by Alyssa Cole
Likotsi’s fingers threaded into Fab’s hair, holding her in place, and when the loud, unrestrained moan broke from Likotsi, when her thighs clamped around Fab’s face and her pussy squeezed Fab’s fingers, Fab’s own body trembled on the precipice of orgasm, just from the touch and taste and scent of this woman she loved who was finally hers again.
“Come, beloved,” Likotsi panted. She tugged at Fab’s shoulders again, pulling her up until their mouths were level. She kissed Fab, licking into her mouth hard as she notched her thigh against the throbbing need between Fab’s legs.
Then there was no leading, from above or below, just the sinuous movement of their hips as the ground against one another. Just their arms wrapped tightly around one another, so tight that they both could barely breathe. Just their mouths fused and their tongues tangling, and their cries echoing down into each other’s chests when they broke as one and came together as something strong and new.
They stared at each other in dazed wonder as they drifted down from their bliss. Likotsi’s legs were trembling. Fab thought her heart might burst.
“It’s only seven,” Likotsi said, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “Do you have to be home any time soon?”
Fab almost censored herself. Almost stopped the words that were on the tip of her tongue. But this was love at second sight, and she wasn’t going to be shy about it.
“I am home,” she said, running her hand over the arm Likotsi had wrapped around her. “With you. And I can stay here until 10:00 a.m., when I have to pick up Angela from Port Authority and take her to her church, if this snow doesn’t cause any delays.”
“And after that?” Likotsi asked. There was no fear in her voice, though. No worry.
“I can slip out for date nights every now and then. Angie is at school during the day and she has her friends and activities on the weekend and some weeknights. I’m not going to be a deadbeat foster cousin. But I think we can make something work.” Fab saw something shift in Likotsi’s eyes. “You can meet her eventually. I think she’ll be happy for me, but you know. I’m trying to do this right, and the recommendation is three months.”
“One thing you should know about me is that I find following protocol very attractive.” Likotsi leaned forward and kissed Fab’s forehead. “I’ll do things on my end, making calls bright and early Monday morning to see about your aunt, once you’ve given me more information. I can’t promise anything, but I can try, and I know Thabiso will offer any assistance he can.”
A prince was going to try to help free her aunt, who was locked away in a tower of sorts. Maybe this was a dream.
They snuggled closer, and Fab grinned, lifting just one side of her mouth. “What’s good with room service?”
Epilogue
The Following Spring
Likotsi had dined at the palaces and mansions of the most powerful people in the world, where even the assistants’ table was intimidating, but she hadn’t felt nerves like this before. She could use her wit and pedigree to deal with coworkers, as it was, who stepped out of line, but this was different. She was about to dine with Angela, a bloody teenager, and Tati Lise, who was cooking a big Sunday meal for the first time since her recent release from the prison where she’d been held for nearly a year.
Likotsi was about to meet her girlfriend’s family.
She was nervous as a goat before a wedding feast.
Her driver left her in front of the large unassuming brick building that looked the same as the ones around it. She double checked the address, even though she’d visited before, when Angela was away on trips with her debate team. This was Fab’s last week in this building—she’d be moving into Likotsi’s apartment in the royal town house, now that all her security checks had cleared. She’d already met Naledi and Thabiso, who were both thrilled that Likotsi was in love and mercifully no longer obsessed with planning every aspect of their lives.
Likotsi pressed the button to be let into the foyer, and jumped when the loud buzz sounded to let her in. She took the steps two at a time to the third floor, and adjusted her green and yellow bow tie and re-buttoned the jacket of the spring green suit she wore when she reached the landing.
Fab stood in the hallway in front of the apartment, a bright yellow wrap dress that belled down to her knees, and matching yellow heels. Her hair was done up in a bouffant with pin-curled bangs.
Her lips were, of course, bright red.
“Hello, my love,” Likotsi said, kissing the back of Fab’s right hand. She kissed the back of her ring finger, hoping Fab hadn’t noticed, since Likotsi enjoyed nothing more than surprising the woman she loved.
Fab caught Likotsi by the collar as she straightened and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Don’t be nervous. They’re gonna love you, and I already do.”
Likotsi smiled, her fear leaving her, and the door swung open.
An older woman, face worn but not lined, and a girl who was the woman’s spitting image, stood there, expressions impartial. Angie was dressed in a t-shirt and skinny jeans combo like most teens Likotsi saw, and Lise wore a blue A-line dress that was a bit too large for her beneath a white apron. It was strange how she could see different aspects of the woman she loved in both of their faces: Lise shared the same sloping cheekbones and her style had clearly inspire Fab’s, and Angela’s nose was the same.
The scent of delicious food wafted out of the apartment, filling the protracted silence in the hallway.
“She’s hot,” Angie finally said, giving a thumbs-up to Fab while sporting a faux-serious expression. “Way to go.”
Fab playfully swatted at her cousin.
“She also has Fab’s lipstick on her mouth,” Lise said. She produced a napkin from her apron pocket and handed it over.
