A Princess in Theory (Reluctant Royals #1)(62)

“This is she,” Ledi said, automatically slipping into formality even though she was considering hanging up and throwing her phone into the trash compactor, for real this time.

“I’m your driver, hired by the Thesoloian Consulate to bring you to the airport. Do you need me to come up and get your bags?”

Well, that was certainly way better service than she was used to. Likotsi had said she needn’t worry about a thing in regards to her trip to Thesolo, and the woman had meant it.

“No, I’m good,” she said. “I’ll be down in five.”

“I’d be more than happy to assist,” the driver pressed.

“I need a moment,” Ledi said, looking around her tidy apartment. She touched the space on the windowsill where the Grams’ cage usually sat and took a deep breath.

“I understand. Take your time.”

“Thanks.” She locked the phone and slipped it into her pocket.

She steeled herself against the enormity of what awaited her as she rolled her suitcase out of the apartment and locked the door behind her. She had lived her entire life—what she could remember of it—rootless, being passed around like brussels sprouts at dinner before they became trendy. Now she was about to take a trip to the motherland, her actual motherland, and she had no idea of what she should be feeling.

The door to apartment 7 N opened and Mrs. Garcia, tanned and radiant, peeked her head out.

“Hey, linda! I’ve barely seen you since I got back and now you’re leaving?”

Ledi tried not to look like someone who’d done unmentionable things on her neighbor’s sofa. “Hi! How was your trip?”

“It was amazing! I got to go to the beach—a real beach—see my family, and catch up with friends I hadn’t spoken to since I left when I was a teenager.” Mrs. Garcia grinned. “That rich guy who sent me on the vacation so he could stay here? I think he was an angel. Really. It’s crazy how one person can show up and boom! Suddenly your life is completely different.”

Ledi decided against telling Mrs. Garcia that Thabiso was a lying fraud who used his wealth to get what he wanted.

What had he wanted, exactly?

It didn’t matter. Mrs. Garcia was happy, and she wasn’t necessarily wrong. Ledi’s life had certainly taken a turn in the last two weeks. Whether it was for the better or the worse was still up for debate.

“DiDi! Ven aqui, mi amor!” A gruff male voice called out from the recesses of the apartment. That’s when Ledi realized that only Mrs. Garcia’s head and shoulder—bare shoulder—were visible through the cracked door.

“I have to go,” she said with a sly smile. Ledi distinctly heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and then Mrs. Garcia’s face went pink. “An old friend I reconnected with in PR is visiting. You know how it is. Um. Ah! Have a good trip!”

The door slammed closed and low laughter—male and female—sounded from behind it, followed by the squeal of plastic. Ledi wished Mrs. Garcia better luck in love than she’d had.

She took the seven flights of stairs slower than she ever had, and was so lost in her trepidation as she stepped out of the building that it took her a moment to notice the small crowd. Several people were holding up their cell phones.

“You think someone famous is in there?” a teenager zooming in on his iPhone asked.

“Yo, what if it’s Beyoncé?” his friend asked.

The crowd was staring excitedly at the long, sleek limo double-parked in front of the building. Ledi got pulled into the excitement; if Beyoncé had randomly dropped by the neighborhood, she might have to tell her driver to wait.

The car door opened and a balding man in a black suit got out and scanned the crowd.

He smiled in recognition when his gaze landed on her. “Ms. Ajoua?”

He began walking toward her, and the crowd parted, their camera phones turning toward her as the driver took her suitcase from her. “Follow me, please.”

Ledi stood still for a moment. “I’m not Beyoncé,” she said, confused.

“Damn right you’re not,” an older woman in the crowd said.

“No need to be rude, madam,” the driver said with a disapproving look, then took Ledi’s arm and escorted her toward the limo. He opened the door and inclined slightly, waiting for her to enter.

“I think there’s been some kind of mistake,” Ledi said.

“Are you Naledi Ajoua, betrothed of His Ro—”

“Yes, that’s me,” she said, cutting him off. People were recording and she didn’t need word of her fake engagement getting around the neighborhood, or the internet. She’d kept a low profile for years, and this limo business would be hard enough to explain when she got back. Because she’d be back eventually, alone as ever, and didn’t need her neighbors thinking she’d lost a prince when the truth was she’d never had him.

“Then there is no mistake. Get in, and I’ll have you to the airport in no time at all.”

Ledi climbed into the limo and sat awkwardly in the middle of the backseat. She felt ridiculous in the enormous interior of the car, which was decked out in sleek wood and smelled of leather and something she couldn’t quite place.

Money, she thought. A scent you’re not too familiar with.

“Are you comfortable?” The driver’s voice filled the car, emanating from hidden surround sound speakers, as they pulled into traffic. “There are beverages in the refrigerator and a crudité platter and some appetizers. If you’d prefer something warm, there are some microwaveable items.”