A Prince for Me. Nolo Mothoagae
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get even faster. She hopes he will do something to put her off him, and thereby save her, but Odi looks at her like a lion considering a gemsbok for its next meal.
File’s stomach continues to do somersaults as she steps closer to shake his hand. A warm, work-roughened hand closes around hers and she gasps in disbelief. The earth seems to drop away from under her feet as her light-brown eyes meet his dark-brown ones.
Odi feels as if someone has hit him in the solar plexus when their hands finally touch. He has been watching her as she walked around the table, acting for all intents and purposes like any other village girl, but clothed like an exotic butterfly, an enchantress who has fallen from the heavens.
He gapes at her dark-brown skin, glowing with good health. She has large, almond-shaped eyes, framed by the longest eyelashes he has ever seen and lightly outlined by black eyeliner; her luscious berry-black lips shimmer as she nervously bites them. He can hardly believe it; the last time he felt like this, it had led to a humiliating end and terrible heartbreak. This thought makes Odi frown, and File responds with a confused look. He realises that he hasn’t responded to her greeting, nor has he introduced himself, and to top it all, everyone congregated around the table is staring at him.
Quickly he clears his throat and says, “Dumela, Mma, I’m Odirile Mokgatlha. Pleased to meet you.”
His deep baritone voice makes the butterflies in her stomach dance even faster as she stares into his soulful eyes. She nods, because her throat has closed up and she knows she won’t be able to speak. She quickly pours herself some of her mother’s famous granadilla juice and takes a long swallow to calm her nerves, vowing not to look in Odirile’s direction again unless absolutely forced to.
The meeting passes in a blur, with her paying very little attention, until she realises that there seems to be tension at the table all of a sudden, and the prince is sitting with a stormy look on his face.
“My son,” Kgosi Mokgatlha says, “while I understand and appreciate the difficulties associated with this request, we have no choice in this matter and no avenue other than the one we have raised with you. We feel that direct contact with someone in authority is the only way to stop Viljoen.”
Odi releases a frustrated sigh and says through half-clenched teeth, “Yes, but there’s no guarantee that she’ll even see me, or take our request seriously.”
“It’s worth a try,” Sandra says, with everyone around the table concurring. File feels lost and wishes she had listened more carefully.
“Fine, but I’m not going alone,” Odi states testily, at which his father pats him on the shoulder.
“Of course not, son; of course not. But unfortunately none of us is capable of assisting you.”
“Well, File’s here for a while and she’s off work,” MmaItumeleng says to File’s dismay. “I’m sure she can go with the prince,” she adds, looking at her daughter, whose eyes are wide with horror.
It takes a very strict look from her mother before File replies testily, “Okay, fine.”
“Wonderful! Wonderful! Dankie, ngwanake. We’ll win this battle yet with such concerted effort,” exclaims the king.
After some further discussion Sandra gets up and says, “To reiterate the action points: Rre Seganka, Odirile and Orefile will meet to draw up this document to the MEC, and File will type it up and print it. I will ensure that she drops the document off during the week sometime, and Odi is to try his very best to organise a prompt meeting with the MEC regarding the matter of this land claim. Is that all? Did I forget anything?”
Nobody replies and Sandra sits down.
“Well, if that’s it, then this meeting is adjourned. Thank you, everyone, for attending,” Kgosi Mokgatlha concludes.
As the small group disperses, File hastily stacks plates and glasses on trays and takes them into the house, while Sandra shuts down her laptop.
In the kitchen, File leans against the wall, closes her eyes and wonders how it could have happened that the take-it-easy holiday she planned has been turned into a foray into the world of politics. She shakes her head in disbelief and opens her eyes to find Odi in the kitchen door, staring at her with a closed, hard-to-read expression.
Immediately the nervous butterflies start fluttering in her stomach again. File swallows hard as they stand looking at each other, saying nothing. The tension in the room can be sliced with a knife. She bites her lip nervously, drawing Odi’s eyes to her mouth. File draws a deep breath to calm her nerves, raising her chest and drawing his eyes down her graceful neck to her bosom. She tries to fight the urge to fold her arms over her chest, but soon loses the battle. You haven’t acted like this since high school, she thinks to herself in exasperation.
“What can I help you with?” she asks briskly, trying to look Odi in the eye.
He blinks slowly, looking at her like a predator, barely moving. “When shall we meet?”
“Well,” she starts irritably, “you heard my mother. I’m unemployed and I’ll be here for a while. So I guess it’s up to you. As long as it’s after ten-thirty in the morning and before five in the afternoon.”
“Okay . . . Do you have a phone?”
She is about to laugh when she realises that he is serious; there are people in the village who don’t have cellphones. “Yes,” she answers and rattles off her number, and Odi enters the number into his phone.
“I’ll coordinate with Rre Seganka and call before I come to fetch you, to make sure you’re up to it.”
She nods. Odi stands there, looking at her for another second. Then he turns and walks out.
File releases a tense breath that she didn’t even realise she was holding and flops back against the wall. That was strange, and this guy is one hell of a strange prince. She shakes her head and softly says to herself, “This is going to be some ride, girl. So much for an idyllic and uneventful holiday.”
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