Likotsi reached for it, but Lise executed some magic Auntie maneuver and pulled her into a hug instead. It was a tight hug, full of strength and sorrow—and welcome. She released Likotsi and gave her a nod.
“Thank you for everything. Everything. I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she said. “Welcome to my home.”
“Oh, no need for thanks. I didn’t—”
Likotsi was cut off by an annoyed sigh.
“If you don’t accept her thanks, then she’ll just keep insisting and we’ll all be standing in the hallway for hours,” Angie said, crossing her arms over her chest. “And then I won’t get to thank you for bringing my mom back to me. So just understand that when you step into this apartment? You gonna get this gratitude, okay?”
“Okay,” Likotsi said with a grin.
Angie spun on her sports-sock clad feet and went into the house. Lise grinned, shook her head, and followed her daughter. Fab started making her way after them, but stopped at the threshold, looked back over her shoulder, and held out her hand. “You coming, baby?”
“Of course.” Likotsi took Fab’s hand and allowed herself to be led into the home of people who might become her family too someday soon, if the goddess gave Likotsi courage enough to present Fab with the ring she’d purchased weeks ago. “Of course.”
An Excerpt from A Prince on Paper
Turn the page for a preview of
A PRINCE ON PAPER
on sale April 30, 2019
Chapter One
Welcome to the world of One True Prince, where the prince of your dreams might be just around the corner. Are you ready to find your handsome royal? If so, enter your name here, and then the keys to the kingdom are yours! Remember to choose wisely—the royal life isn’t all fun and games, and not every prince is who he seems to be!
Nya Jerami returned her ridiculously comfortable seat to the upright position, then pushed aside her braids to remove the wireless earplugs from her ears—no amount of relaxing meditation music was going to make her feel better about returning home to Thesolo.
Before leaving to study Early Childhood Development in New York, she’d imagined days spent surrounded by a throng of intrigued peers, and nights being courted by handsome men. She’d
had it all planned: after years of being kept like a caged bird by her father, she would arrive in Manhattan, spread her wings, and soar. That was how things happened in the films she had grown up watching, where every timid girl secretly had the heart of a lioness.
But in real life, the jostling crowds and tall buildings made her uneasy, the subway trains gave her motion sickness, and taxis drove in a wild and frightening way. She’d sat silently in class, biting back her thoughts, and her peers had barely known she’d existed. Dating had gone no better, a series of uncomfortable and disheartening encounters with annoying men.
Perhaps her father had been right with his constant reminders she should dream smaller, want less—the simple fact was that, for Nya, New York had simply been too big.
She’d had plenty of exciting adventures—fighting space pirates, taming a vampire king, being sought after by every senpai in her high school—but those had taken place in the virtual dating games she played on her phone. In those worlds, she was fearless, always knew the right thing to say, and if one of her dates annoyed her, she could delete him without much guilt.
Now she peered through the window of the private jet of the royal family, the African landscape heralding that her adventure in New York was truly finished. There were no expansion packs available.
Game over.
“We’ll be landing in Thesolo in approximately two hours, Miss Jerami,” Mariha, the flight attendant, said as she peeked her head into the cabin for the approximately one thousandth time. “You’ll be home soon.”
“Thank you,” Nya said politely.
Two hours.
Home.
“Are you all right?” Mariha’s face was taut with concern, and though Nya should’ve appreciated it, she hated that expression. People always looked at her like she was a fragile vase perpetually in danger of falling off a shelf. In Thesolo, she was the finance minister’s frail, sickly daughter, too weak to know her own mind. That image had stuck with her well past childhood, and despite having single-handedly rejuvenated the Lek Hemane orphanage school, people still patted her on the head and spoke to her like her dance of womanhood hadn’t been half a lifetime ago.
They’d taken their cues from her father, who’d spent a lifetime explaining to people that Nya needed his guidance. Unfortunately, his imprisonment hadn’t erased the script that he’d written for her. Nya relegated to the role of nonplayer character in the role-playing game of her own life.
Nya has her little job, yes, but she cannot handle too much work. The stress is dangerous for her, and she prefers being at home.
Nya’s hands went to her stomach, which was tying itself up in knots of anxiety.
Two hours.
“The flight is a bit bumpy,” she said, gazing up at Mariha. “Do you have something soothing for the stomach?”
“We have the goddess blend tea, of course. That has many uses,” Mariha said, and then her smile fell as she remembered that Nya’s father had used the same tea to poison, corrupting nature and tradition for his own ends. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—forgive me, Ms. Jerami, I wasn’t insinuating! I—”
“It’s all right,” Nya said. Her father had ruined even the pleasure of tea for her. “Ginger ale is good.”
“Of course,” Mariha replied anxiously. “Wi-Fi service has resumed, by the way.” With that, she hurried down the aisle.
Nya snatched up her phone. She opened her friend group chat as anxiety feathered over her neck, scrolling through the last messages from before her flight had taken off.
International Friend Emporium chat
Ledi: If coming back is too overwhelming, just let me know. Obviously, I’m not a fan of your dad, but I’m a fan of YOU. I don’t want you to be upset.
