Page 74 of Prince Material
I’d done some research, not wanting to be completely ignorant about his background.
“No, my other parents,” he teased. “The ones who run the local cheese shop.”
“Shut up.” But I was smiling despite my anxiety. “That’s… that’s kind of terrifying, actually.”
“They’ll love you,” he said with such certainty that I almost believed him. “I may have talked about you. A lot.”
“Yeah?”
“To the point where my brother threatened to throttle me if I didn’t stop talking about your brilliant mind and adorablecurls.” His voice was warm with affection. “His exact words were: ‘We get it, he’s perfect, now please shut up about his eyes.’”
Despite my lingering anxiety, I laughed. “You did not talk about my eyes.”
“I absolutely did. At length. Multiple times. They’re very distracting, you know. Especially when you’re explaining something you’re passionate about and they get all bright and intense.”
As his quiet laugh filled the darkness, I realized something profound: for the first time since that day on the roof, I wasn’t trying to calculate every possible outcome. I was letting myselffeel. And somehow, that felt like the bravest thing I’d ever done.
23
FLORIS
I couldn’t sit still. Not after that phone call. Not after hearing those three words from Orson’s lips, words I’d been dying to hear but hadn’t dared hope for. The need to see him, to hold him, to kiss him senseless, was overwhelming.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Laurens said, watching me pace around my room. “It’s the day after Christmas. Every flight will be packed.”
“I don’t care.” I grabbed my phone, already pulling up airline websites. “I’ll sit in the cargo hold if I have to. I mean, I’ve survived the dorm washing machines. Pretty sure I can handle being shipped as oversized luggage.”
“The press will notice.”
“I’ll try to keep a low profile, but yes, they may, though it will take them a while to figure out why I’m heading to New Orleans specifically. And as long as we’re careful once I’m there, they shouldn’t be able to spot me with him.” I looked up at my brother, knowing my expression was probably a bit wild. “But at some point, they’re gonna find out. I love him, Laurens. And he loves me back.”
“You’ll have to prepare him.”
“I will, but he knows. I’ve never kept this from him… and he still chose to get involved with me, for reasons passing all understanding.”
Laurens tried to maintain his serious expression, but I caught the twitch of his lips. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly charming, you mean.” I ran a hand through my hair, probably making it stand up in all directions. “His uncle said some awful things to him yesterday. About how he doesn’t belong in my world, how he’s betraying his father’s memory by being with me. And all I could think was how wrong that was, how perfect he is, how much I needed to be there and tell him that in person. I need to do this, need to see him.”
My brother studied me for a long moment, then pulled out his own phone. “I’ll call our travel planner. She might be able to find you a first-class seat somewhere.”
“Really?” I stopped pacing. “You’re going to help?”
“Of course I am.” He smiled. “Someone has to make sure you don’t end up actually trying to sneak into the cargo hold.”
Two hours later, I was in a car heading to Schiphol Airport, a hastily packed bag beside me. Laurens had worked miracles and found me a first-class ticket to New Orleans with only one short layover, in New York. I caught up on some reading on the flight to New York, and later on, messaged with Orson as he woke up. I hadn’t told him I was coming, wanting to surprise him, though I’d texted his mom to make sure he’d be home. Diana had responded enthusiastically, even offering to pick me up from the airport, but I’d insisted on getting an Uber. She was already doing me a huge favor by keeping my arrival a secret from Orson.
Luckily, one of the privileges I had as a member of the Dutch royal family was a diplomatic passport, which meant I didn’thave to go through the usual long line at border patrol everyone else was subjected to. I made my connecting flight with ease, getting a nap in on the last leg, so I would at least arrive somewhat fresh.
I caught some people snapping pictures of me, both at Schiphol Airport and at JFK, but they all looked like Dutch tourists, not press or paparazzi. Hopefully, it would take a while before those pics made their way to the internet.
The New Orleans air hit me with an unexpected chill as I stepped out of Louis Armstrong International Airport. Even in December, the city rarely got truly cold, I had learned from previous research, but today was an exception. The forecasted temperature was barely above freezing. At least the humidity was taking a break, giving my hair a temporary reprieve from its usual rebellion against gravity.
The Uber ride to their house felt simultaneously too long and too short. The driver seemed to sense I wasn’t in the mood for conversation and put on some Louis Armstrong, which seemed fitting. My heart raced with anticipation, my palms sweaty. What if this was too much, too soon? What if showing up unannounced was crossing a line?
But then I remembered his voice on the phone yesterday, the way he’d said, “I love you too,” like the words were being pulled from somewhere deep inside him, and all doubt vanished. This was exactly where I needed to be.
The Uber pulled up to the familiar yellow house, Christmas lights twinkling along the porch railings. I grabbed my bag, thanked the driver, and took a deep breath before walking up to the door.
