“Enough.” Thabiso waved her and her common sense away. He had a plan. Or the beginnings of one. Or the seed of the beginning of a plan, which would have to suffice for now. “I thought you said you were going to go grocery shopping? I might like to visit one of these American markets.”

Likotsi pulled out her tablet, eyes glued to the screen as she spoke. “Actually, there is a delivery service I thought would be perfect for you. It’s quite intriguing. They send you recipes along with the correct proportion of gourmet ingredients so there is no food waste. Apparently, even a simpleton can use it.”

“Really?” Thabiso thought about the last meeting he’d attended before leaving Thesolo. He thought of Naledi holding her cupcake.

I hate seeing food go to waste.

“I wonder if the agricultural minister would be interested in such a program. I’ve heard that the lower-income citizens who receive assistance from the kingdom sometimes eat little more than mealie pap—a program like this could be converted to something that gives them more choice. Production and delivery would create jobs, and we could contract the local farmers to provide ingredients. Oh, and perhaps the Minister of Culture would like to get involved, providing recipes that have started to fade from memory. Mark that down in my agenda for the next ministerial session.”

Likotsi glanced at him with pride.

“This is an excellent idea,” she said as she tapped away. “I’m sure the ministers will be happy to see you more involved than you have been of late. I added it to the notes for next week’s meeting.”

Next week. His UN summit and meetings with PharmaMundial, Omega Corp, and various dignitaries wouldn’t take longer than a few days; he hadn’t scheduled in additional time for getting to know his betrothed. After the incredible display of ego he’d put on after she’d saved him from a fiery demise, he had only a week with Naledi. A week to . . . What?

Make her fall in love with you.

No. That had never been the plan. He was curious, that was all; he’d spent most of his life feeling the loss of a person he’d never truly known. He wanted to know her.

And after that?

“Highness?” Likotsi pulled him away from his thoughts. “I am here as your assistant first and foremost, but I am insubordinate enough to consider myself your friend as well. I cannot make you stop this madness, but I can ask you to be careful, yes?”

Thabiso paused for a moment. He’d been told to be careful all his life, but he sensed Likotsi wasn’t talking about tarnishing the image of the Kingdom of Thesolo. She was talking about him, Thabiso with no royal title attached.

He cleared his throat. “I will be, Kotsi. Now feel free to take your leave. You may have this evening for yourself.”

“Thanks, sire.” She put away the tablet and pulled out her phone. “One of the women I swiped right on, located zero point three miles away, has requested that I meet her for a drink. Perhaps you shan’t be the only one with an American conquest?”

She executed a little shoulder shimmy.

“Naledi is not a conquest,” he said gruffly.

“‘Every woman is a conquest,’ Your Highness. That’s a direct quote, from you, during our visit to the Miss West Africa pageant six months back,” Likotsi said cheerily before grabbing her houndstooth suit jacket and slipping into her brown-and-white spats. “I told you to be careful—pretending this is anything other than an itch to be scratched could be dangerous. For you and for her.”

“You make me out to be some kind of heartless beast.”

“I manage your correspondence, sire, so I get to be the heartless beast when it comes to the women you date.” She gave him a smile that was actually an indictment.

“But—”

“I’ll be sleeping at the hotel, possibly not alone, so don’t wait up and don’t get into too much trouble,” she said with a wink, then glanced mistrustfully at the couch. “And be careful not to get a heat rash from that thing.”

With that she was gone, ready to conquer the NYC dating scene after shivving him with the truth about himself in just a few sentences. He was known as the Playboy PanAfrique in certain tabloids for a reason. He was rich, he was handsome, and he had been known to go through women like a zebra through the fresh grass of the veldt.

He walked over to the couch and sat down slowly so as not to pop the cushion like a balloon. Somewhere down the hall, he could hear the slap of tennis shoes as children raced up the steps.

He looked around the small, clean apartment that would be his home for the next few days. Mrs. Garcia told him she’d lived there for thirty years. Thirty! She’d raised children there. In a place that was barely the size of one of his walk-in closets back home. The walls were crowded with frames of various shapes and colors; some of the faces were familiar to him, as the older counterparts had shown up and shook his hand before climbing into the limo. They’d all radiated a thankfulness that Thabiso wasn’t sure he’d ever felt. No, that wasn’t true. He’d felt it just yesterday, when Naledi had touched his arm and told him he would get the hang of things. It had been a lie, of course, but one made in kindness, to assuage his fears.

Keys jingled in the hallway and Thabiso rose from the couch, slowly, to avoid any untoward sounds from the couch. He crept to the door and looked through the peephole.