A few minutes later, Nya had been contoured, concealed, rouged, and eyelashed. Her headwrap had also been redone in a style they’d called gele, a fancier, more structured shape. She had already been lovely, but now she looked like a star.

“This calls for a selfie,” Ledi said, and struck a ridiculous pose beside Nya in the mirror. She snapped a series of photos and chose the best one: when both of them had burst out laughing, red lips stretched wide.

She was in the process of texting it to Portia before she remembered that she wasn’t talking to her. It seemed like a sin to waste such a good selfie though, so she went to her InstaPhoto account to upload it. So what if she only had three followers and one of them was Portia? She had no one else to share the current weirdness of her life with.

When she opened the account she noticed what must have been an error: thousands of notifications. She definitely had more than three followers now, and she’d been tagged in at least a hundred photos. Her stepping off of the plane. Thabiso looking down into her eyes like he actually cared.

“Yasssss (Literal) Queen! Relationship goals: someone who looks at me like PT looks at his fiancé! #RoyalReunion” the caption read.

“Ugh, so jealous!” read the first response.

“Her? Really?” read the third.

She left the app without uploading her photo and put the phone away. She hadn’t entirely thought this thing through. She reminded herself that it didn’t matter what strangers on the internet said, anyway. This whole relationship was a scam, and Thabiso was just another person who didn’t particularly care if she stuck around.

“And then you can go home.”

Still . . . That “Her? Really?” pricked at Ledi’s pride. She pulled out the phone and uploaded the photo of her and Nya, captioning it with a sly smile emoji.

Yes, her, you jerk. Really.

“Come, ladies, enough dillydallying. Time for us to make our entrance!” Alehk knocked at the door with an annoyed vigor, as if it was his fifth time coming around when it was really his first.

“Sorry,” Nya said, and Ledi could tell that she was used to apologizing for the man. It was then Ledi realized that her cousin hadn’t spoken of a significant other or children or home of her own. Not for the first time that day, she wondered if she would have turned out more like Nya if she’d never left Thesolo, or if Nya would have been more like her.

They stepped out into the hall and were whisked into a whirl of color that made the African charity gala look like small potatoes. Alehk kept up a steady stream of conversation that Ledi pretended to follow, although she didn’t catch a word of it. There was too much to see.

The royal guard lined the long hallway leading to the ballroom, each clad in a crisp blue uniform with a sabre hanging from one hip and a horn from the other. The hall was full of people making their way into the room, but her eyes immediately focused on one.

Thabiso stood at the end of the line of sentries, gazing at her. He wore what appeared to be a traditional black suit, the top a longer robe-type garment with a high collar, instead of a formal tux like Alehk was wearing.

“Clinging to the old ways, as usual,” Alehk muttered before clapping her on the shoulder. “Hopefully, you can change that.”

“Hmm,” she replied.

Thesolo was consistently listed as one of the most progressive countries in the world, with more technological and environmental advancements being put in place as Thabiso took on a larger role in government. She’d never seen him use a cell phone, but she wouldn’t exactly call him backward thinking. And if that outfit signified the old ways, then the old ways were quite all right by her.

The suit was finely tailored, enhancing his broad shoulders, accentuating the width of his chest and the taper of his waist. The hems of his sleeves were piped in scarlet, matching her dress.

Alehk released her arm and gave Thabiso a grimace. Nya gave her a thumbs-up before being pulled along with her father. Then she was gone, and there was just Ledi and the weight of Thabiso’s gaze.

Her skin felt suddenly taut and sensitive, betraying her resolve to be unmoved when it came to Thabiso. She knew the technical reason behind her arousal; what she didn’t understand was how she could still feel that way after he’d lied to her. After he’d pretended to be Jamal, making her laugh, making her lov—

Hey now. What was that?

Just the possibility of the unfinished thought made her want to turn and run back to the airport, but her traitorous feet kept carrying her forward until she stood close enough that she had to look up at him. She steeled herself, reminded herself that this was not the man she’d grown close to over the last week.

“Prince Thabiso,” she said, his name another barrier she could throw up between them.

“My beautiful betrothed,” he responded. He said the last word so warmly that anyone watching would think he was a man looking forward to marriage. Then again, she’d never thought Jamal might be a prince in disguise before the night he’d stepped onstage. Her chest tightened at the memory.

“Are you sure you’re not too tired to attend this event?” he asked. His hand went to her shoulder in concern, and she closed her eyes against the pleasure of his touch on her bare skin.

She was exhausted. She had no idea what time it was in NYC, but she was jet-lagged, and meeting her family and an entire nation of people had compounded that. She hadn’t factored in that Thabiso’s presence would be this hard; she’d only known him a few days—he should have been out of her system. Men had done hurtful things to her before, and Ledi had always been able to move on quickly. With Thabiso, she’d actually been hurt, which made things a bit more difficult.