Nya: Of course I’m coming to your wedding! Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll just ignore the people whispering about how I tricked you into being my friend after my father hurt you. Or debating whether I’m a disgraceful daughter who will visit my father in prison or a disgraceful one who won’t.
Portia: Those options don’t seem fun. Let me know if you need help dealing with the attention. Johan can help, too. Ask him for some pointers.
Nya: I know Johan is your friend, but that guy is weird.
Portia:
Ledi: Thabiso and I found a secret dungeon in the palace (don’t ask what I was doing in there), and I will gladly jail anyone who upsets you.
Ledi: Just kidding, I’m not a despot. I *will* call them out and embarrass them, though.
Portia: That’s worse than a dungeon, as we all know.
Ledi: Yup.
Nya: I’ll be fine, thank you. Also, please be careful in the dungeon, or at least send us a map so we know where to search if you and Thabiso disappear.
Ledi: I made sure we have cell phone reception in there and since no one comes down here we removed the lock from the door. I’m not trying to live that Cask of Amontillado life.
Portia: Did you look into those therapists I gave you a list of, Nya?
Nya: Gotta go, flight is boarding!
Portia: Okay, I can take a hint.
Nya’s brow furrowed. She’d missed that last message and nothing else had followed it because Ledi and Portia were together and could actually speak to one another.
Nya: What do you mean “tell Johan”?
The message went unread—it was before daybreak in Thesolo.
Her phone emitted a ping and she quickly switched apps, a little burst of relief filling her when the load screen for One True Prince appeared. It was a cute, but immersive, dating sim—you played the role of new girl at a boarding school full of princes in which one of them was a spy bent on destroying the system of monarchies forever. It was silly, but intense: you had to be ready to receive messages at any time, even the middle of the night, which had made the game develop a cult following. Like true love, the game worked on its own schedule; you had to keep up or be rich enough to buy your way out of your mistakes.
She’d romanced all of the princes except for two: Basitho, whom the developers had clearly based on her soon-to-be official cousin-in-law, Thabiso, and Hanjo, a bad boy prince based on Thabiso’s best friend, Johan. She cringed at the idea of romancing even a fictional version of Thabiso, who besides being her best friend’s husband and her in-law was also pretty goofy. As for Hanjo . . .
Johan Maximillian von Braustein was an infamously attractive extrovert, happiest at the center of a party or in front of a camera. He was everything she despised in a man—self-indulgent, spoiled, expecting everything around him to bend to his wishes. Having had to appease her father for most of his life had made her develop a distinct dislike for those traits, though many people seemed to find them worth venerating.
She hated the ease with which Johan moved through the world. She hated that he always seemed so sure of himself. She hated that when Portia had first introduced them, for the briefest moment she’d felt something as their gazes met, sparking a wild, ridiculous hope—but then, like most people, he’d quickly looked past her in search of something more interesting.
Hanjo Millianmaxi bon Vaustein was a two-dimensional character that was the closest she would get to the playboy prince of Liechtienbourg paying her any mind. Not that she wanted him to or anything—she was hate-romancing this character. That was it.
Message from: Hanjo
Hello, Nya. I saw that you were having trouble in Advanced Royal History class. Do you need me to tutor you?
She looked through her prepopulated responses.
A. Why would I want help from a carrot head like you?
B. How dare you insinuate I need help!
C. I would love that. I’ll bring homemade treats! <3
She didn’t want to insult him outright since romance was her goal, so A was out. B was rude, too, but C was much too close to what people would expect her to say in real
life. She hit B, then put the phone down where she could keep an eye on it.
Mariha returned with the ginger ale, hovering as Nya sipped.
“Do you need anything else? Toast? Medicine? A heated pad?” Mariha was smiling, but there was mild panic in her eyes. She couldn’t risk insulting the princess’s cousin right before the ceremony . . . or raising the legendary Jerami ire.
Nya had her own anxiety to deal with, though.
“I believe I’ll go lie down actually,” she said, standing to escape the attendant’s nervous attention.
It was ridiculous for a plane to have a bedroom in the first place, but she would take advantage of it. She hadn’t slept during the whole long flight. Her body felt heavy with dread, her back was strained from packing up her apartment, and her heart ached at the weight of all her worries.
“Oh?” Mariha tilted her head and drew it back. “Are you quite sure you want to do that?”
There was censure in her tone, a reminder that in Thesolo everyone thought Nya was in need of their opinion.
“Why wouldn’t I be sure?” Nya asked. “I know my own body well enough to understand what it needs.”
Mariha opened her mouth, closed it, then raised a hand awkwardly. “Of course. But—”
“I’m going to the bedroom. Do not disturb me until we are ready to land. Please.”
Mariha’s confused expression relaxed into raised brows and . . . what was that grin about?
“Oh. Ohhhh. Of course.” The hovering anxiousness was gone now. “If you need any, ah, anything in particular, check the top drawer in the bedside table.”
“Wonderful.” Nya turned and strode as confidently as she could toward the bedroom as the plane bounced over air currents, walked in, and closed the door behind her.
The room was completely dark.