A Princess in Theory (Reluctant Royals, #1)

by Alyssa Cole

Ledi couldn’t afford to be labeled as a problem. She’d wanted to be a scientist since her fourth-grade teacher had handed her a battered copy of National Geographic. Ledi had been fascinated with the cover: a close-up shot of a woman with dark skin, just like hers, peering into a microscope. That scientist had been trying to cure a mysterious disease, and Ledi had gleaned from the image not only that she wanted to do the same thing but also that she could. She hadn’t foreseen all the other variables that went into life as a woman in STEM: politicians who treated her profession with contempt and threatened her future—and the world’s. Fellow scientists like Brian, who thought that women in the lab were their personal assistants instead of their equals. “How are you this morning?” she asked him in the tone she’d heard secretaries on old syndicated TV shows use to placate their sexist bosses. Brian smiled; he’d watched the same reruns it seemed. “Actually, I’m a little behind in my work after getting back from the Keystone conference.” That was when Naledi noticed the sheaf of papers in his hands. This motherfucker, she thought.

She worked hard—so much harder than she should have had to, really. That was the problem. When you worked twice as hard all the time, working at the average rate was slacking off.

He didn’t expect a happily ever after like in the slim white romance books of his youth. He expected excitement, and it looked like Naledi could provide just that.

“Oh, you’re already helping customers? That’s great, showing initiative,” she said. Her brain had registered that he fell into a group labeled “Nope,” but all of her cylinders still weren’t firing. She was trying to sound bright and in charge, but her vocabulary center was stuck on “Damn, he fine,” making forming sentences a bit difficult. “Um. Here.”

“Do you want me to take care of this co-worker? So that he doesn’t bother you again?” Ledi’s head whipped around. Had he really just casually dropped that into the conversation? “I thought you said you weren’t a killer.” “I said I wasn’t a serial killer. This would be a one-off thing.” The corner of his mouth stretched up into a grin, and she relaxed. “But seriously, he has made you afraid to refuse him because you fear for your career. I have associates who could make him understand that he should also fear for his.” Was she supposed to feel slightly giddy that a near stranger was leveling threats at her co-worker? Surely there was something wrong with her. “Ummm, I’m gonna have to go with no thank you, though I appreciate the offer.” “Hmph. Well, I’m glad that you’re not afraid to say no to me,” he said. “Maybe next time he tries to tell you what to do, you should summon the Naledi who fired me in no uncertain terms.”

“Just—perhaps you should tell her who you are now?” “How was the penthouse?” Thabiso asked, changing the subject. “And I believe that you never wear the same suit twice in a row, but what have we here?” He tugged at her lapel, which bore a red stain of some sort. Lipstick? “There is a term native to this region. I learned it last night. ‘nunya.’” “Nunya?” “‘Nunya business’ is the full colloquialism.” Likotsi got a faraway look in her eye and smiled as she said it, as if there was some joke in the words that Thabiso couldn’t decipher. “I understand. I think. I will stay out of your affairs, but I’m glad to see you smiling like a schoolgirl.”

“This city is held together by hope and insomnia,” she said. “Who needs infrastructure?” “Americans,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You let your defenses down. When you do that, the bad can get in with the good. There was nothing scientific about that line of thinking. There was no way that a few days with Jamal had led to her current situation, but it felt like it. Just like getting excited about the practicum hadn’t caused the government to shut down the Task Force, even though it felt like it. Feelings couldn’t be quantified like data in R, but that didn’t make their effects any less real.