She made finger guns and a little tongue-clicking noise at him before she could stop herself.

What the hell. Where did that come from?

She turned and speed-walked away, seeking refuge in the walk-in fridge. She was sure steam was rising from her face—and that wasn’t the only thing that needed cooling.

You’re an adult, Ledi chided herself. Just because the finest, most lickable man you’ve ever seen in real life is going to be working next to you all night is no reason to start acting like some classic ’90s movie character.

The problem wasn’t just that he was attractive; hot guys were a dime a dozen in New York City. It was that she was attracted to him. And it wasn’t just physical; for a moment she’d had the ridiculous feeling that she knew him. Had felt a connection that was as improbable as it was impossible . . . It would be hard to forget a man like that.

She felt a brief surge of panic; it was just her luck that the new guy had some kind of viral effect on her—her social cell membrane had collapsed. Her defenses were down, and she still had the whole rest of the evening to get through.

She was in deep shit.

She dropped her chin to her chest and let out a loud groan of mortification.

The door to the walk-in opened and Yves stuck his head in, his silver eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Everything all right?” His gaze darted suspiciously around the small space.

“Don’t ask,” she muttered, sliding out past him.

“I keep count of the zucchini!” he called after her.

Chapter 5

Thabiso stood in the middle of the orderly stainless steel kitchen holding the plate of kale, staring at the space Naledi had occupied before giving him an order and rushing off.

This was the woman who should have been his bride, whose destiny had been entwined with his by religious divination and royal decree. The woman whose family had broken their promise and brought dishonor on themselves and on the priestesses who had fasted and sweated and prayed for days before choosing Naledi as the future queen. She should have been bowing down and begging forgiveness; instead she had thrown greens at him and ordered him about as if he were a peasant and not a prince.

His people would be incensed, his parents aghast. Thabiso was intrigued.

Naledi.

Her eyes were large, the deep brown irises fringed with long, long lashes. Her skin was a smooth, radiant brown that gave her an aura of innocence, as if she’d yet to encounter anything in this life trying enough to crease her brow in worry. Her mouth was another tale entirely. Wide, lush lips that left any thoughts of innocence far behind even though they were bare of makeup. Her accent was not quite like the New York accent from films he’d seen, but captivating all the same.

She was more beautiful than the photos Likotsi had poached from her barely used social media accounts. She’d been reserved in the photos—the pictures hadn’t captured her energy. There was a solid air about her; she seemed like someone you could trust to get a job done.

Then why was she here, and not in Thesolo as her betrothal demanded?

He could have just asked her that, point-blank, but something had stopped him. It was the way she had looked at him. There had been heat in those lovely eyes of hers as her tongue swiped over her luscious bottom lip, but more importantly, there had been no sign of recognition. He had been slightly annoyed as he’d watched and waited for a reaction from her and realized none was forthcoming. He had imagined dozens of variations on their reunion—her apologizing, at the very least, had been a recurring theme. There had been no kale in any of them. But the way she had looked at him as if he were just another man was like a magic door opening up beside the one he’d thought was his only way forward.

She doesn’t know who I am.

Thabiso was used to being regarded as HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, was bored of it really, but the thread of lust that had spun taut between them like a strand from Fate’s loom had been inspired by him and him alone. Thabiso had wanted to tug at the thread, pull her closer until she was in his arms. And he wanted to enjoy just a bit more of her time before he became Prince Thabiso and she became another Thesoloian project to be managed. Because that was what any talk of betrothal and marriage would be for him: work.

There was something else that had held him back: her eyes. The aura of joy and happiness from her childhood photo was gone. She’d been friendly, but there was a wariness to her that gave him pause. He had been trained to read body language, an invaluable skill when negotiational prowess could decide the future of millions of people, and she was as cagey as any diplomat he’d ever encountered. But in the moment when he’d first caught sight of her, she’d been vulnerable. Frustrated. A woman at the end of her rope.

Thabiso had often wondered how his life had been impacted by her absence—he’d spent a lifetime being told what could have been if his betrothed hadn’t disappeared—but what had her life been like without him? Without Thesolo?

He’d meant to sweep into her mundane job and dazzle her, a task made easy when you were royalty, but nothing had gone as planned since he’d walked into the building.

When a riverbed takes a sharp curve, the water follows.

Thabiso looked down at the kale, then turned and walked out of the double doors toward the table of rude people who had assumed he was a waiter. Naledi had believed this as well. Was there something about him that exuded a sense of servility? He had thought his shirt becoming, but perhaps he would have to tell Likotsi to retire it.