking around her tidy apartment. She touched the space on the windowsill where the Grams’ cage usually sat and took a deep breath.

  “I understand. Take your time.”

  “Thanks.” She locked the phone and slipped it into her pocket.

&
nbsp; She steeled herself against the enormity of what awaited her as she rolled her suitcase out of the apartment and locked the door behind her. She had lived her entire life—what she could remember of it—rootless, being passed around like brussels sprouts at dinner before they became trendy. Now she was about to take a trip to the motherland, her actual motherland, and she had no idea of what she should be feeling.

  The door to apartment 7 N opened and Mrs. Garcia, tanned and radiant, peeked her head out.

  “Hey, linda! I’ve barely seen you since I got back and now you’re leaving?”

  Ledi tried not to look like someone who’d done unmentionable things on her neighbor’s sofa. “Hi! How was your trip?”

  “It was amazing! I got to go to the beach—a real beach—see my family, and catch up with friends I hadn’t spoken to since I left when I was a teenager.” Mrs. Garcia grinned. “That rich guy who sent me on the vacation so he could stay here? I think he was an angel. Really. It’s crazy how one person can show up and boom! Suddenly your life is completely different.”

  Ledi decided against telling Mrs. Garcia that Thabiso was a lying fraud who used his wealth to get what he wanted.

  What had he wanted, exactly?

  It didn’t matter. Mrs. Garcia was happy, and she wasn’t necessarily wrong. Ledi’s life had certainly taken a turn in the last two weeks. Whether it was for the better or the worse was still up for debate.

  “DiDi! Ven aqui, mi amor!” A gruff male voice called out from the recesses of the apartment. That’s when Ledi realized that only Mrs. Garcia’s head and shoulder—bare shoulder—were visible through the cracked door.

  “I have to go,” she said with a sly smile. Ledi distinctly heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and then Mrs. Garcia’s face went pink. “An old friend I reconnected with in PR is visiting. You know how it is. Um. Ah! Have a good trip!”

  The door slammed closed and low laughter—male and female—sounded from behind it, followed by the squeal of plastic. Ledi wished Mrs. Garcia better luck in love than she’d had.

  She took the seven flights of stairs slower than she ever had, and was so lost in her trepidation as she stepped out of the building that it took her a moment to notice the small crowd. Several people were holding up their cell phones.

  “You think someone famous is in there?” a teenager zooming in on his iPhone asked.

  “Yo, what if it’s Beyoncé?” his friend asked.

  The crowd was staring excitedly at the long, sleek limo double-parked in front of the building. Ledi got pulled into the excitement; if Beyoncé had randomly dropped by the neighborhood, she might have to tell her driver to wait.

  The car door opened and a balding man in a black suit got out and scanned the crowd.

  He smiled in recognition when his gaze landed on her. “Ms. Ajoua?”

  He began walking toward her, and the crowd parted, their camera phones turning toward her as the driver took her suitcase from her. “Follow me, please.”

  Ledi stood still for a moment. “I’m not Beyoncé,” she said, confused.

  “Damn right you’re not,” an older woman in the crowd said.

  “No need to be rude, madam,” the driver said with a disapproving look, then took Ledi’s arm and escorted her toward the limo. He opened the door and inclined slightly, waiting for her to enter.

  “I think there’s been some kind of mistake,” Ledi said.

  “Are you Naledi Ajoua, betrothed of His Ro—”

  “Yes, that’s me,” she said, cutting him off. People were recording and she didn’t need word of her fake engagement getting around the neighborhood, or the internet. She’d kept a low profile for years, and this limo business would be hard enough to explain when she got back. Because she’d be back eventually, alone as ever, and didn’t need her neighbors thinking she’d lost a prince when the truth was she’d never had him.

  “Then there is no mistake. Get in, and I’ll have you to the airport in no time at all.”

  Ledi climbed into the limo and sat awkwardly in the middle of the backseat. She felt ridiculous in the enormous interior of the car, which was decked out in sleek wood and smelled of leather and something she couldn’t quite place.

  Money, she thought. A scent you’re not too familiar with.

  “Are you comfortable?” The driver’s voice filled the car, emanating from hidden surround sound speakers, as they pulled into traffic. “There are beverages in the refrigerator and a crudité platter and some appetizers. If you’d prefer something warm, there are some microwaveable items.”

  “There’s a microwave?” she asked.

  “Of course,” the driver replied, as if she’d questioned his honor. “There’s also a Keurig if you need coffee or tea.”

