Maybe it was for the best she was returning home. She would go back to work at the orphanage school, where the children needed her. She would resume visiting her grandparents, who loved her. She would once again be boring, timid Nya, because that’s who she was anywhere she went and she might as well stop trying to be someone she wasn’t.

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

ONE TRUE PRINCE, MESSAGE FROM: HANJO

I like a girl with spirit! I’ll be in the library tomorrow afternoon, and we can pretend it’s a coincidence when you show up and sit beside me.

“Shut up, Hanjo,” she muttered.

She was about to put the phone down when she remembered the camera flash she’d used to figure out who the snuggly stowaway was—she had taken photos of him. She shouldn’t have felt a gnawing curiosity as she navigated to the camera roll—it was kind of creepy having the photos, even if she hadn’t taken them intentionally.

There were several pictures. All were dark with blurry patches of light, except for one that was as clear as if he’d posed for her. She expected his expression to be sly playboy boredom, but his expression was somber as he looked toward the camera. He looked . . . sad?

No, he looks like a man about to bother you for no reason, because that’s what he did, she reminded herself. Then she looked closer.

Was that?

No, it couldn’t be.

But it was.

There, poking out from underneath the playboy prince of Liechtienbourg, was the face of a small, ratty, oddly disgruntled-looking teddy bear.

“Oh goddess,” she whispered, not quite sure what to feel. He was a very weird man—not because he slept with a teddy bear, but because from everything she knew about him, he was the last man who would. He slept with models, and drove fancy cars, and . . .

Well, it didn’t matter. She doubted she’d see him, or his angry bear, much after the plane landed anyway. He was the loud, in-the-middle-of-the-action type. She was usually safely holding up a wall, looking at those types in admiring scorn. She’d keep his teddy bear secret safe. She would not think about how it was rather cute.

She put her phone down and opened the drawer the flight attendant had told her about, where she found a box of luxurious, aloe-infused tissues—along with condoms, lubricant, and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.

She remembered the flight attendant’s smirk when Nya had insisted on going into the bedroom.

Nya slammed the drawer shut, curled up on the bed, and pulled the pillow over her head. It smelled of eng, but faintly, very faintly, of lemon and lavender.

She sighed.

If Mariha was a gossip, the Nya of the fantasy world would once again be much more interesting than the real one.

Chapter 2

Where is Jo-Jo? In the days leading up to the darkest day in Liechtienbourgian history, the infamous prince is nowhere to be found! Crown Prince Lukas has been seen out and about more than usual, though. With the upcoming referendum dividing the country, is the reserved young prince ready to step into the spotlight?

—The Liechtienbourg Bugle

Despite what the tabloids said about his reckless behavior, Johan, aka the Tabloid Prince of Liechtienbourg, aka Bad Boy Jo-Jo, had a rigid sense of control. That no one was aware of this was evidence of that. He showed people what he wanted them to see—what they wanted to see, really—because that was what worked best for him. For his family. For everyone.

He didn’t think of himself as manipulative, a word that sounded villainous; he preferred cunning—Machiavellian, maybe, but without the immorality and murder. He made sure no one was hurt by his scheming. No one but himself, but that hurt was negligible compared to others he’d suffered.

So it bothered him, as he stretched out in a plush seat in the main cabin of the private jet, that he’d let his control slip.

He’d told himself he was joking when he’d suggested to Nya that he would eat her up, like a cliché of a pervert. Scheisse, he cringed just thinking about it. He’d convinced himself the joke had served a purpose—distraction from an untimely discovery of his sleeping partner Bulgom Pamplemousse von Bearstein, who was now stowed away with Johan’s carry-on. Everyone knew “Prince” Johan cracked scandalous jokes. Everyone thought he was one.

But Johan avoided letting his jokes overlap with his desires. And Nya? He desired her.

It was a problem.

He’d only started watching her because, well, her father had almost killed his best friend’s fiancée and tried to foment a coup in his best friend’s country. Thabiso and Naledi had apparently overlooked her potential role in the matter, explaining that Nya would never hurt anyone, but Johan was a bit more cynical. When he’d traveled to New York for charity events or political summits, he’d kept an eye on her and her lovely, shy smile. Her curves, more luscious each time he’d glimpsed her during visits chez Thabiso over the past year and a half. Her quiet amusement with the small things other people didn’t pay attention to.

Somewhere along the line, discreetly watching her out of prudence had changed to discreetly lusting after her. He’d thirsted, he’d considered risking it all, and then he’d done what any intelligent person would do—he’d ignored her with a strength matched only by Europe ignoring migrants and America ignoring creeping fascism.

When she’d glance at him, as if considering starting a conversation, he’d spot someone he desperately needed to talk to across the room. When Portia tried to draw her into their jokes, he’d combat roll away. When Thabiso had told him they’d be sharing a flight, Johan snuck into the private jet’s bedroom and cowered in the dark.