She stirred her porridge and glanced away from him. “I’m sorry, it’s just . . . you actually know stuff.”

Thabiso huffed. “I’m a prince. Of course I know stuff.”

“Well, when you see princes in the news, they’re usually just gallivanting around, riding horses or playing strip poker. But you know things.”

He groaned. “Johan really ruined it for all of us with that strip poker game. A good prince knows you always frisk for cameras and cell phones before getting nude.”

Ledi rolled her eyes.

“I’m kidding. Mostly.” He cleared his throat. “The horses and gallivanting are marketing, and they are part of the job in this day and age, no matter what kingdom you hail from. But while I’ve led a privileged life, and perhaps a sheltered one, I’ve been preparing to lead a kingdom since I could sit up in my crib. What I know, I know well.”

“I see that,” she said. “I’m glad. I thought you were just a fuckboy with a crown, but you actually seem to care for your people.”

Thabiso squelched the reflexive indignation that flared in him. “I don’t know what a fuckboy is, but my behavior toward you was less than honorable so I don’t doubt you for thinking the worst of me.”

“‘Less than honorable?’ That’s marketing. I suppose pretending to be a commoner in order to get laid is just part of your ‘job.’”

She said the words without emotion, but the implications hit Thabiso in the chest like a blow.

“You think I lied to you to get you into bed?”

She looked down. “You lied to me. You got me into bed. Am I missing something?”

“I can’t fault you for thinking the worst of me, but you of all people should know correlation does not equal causation.”

Ledi wouldn’t look at him, but he hoped she was listening. He had ruined everything, but she couldn’t think that he’d had sex with her as some fucked-up royal mind game.

“I meant to tell you as soon as I walked into the kitchen at the Institute. I had this whole speech planned out, demanding an explanation for why your family had run from Thesolo and never returned.” He moved his chair a bit closer to her now, looked down into the face that until just weeks ago had been a blurred curiosity at the periphery of his imagination. He remembered the moment when it had all come into focus.

“You’ve been this presence in my life since I was a child, you see. You may not remember me, but I was never allowed to forget you. You became a myth I couldn’t escape, a path that had been closed off to me. I wanted to find you and finally snuff out that silly hope I’d harbored for all those years. And then suddenly there you were, calling me Jamal and handing me kale, like that was completely normal. I had expected some rude, thoughtless woman, and instead you were . . . you.”

Ledi dropped her spoon into her bowl with a ringing clatter. “So, what, lying to me was some kind of revenge for me leaving? I hate to break it to you, but you’re late to the party. I’ve been paying for my parents’ decision for years. Pass the word on to your folks, by the way, since they didn’t get the memo.”

“Lying to you was a mistake,” Thabiso said, but then amended that. “No, that’s not true. Maybe part of me did want to punish you. Remember, most of my life has been spent hearing how your family betrayed mine. I rationalized my deception by using your family’s as a measuring stick. But mostly, when I saw you, I wanted to know you. And I’ve found it’s very hard to do that once you utter the words, ‘I’m a prince.’”

“You think this justifies what you did?” Ledi asked. Her face scrunched up into an expression of incredulous rage.

“No,” he said. “But knowing that if I’d told you the truth from the beginning means I would never have worked with you, or cooked with you, or ridden the subway and walked hand in hand in the park with you? That makes it very hard to say I would have done otherwise.”

Ledi opened her mouth, then closed it and looked away from him. He didn’t like how defeated she looked in that moment.

“I don’t get close to people,” she finally said. “It’s something I’ve been pretty firm about because of the whole defective Velcro thing.”

Thabiso had to have misheard. “What? Velcro?”

“No one ever sticks.” The words came out quiet. Small. Not like Ledi at all, or perhaps exactly like the Ledi that she hid behind all those walls of hers. But then she shook her head and the anger returned. “But for some reason, I felt like maybe you were—Jamal was—someone worth letting in. Someone who might stick. And it was all a lie. You expect me to forget that? No.” She shook her head. “Get out of here.”

She turned and took up her stylus again and stared straight out the window, waiting for him to leave. Thabiso couldn’t move; he was still reeling from her words. He hadn’t known how deeply he had hurt her, but he also hadn’t understood how deeply he cared that he had.

Someone who might stick.

She hadn’t known of his wealth or his fame, or anything of their past, and she had wanted him regardless. Thabiso tried to reconcile that with his lie, and what had happened because of the lie, and what would have happened if he hadn’t lied at all.

“I don’t expect you to forget. But, Ledi, what would you have said if I’d shown up at your job and proclaimed that I was a prince from some African kingdom you’d never heard of and you were my betrothed? Honestly.”