“You are nice,” she responded.

“I’m really not,” he said more firmly. “You can ask our friends when we get back. I lie, frequently, and not to make people feel better about themselves. I avoid giving compliments like I dodge Liechtienbourger wasps in summer. I wasn’t speaking generally—there’s nothing wrong with being you. Nya. More people should be Nyas, to be quite honest.”

He looked at her, eyes dark with challenge, telling her that he was as stubborn as the goats that had evaded capture. He wouldn’t let her argue with him on this.

“Nya, my child, you are far too weak, in body and mind, to leave home for university.”

“But Johannesburg is not very far, Father. I can do it.”

“And who do you know in Johannesburg who will take care of you when you fall ill, or when you become frightened by silly things?”

“I don’t get frightened by things, Father.”

“Yes, you do, my child. Or you would if I wasn’t here to keep you safe.”

“But—”

“Would you leave me, too? After taking your mother from me?”

“No.”

“Good. Then I will let the local university know you’ll start there, and that you won’t be needing a dormitory.”

Tears gathered in her eyes at the memory. Her father had always made her feel small; she wasn’t used to how easily Johan made her feel big.

“Thank you.” Her voice was quiet—the words had just squeaked by the lump of emotion in her throat.

“It’s a basic truth, no need to thank me for stating it,” he said.

She couldn’t quite accept Johan’s statement as truth, so she settled on the fact that it wasn’t a lie. It was a not-lie that Johan seemed to feel very strongly about, and his insistence on her worth made her feel happy even as she spoke of unhappy things.

“Everyone doesn’t see me as you do.” She knew that was presumptuous, but Johan had already clearly stated what he thought of her and she wasn’t going to be rude enough to second-guess him. “Everyone has it in their heads that I need to be protected. They think being me is a problem. You saw my grandmother.”

That poked at the bruise to her ego left by his reassurances that she was completely safe with him, but that was fine. She had a surprising new friend and that was enough for her.

Johan sighed. “Yes. She was being a bit overbearing, which is why I had to lie to her.”

When she glanced at him, he was looking straight ahead, his expression serene but unreadable.

“You said you didn’t lie to make people feel better.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t lie to make her feel better. I lied so that we could continue to be partners and get on with our day.”

Nya didn’t take her eyes from him. “What was the lie? Exactly?”

“That I would never debauch you.” He still had that bland look on his face, and even casually scratched his horse behind its ears.

“Wut?” The word came out like a lake toad’s croak.

“I don’t intend to debauch you,” Johan said, his voice even and cool, but not dismissive. “It would be a terrible idea, as ideas go, because, well, I’m me. But.”

“But?” Another croak.

He did look at her then, and though his words were cool, his gaze was warm—not from the summer sun, but from some inner source of heat that Nya could not bring herself to imagine, despite her propensity for dreaming impossible dreams. “If debauchery was what you wanted from me? I would do it. Thoroughly.”

That last word wasn’t one she’d used often when speaking English, and as she watched the way his mouth handled it—his tongue licking toward the roof of his mouth, the way his teeth pressed against his bottom lip—she wondered if it was on the list of world’s sexiest words, because she was suddenly thinking things she should not be. Like how it would feel for him to form those same three syllables against her lips. Or elsewhere.

Come to bed, and I’ll eat you up.

She stared at him, her mouth sealed shut by desire and possibility and delight, and he gave her that mischievous grin. “See? Not nice. Remember that, Sugar Bubble.”

There was a noise in the distance and they turned to see Likotsi and Fabiola on one horse, riding to catch up with them as they approached the palace.

“We got our pig!” Fabiola called out, pointing to the small—and now that they grew closer, squealing—creature she held in her arms as Likotsi handled the reins from behind.

“We got our sex goat!” Johan jiggled the rope tied to his saddle.

“Huh?” Fabiola asked, looking at Nya.

“Pardon?” Likotsi looked to Nya for explanation, too. “Sex? Goat?”

“You can explain,” Johan said to Nya, then trotted off toward the palace gate with their quarry.

He wasn’t nice.

And he’d offered up his debauching services. For a second time, if she counted their run-in on the plane.

Her mind had always been a fertile planting ground for fantasies, but she reluctantly salted that earth. She’d spent one nice day with Johan, but, on every other day, he was the type of man she had vowed to avoid. Yes, he was charming and likable and knew what to say, but she knew full well how those traits could be used against her.