A Princess in Theory (Reluctant Royals #1)(16)
“Oh.” Thabiso never gave much thought to waste. He was used to having too much to eat, to taking a few bites and waiting for the plate to be taken away and the next dish to arrive. He took a bite of the cupcake.
“So, I’m starting to think maybe you lied on your résumé,” she said as she chewed.
Actually, I only lied about my identity. I’m sure Jamal’s résumé is correct.
“It seems I am not fit to complete the tasks you have given me,” he said. His body was suddenly tense—his response had unwittingly echoed the one he’d given his mother just the week before.
“Whether you believe you are capable or not does not matter my son. You are the heir to the throne. The sole heir.”
That had been a less encouraging response than Thabiso would have liked.
“It’s okay. Shit happens,” Naledi said.
“No,” he said. His fist closed around the cupcake and a few crumbs dropped to the floor. “You do not understand. Failure is not an option for me. I should be able to do this easily, and yet I have done nothing but make a mess. You have lost your confidence in me.”
My people will lose their confidence in me.
“Look, stop stressing yourself out, okay? It’s not that deep.” She took a bite of her cupcake. “I’m in grad school right now. For epidemiology.”
“You wish to help people with skin problems?” he asked, glad that she was finally opening up to him. “Yours is quite beautiful, so—”
She sighed. “No, that’s dermatology. Epidemiology is a public health field. I study infectious diseases.”
“Why?” he asked quickly. This was the first thing she was purposefully revealing and he didn’t want to lose the opportunity.
“When disease strikes, it’s always the most vulnerable populations that are hit hardest. I want to do research that helps make the world safer for them.”
She said it like it was a simple thing. Thabiso’s grandest wishes were to be left to his own devices for just a few hours and to have a good glass of scotch, in that specific order. He had been born with the task of saving his people; Ledi had too, according to the priestesses, but she didn’t know that.
“So you do want to save the world,” he said. “That is quite honorable.”
“It’s a job,” she said, smoothly dodging his praise. “But that’s not my point. So I’m a research assistant in a lab, too, when I’m not working here. I’ve been doing this since undergrad, and the first lab I ever worked at was studying the spread of venereal diseases. One day, after pulling three all-nighters in a row to study, I was asked by one of my postdocs to transfer some samples of gonorrhea. I was totally out of it and dropped the samples all over myself while not wearing protective gear.”
“Oh,” Thabiso said. Americans were known for oversharing, but he didn’t know why she chose this particular moment to disclose such personal information to him. It was odd, but admirable he supposed.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know these diseases carry a stigma, but it is nothing to be ashamed of.” He’d been giving that speech to teenagers since he was a teenager himself and the face of Thesolo’s youth sexual health education campaign. It had been his first initiative, back when he hadn’t been completely weighed down by his role.
Naledi gave him a strange look. “It wasn’t contagious, Jamal, though I appreciate your support. I didn’t know that, though. I freaked out and activated the emergency shower, getting water everywhere in the process. I shorted out the centrifuge and ruined experiments that had been weeks and months in the making.”
Thabiso suppressed a smirk, imagining the woman before him, who seemed so in control of her surroundings, flailing about and wreaking havoc. “Perhaps you’ve chosen the wrong profession? You’re quite good at serving. It might be a better path for you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“If you have a choice, why choose to do something you aren’t good at?” he asked, and that didn’t seem to improve her mood.
“Who said I wasn’t good at it?”
Sweat began to form on Thabiso’s temples. “No. Just. I mean . . . why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know,” Ledi said, tone short, then shook her head. “I guess the point was that people mess up sometimes? I’m an amazing lab assistant now. So amazing that my postdoc wants me to do all his work for him.” Her brow creased in consternation for a moment, then she met his gaze. “It’s not your fault that we’re understaffed and you don’t have a chance to get trained in an easier situation. You’ll get the hang of it eventually.”
He had not been expecting this. He’d been a thorn in her side the entire night and she had given him cupcakes and a gonorrhea anecdote and support. She was looking at him, Thabiso, at his very worst, and telling him that she believed in him.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and rough. The cupcake must have been dry.
She smiled and patted him on the arm. “Look, just hang back for now. Maybe you can help with something that doesn’t require touching the food or interacting with customers, like . . . changing the burner under the chocolate fondue? It was pretty low last time I checked. Ask Chef Yves to give you a new burner and a lighter. Can you do that?”