Page 62 of Prince Material
Laurens chuckled. “Only you, bro. Only you. Well, at least that makes it easy to stay discreet.”
“He wants to keep it under wraps for now. He’s very new at this. Not in the closet, but inexperienced with relationships.”
“Relationships,” Laurens said slowly. “So this is not casual, then. It’s serious.”
“It feels serious,” I admitted. “More serious than anything I’ve felt before. I think… I think I’m in love with him, Laurens.”
The words hung in the air between us, across the ocean that separated Massachusetts from the Netherlands. My brother was silent for a moment, and I could picture him in his office, elbows leaning on the desk as he looked pensive.
“Well, that’s certainly new,” he finally said. “Does he know who you are?”
“Yes. He knows everything. Including the video.”
“Good, good. I’m glad. And he’s okay with it?”
“He seems to be.”
“That’s a big hurdle taken, then. So, what’s the problem? Why the call?”
I shifted on the bed, the mattress creaking under me. “I want to tell Mom and Dad. About him. About us. But I don’tknow how they’ll react. He’s not exactly what they might’ve expected.”
“Because he’s American?”
“Because he’s a regular guy. No title, no family connections. A middle-class kid from New Orleans.”
Laurens laughed outright at that. “Floris, you do realize that Grandmother married a complete commoner who became everyone’s favorite prince consort, right? And that our cousin married the daughter of the gardener? You’re overthinking this.”
I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear those words until they were spoken. “You think they’ll be okay with it?”
“They’ll be thrilled you’ve found someone who makes you happy,” Laurens said firmly. “Especially after that mess with that video. They’ve been worried about you, you know.”
The mention of “that mess” sent a familiar twinge through me. The injustice still stung.
“I know they worry. That’s part of why I want to tell them properly, before they hear rumors.”
“Good plan. But speaking of rumors…” He paused, and my stomach tightened. “Floris, Margriet has been getting questions.”
Margriet was the royal family’s chief spokesperson, a formidable woman who managed our public image with iron efficiency.
“What kind of questions?”
“The usual. Where you are, what you’re doing, why you haven’t been seen at any functions lately. There’s some speculation that you’re in rehab or having some kind of breakdown.”
I closed my eyes. “Fantastic.”
“It’s nothing we can’t handle, but I wanted to warn you that they might start looking for you. You know how persistent they can be.”
My stomach soured as the weightless feeling of earlier dissipated. I knew exactly how persistent they could be. As a child, it had been carefully planned moments for the press, with the agreement that they’d leave us kids alone otherwise. For the most part, they had, but whenever we appeared for official events, they were allowed to take pictures too. There were some lovely ones of me picking my nose at age three.
But once we turned eighteen, that agreement ended and the press had free reign. It was part of being fifth in line to the Dutch throne: not important enough to warrant full security detail at all times, but interesting enough to sell magazines.
“I don’t want that for Orson,” I said, and my voice came out raw. “He doesn’t deserve to have his life invaded like that.”
“No, he doesn’t, but if this relationship is as serious as it sounds, it’s something you’ll both have to face eventually.”
The thought made me physically ill. I pictured Orson, with his shy smile and his self-consciousness, being pursued by photographers. I imagined his private life splashed across tabloids, his past dissected, his family harassed. All because he’d had the misfortune to fall for me.
“I don’t know if I can do that to him,” I whispered.