  “Thank you,” Ledi said. Traffic was moving pretty smoothly, but she worried they would hit a snarl along the way. “What is the exact time of my flight, by the way? Likotsi only told me when to be ready for the car service to pick me up.”

  There was a pause. “Pardon?”

  “What time is my flight?” Ledi repeated. She looked around to see if there was some kind of intercom button so he could hear her better. When she pressed a small button on the interior wall beside her head, a panel slid away revealing a touch screen dotted with various icons. One with a martini glass likely represented the bar. One with wavy lines seemed to represent the AC. She wasn’t sure what the icon with the flames represented, but figured it was best not to touch that lest she end up a victim of her curiosity.

  “I imagine it’s in about an hour and a half,” he said, much too vague for Ledi’s liking.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. She tapped an icon with a bottle of water on it and another panel slid open, revealing an empty cubbyhole. A second later a petite bottle of mineral water dropped down.

  What the hell?

  “I read that you’re supposed to get to the airport two hours ahead of time. I don’t want to miss the flight and have to rebook.”

  A chuckle came through the speakers. “The flight won’t leave without you, so please relax and enjoy the ride. If there’s any particular music you’d like to listen to, you can sync your phone to the car’s audio system.”

  Ledi pulled out her phone and selected the latest episode of her favorite science podcast. The familiar voices of the hosts bantering about gut microbiota soothed her for the rest of the ride.

  They hit a bit of traffic and Ledi fought panic that she’d show up at the airport just in time to see her plane take off. She’d never been through security before, but Portia always said it was a nightmare if you didn’t have TSA PreCheck.

  Portia.

  Ledi wished she could have asked her friend what to expect on the flight, what to wear to meet a royal family. Portia knew the ins and outs of this high society kind of stuff, but Ledi would have to figure it out on her own.

  She felt a twinge of guilt; she was flying to see Thabiso but ignoring her best friend? She stopped herself from going down that self-recriminating path. The bottom line was she was still mad as hell and her trust was bruised and battered. Whatever she was doing with Thabiso was a sham and would be over soon enough. Her next steps with Portia . . . She needed time, and she would take it. If their friendship couldn’t survive that, it wasn’t much of one.

  The limo pulled up to the airport, and Ledi gave in to the impulse she’d been fighting the entire ride. She glanced around the limo, then quickly tapped the flames icon on the digital menu. For a moment there was silence and she was sure she’d activated the self-destruct sequence, but then a panel at the opposite end of the car slid up and a fireplace roared to life.

  Who needs a fireplace in a car?

  Ledi’s door opened and she quickly tapped the icon so that the fireplace went out. A dark-skinned woman in a pink suit poked her head in.

  “Ms. Ajoua?”

  “Yes.” Ledi appreciated that the woman had kept it simple and left out Thabiso’s titles.

  “I’m Natalie, y
our airport liaison. Come with me, please.”

  The driver wished her a good flight and handed off her suitcase to Natalie, who was walking so quickly that Ledi had to jog to keep up.

  “I have your passport,” Natalie said as they walked by a snaking line of people. “You’re much lovelier in person.”

  “Thanks. I think. Is that the line for security?” Ledi asked. She was definitely going to miss her flight.

  “For commoners,” Natalie replied briskly. “You get an expedited check in.”

  “Like preapproval?”

  The woman laughed. “Also for commoners. Do you think the Queen of England waits in the TSA preapproved line?”

  Ledi had never had to consider such things. She couldn’t imagine the queen hanging out in an airport, but she supposed she had to get around somehow.

  Natalie stopped in front of a door that read Authorized Personnel Only and swiped a key.

  “Right this way.”

  Behind the door was a long hallway that led them to an area with an entirely different atmosphere from the echoing chaos they had just passed through. Classical music piped out through low speakers and the light was warm instead of fluorescent. Beyond the metal detector, there were framed photos on the wall and velvety wallpaper and plush couches instead of plastic seats. She was underdressed in her jeans and sneakers, which was overdressed for flights where people could often be found wearing their pajama pants.

  “Wait right here,” the woman said, and approached the TSA officer seated at a wooden desk. She showed him Ledi’s passport and placed her bag through a scanner, then walked through a metal detector. “Come on, Ms. Ajoua.”

  Ledi followed her, and a moment later they were walking through a clean comfortable-looking seating area. Expensive looking chairs rested on bright area rugs, interspersed with wooden tables outfitted with chargers, magazines, lotions, and other necessities.