Page 57 of Prince Material
“Wow!” Tia was clearly star-struck. “I can’t believe my brother is dating a prince. That’s like something out of a Disney movie!”
Orson made a choking noise, his face somehow turning even redder. I squeezed his hand under the table, not bothered in the least by her questions. “I’m afraid reality isn’t quite as charming as the movies, but we do try.”
“Does that mean you’re gonna make Orson a prince too? Since you’re together and all.” Tia grinned mischievously at her brother, who looked like he wanted to slide under the table.
“Tia, shut up,” Orson mumbled, his face still beet red.
“But isn’t that how it works? That if you marry a prince, you become a prince too? Or in my case, a princess? Hey, do you have any brothers, maybe?”
I chuckled at Tia’s antics, finding her blunt curiosity refreshing. “Orson would make a very handsome prince,” I said with a wink, making Orson groan again.
“You’re not helping,” he muttered under his breath, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
“As for brothers, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” I told Tia apologetically. “I have one older brother, but he’s already engaged. But if I come across any eligible princes, I’ll be sure to send them your way.”
“Deal!” Tia grinned at me, clearly delighted by the idea.
Diana shook her head fondly. “Tia, let the poor man eat his breakfast now. You can interrogate him later.”
“Fine, fine.” Tia sighed dramatically before shoveling a forkful of eggs into her mouth.
Orson shot me an apologetic look across the table but I smiled reassuringly back at him. His family was a trip, but in thebest way possible. Tia was super sweet, but I could see what Orson had mentioned about her being young for her age. She acted more like a teenager than a twenty-year-old.
The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of easy conversation and laughter. Diana asked me questions about my family and what it was like growing up royal, but in a casual, curious way that didn’t feel prying. I found myself sharing stories I hadn’t told many people, about sneaking out of the house with my brother as a kid, some of my more infamous moments with the press as a child, and the pressure I sometimes felt to live up to expectations.
“How different is Dutch culture compared to American?” Diana asked me.
“Very different in some ways,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “The Dutch are famously direct. We say exactly what we think, which can come across as rude to Americans. Like, if someone asks how you like their new haircut and it’s terrible, we’ll tell them it’s terrible.”
“That sounds awkward,” Tia said, wrinkling her nose.
I laughed. “It can be! But we see it as being honest and helpful. Why let your friend walk around with bad hair if you can prevent it?”
“What else is different?” Diana asked, genuinely interested.
“Well, we have this concept calledgezellig, which has no translation in English. It’s kind of like cozy, but more than that. It’s a feeling, a mood. Enjoying a warm, welcoming atmosphere. Like this,” I gestured around the kitchen table. “Having breakfast together, talking, laughing, that’sgezellig.”
“Fascinating,” Diana said.
“But I think what stands out most is our ability to compromise and find a middle ground that works for everyone. We call it thepolder model, named after ourpolders, which is the Dutchword for reclaimed land. We basically acknowledge that no one will ever get exactly what they want, so we agree to disagree and find common ground in the middle. We have to, since our parliament has fifteen political parties represented.”
“Fifteen?” Orson’s eyes grew wide. “For real?”
I waved my hand dismissively. “Two-party systems are for wimps.”
“But how does anything get done with fifteen parties?” Orson asked, his analytical mind clearly trying to work out the logistics.
“That’s where the polder model comes in. We have to work together, find compromises. No party ever has a majority, so coalition-building is essential. It’s messy and slow sometimes, but it works.”
“Like how you and Orson worked out your differences?” Diana suggested with a knowing smile.
I grinned, catching Orson’s hand under the table. “Exactly. Though I’d say in our case, the compromise heavily favored me getting my way and dragging him out of the library occasionally.”
“Hey!” Orson protested, but he was smiling too. “I go willingly. Sometimes.”
“After extensive negotiation and careful consideration of all variables,” I teased. “Very Dutch of you, actually.”
Tia rolled her eyes. “You guys are disgustingly cute. I can totally see you get married and have, like, kids.”
