“Okayyy.” He held up his hands. “Later, drill sergeant.”

When he stepped out into the hall, Ledi turned to him, then wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?”

Thabiso froze, embarrassment stopping him in his tracks. Perhaps he’d applied too much of the oil? He lifted a hand to his beard, sniffing surreptitiously. He thought it smelled fine . . .

“You were wearing it yesterday, too,” she said. “It seems so familiar, but I can’t pin down where I’ve smelled it.”

She moved closer to him and went up on her tiptoes, her nose close enough to his neck that it tickled him, and inhaled. Thabiso clenched his hands behind his back, although he craved to pull her warmth closer, or perhaps to rub the oil over her body so her skin was slick and pliant under his fingers.

“It’s eng oil,” he said, taking a step back from her as he reined in his racing imagination. “Made from a plant native to my country. It’s very common there.”

Common enough that her parents would have worn it. He and Ledi were surely doused in it during their betrothal ceremony.

Now! Tell her now!

Thabiso struggled to find the right words and kicked himself for wasting his time before her arrival fantasizing about her body when he should have been planning how to break the bond that had been solidifying between them—and how to mend it afterward.

If you can mend it.

“Strange.” She shook her head. “Maybe one of the street vendors around here sells it?”

“Perhaps, although it’s quite rare in the States.” He glanced at her and dipped his toe into the waters of truth. “Or perhaps it’s a scent from your childhood? Maybe your parents—”

“Let’s go,” she said. “We only have a few hours before I have to study again.” Then she was marching down the hall, leaving him and his question behind. Her reaction to a simple inquiry about her parents didn’t bode well for his confession and all that would come with it.

For the first time since he’d assumed his false identity, Thabiso wished he actually was Jamal: an American boy who had fallen for his coworker. If he were, there would be no lies to dispel and no truth hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles.

Chapter 14

Why is it so hot down here? What is that strange smell? Are those cats frolicking on the tracks? Dear goddess, they’re rats!”

Ledi rolled her eyes, though it was hard not to be amused. Jamal had been acting like a lamb taking its first steps from the moment they left the apartment.

When they’d stopped at the bodega on the corner and she’d ordered them sandwiches, his nostrils had flared in alarm. He’d stared in horror at the line of people calling out their daily lottery numbers near the cash register, and had recoiled from the display case of deli meats as she ordered their food.

“What is your deal? These are the best sandwiches in the city,” she’d said under her breath.

“Best?” Jamal’s nose had wrinkled in disgust. “Who knows how long that meat has been idling under glass? And the meat slicer looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since Bush was in the White House.”

Julio, the co-owner of the store and the man making their sandwiches, had looked up with an angry glint in his eyes. “We’ve got a four point five Yelp rating, homie. You want some fancy shit, go to Gentrification Café or whatever, down the street.”

“Ignore him,” Ledi had said to Julio, pushing Jamal farther into an aisle. “We’re going to buy more stuff. Definitely don’t spit in our sandwiches or anything, okay?”

Julio had nodded while glaring after Jamal, who was wiping a film of dust off of a box of Grape-Nuts and holding his finger out to Ledi for inspection.

Now they stood on the subway platform with a bag full of sandwiches, beverages, and random items she’d pulled off the shelves just to appease Julio, waiting for the Uptown A train. Jamal was still looking at her after his barrage of questions, so Ledi held up three fingers.

“To answer your questions, it’s hot because the subway has its own weather system that varies by station. It can be a beautiful day outside, then you step onto a train platform and it’s like you’re standing in the devil’s asscrack.” She folded one finger down. “That smell is proooobably stagnant water. Or the decomposing body of one of the mole people who live in the tunnels.” She folded her middle finger down, leaving her index finger, which she pointed in the direction of two rats who were circling each other, about to engage in pawsticuffs over a half-eaten slice of pizza. “Definitely rats. This is their kingdom and we’re just passing through. Don’t ever think you have priority on these platforms, because they don’t back down and, despite the bubonic plague smear campaign, a rat bite will mess you up good.”

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked. The rats on the track in front of them started squealing and rearing up. Ledi shuddered and dragged him down the length of the platform. The Grams in their cage was one thing. Wild sewer rats were entirely another.

“Honestly, this station looks like it could collapse at any moment. I’ve read reports of America’s crumbling infrastructure but I’d assumed it was exaggeration.” He looked around at the stained ceilings and cracked, flaking paint.

“This city is held together by hope and insomnia,” she said. “Who needs infrastructure?”