Page 35 of American Royals

She glanced down at her plate. The soy-sauce reduction was drizzled so beautifully that it seemed almost sinful to disturb it. The carved chopsticks looked like works of art in her hands. Nina realized how out of place her tattoo was, and started to pull her sleeve farther down her wrist, then decided against it.

“What were you working on when I called?” Jeff asked, politely waiting for her before he took a bite.

“I was at my job. I work in the library, as part of my scholarship.” Nina said it proudly. She had no shame about where she came from.

She forced herself to try the caviar, which she generally avoided when it was served at royal functions. As usual, all she tasted was salt. She set her chopsticks down with an inadvertent clatter.

“You don’t like it?” Jeff asked, watching her.

Nina saw the sous-chefs glance over with sharp eyes. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t sit here in this vast room, which should have echoed with voices and laughter and the clinking of glasses, but was instead heavy with silence. It was all too stifling. Too much.

Jeff had probably taken Daphne Deighton on this type of date every weekend. But Nina wasn’t anything like Daphne, and if she and Jeff were going to have the slightest chance of making this work—whatever this even was—then he needed to understand that.

“Honestly, no. I hate caviar.” Nina’s voice was barely audible over the ambient classical music. “Jeff, you shouldn’t have done all this.”

“I told you, it’s a special—”

“No,” she insisted. “This date is …” Extravagant, glitzy, over the top. “Thoughtful,” she said, compromising. “But it isn’t me.”

Jeff blinked at her in astonishment. Nina wondered if she’d upset him, after all the money and planning he had obviously put into the evening. Then his eyes brightened, and he laughed.

“You want to know something? I hate caviar too.”

The prince stood in a single motion, tossing his napkin onto the table next to the half-eaten tower of toro and caviar. Nina hurried to follow. Seeing their movement, Matsuhara swept out of the kitchen in evident dismay.

“We’re so sorry, but an emergency came up. We won’t be staying for the rest of the meal. Of course, you’ll still be paid in full,” Jeff announced to the startled chef.

“But Your Highness—all the food …”

“You and the staff should eat it. I bet you never get a chance to enjoy your own cooking.” Excitement blossomed on the chef’s face.

Jeff waited until they had slipped out the shadowed side door before turning to Nina. “Where to? I have to admit, I’m still a little hungry.”

Nina gave an appreciative laugh. “I know just the spot.”

The incredulous delight on Jefferson’s face was totally worth it—even if his protection officer did look like he wanted to throttle Nina in retribution.

They had walked to the Wawa from Salsa Deli, Nina’s favorite taco shop, where they’d sat at a plastic-covered table and ordered carnitas tacos. In the low light, no one had cast them a second glance. Especially after Jeff borrowed the navy sweatshirt that his protection officer kept in the trunk of his car.

Eating chips and canned salsa was the opposite of the five-star dinner they’d just abandoned, but it was much more Nina’s speed. Free of all that expectation and gourmet food, she and Jeff had finally been able to relax, and just talk.

When he asked where they could get dessert, Nina led him across the street to Wawa.

It was cold inside; fluorescent lights beamed down on aisle after aisle of brightly colored packaging. The store was empty except for the cashier, who barely looked their way before returning to her magazine. Nina had to bite back a laugh when she saw the cover: a WHO WORE IT BETTER? review of the gowns from the Queen’s Ball. If only the cashier knew that a Prince of the Realm was in her store, his features hidden behind a navy hoodie.

But Nina knew the hoodie wasn’t the only reason Jeff had gotten away with this. It was simply a matter of context. The cashier didn’t expect to see Prince Jefferson at the Engletown Wawa, which was why she failed to notice his presence right here before her.

And now Jeff was running around the Wawa like … well, like a kid in a candy store. He kept pulling items from the shelves with gleeful abandon: flaming hot potato chips, a frosted Tastykake, jalapeño poppers.

He turned to her in delighted confusion, his arms brimming with packaged foods. “I don’t understand this place. Is it a fast-food restaurant or a convenience store?”

“Both. Wawa is where those two worlds converge.”

Jeff grinned. “I feel so cool. So hipster and bohemian.”

“To a boy who wears a tiara, I guess everything looks bohemian,” Nina teased, and Jeff reddened at her reference.

“It’s a circlet, not a tiara, and I haven’t worn it since I was ten!” he protested. “Just for those portraits my mom made me take as a kid!”