Page 45 of Prince Material
“I don’t know how.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to want things for myself anymore.”
“Then let me help you figure it out.” I brought our joined hands to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “We can take it slow. No pressure, no expectations. Just… us.”
Orson’s breath caught at the gesture, and I saw something shift in his expression, like a wall crumbling, just a little. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” He pulled his hand away, but gently. “You’re a prince, Floris. Eventually, you’ll have to go back to that life. To responsibilities and public scrutiny and… I can’t be part of that world. I’m not…”
“Not what?”
“Not good enough.” The words came out in a rush. “Not polished enough, not sophisticated enough, not?—”
“Stop.” I cut him off, my chest aching at the self-doubt in his voice. “First of all, you’re brilliant and kind and absolutely good enough for anyone. Second, do you really think I care about any of that? I like you because you’re you. Because you call me out on my bullshit and help me with calculus and make me want to be better, not for the crown or the press, but for myself.”
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw a glimmer of hope beneath the fear in his eyes. “I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted quietly. “Our friendship… it means too much to risk.”
“Who says we have to lose anything?” I shifted closer, hearthammering. “Maybe we could gain something instead. Something amazing.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “You sound very sure about that.”
“I am.” I reached for his hand again, relief flooding through me when he let me take it. “Because I know how I feel when I’m with you. How everything is brighter, better. How you make me want to be more than a prince, more than what everyone expects me to be.”
His thumb traced circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. “I… I feel that too,” he whispered. “But it scares me.”
“Good things often do.” I squeezed his hand. “But maybe they’re worth being scared for.”
Orson looked at our joined hands, his expression thoughtful. “What if we take it slow? Figure this out one step at a time?”
My heart soared. “We can go as slow as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
He met my eyes then, and the vulnerability there made my breath catch. “Promise?”
“Promise.” I brought our joined hands to my lips again, pressing another soft kiss to his knuckles. “Though we should probably get that cranberry sauce before your mom sends out a search party.”
That startled a laugh out of him, breaking the tension. “God, I almost forgot. She’s probably wondering what’s taking so long.”
“We could tell her we got lost in each other’s eyes,” I suggested with an exaggerated waggle of my eyebrows.
“You’re ridiculous.” But he was smiling now, that rare, genuine smile that transformed his whole face. “Come on, let’s go brave the Thanksgiving crowds.”
Inside the store was chaos, last-minute shoppers frantically grabbing forgotten items. We managed to find the cranberrysauce after some searching, though Orson had to reach over an elderly lady who was debating between two different brands.
“I can’t believe Americans eat this,” I said, studying the can. “It looks like jelly.”
“That’s because itisjelly.” Orson’s shoulder brushed mine as we waited in the checkout line. “Wait until you see it come out of the can. It keeps the shape and everything.”
“That’s horrifying.” But I was grinning, loving how the awkwardness between us had melted into something softer, full of possibility.
When we got back to the car, Orson hesitated before starting the engine. “Floris?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.” He turned to look at me, his eyes serious behind his glasses. “For being patient with me. For understanding.”
“Always.” I reached over to brush a curl from his forehead, my heart skipping when he leaned into the touch. “Though I should warn you, my patience has limits. Especially when you look this adorable.”
His cheeks flushed pink. “It’ll build character, just like the stairs, the showers, and the lack of AC in our dorm.”
