Page 77 of Prince Material
His arm tightened around my waist. “I love you too. Now sleep.”
So I did, surrounded by his warmth and his scent and the steady sound of his breathing. The last thing I registered before drifting off was his soft kiss against my jaw and his whispered, “Thank you for coming.”
24
ORSON
Professor Dunant was droning on about wastewater management and pollution control, but I couldn’t possibly be less interested. Classes had started again after Christmas break, and Floris and I were back in Massachusetts after the most amazing week ever. We’d spent literally ever minute together and while Tia had labeled us nauseatingly happy and had begged to hold off on the PDAs, I had loved every second of it.
I still couldn’t believe Floris had flown to New Orleans for me. We’d explored more of the city together, him dragging me away from my books to show him my favorite spots. He’d listened with genuine interest as I explained the architectural significance of various buildings, asked intelligent questions about restoration techniques, and somehow made me feel like my passion for historical preservation was something to celebrate rather than hide.
The memory of his face lighting up when I’d shown him the hidden courtyard of the Hermann-Grima House, one of the city’s best-preserved examples of Federal style architecture, made me smile. He’d been fascinated by the original slavequarters that had been preserved and turned into an educational exhibit, asking thoughtful questions about how we could honor history while acknowledging its darker aspects.
“Mr. Ritchey?”
I snapped back to attention, heat creeping up my neck as I realized Professor Dunant was waiting for an answer to a question I hadn’t heard. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
She raised an eyebrow but repeated her question about filtration systems. I managed to answer correctly, though my mind immediately wandered back to Floris as soon as she moved on. God, I was happy. Happier than I had ever thought possible, even with the looming threat of press discovery hanging over us. The royal family had a whole PR team, which didn’t surprise me, and Margriet, their spokesperson, had released a statement to the Dutch press when they enquired about Floris being on a flight to the US the day after Christmas. She’d told them he was visiting a friend on a private visit, which was true, I supposed. It had bought us some time, but it wouldn’t last.
I had spent a couple of hours with her via Zoom for a basic press training. When she had asked me if I had a preferred side I wanted to be photographed on, I’d burst out laughing until I realized she’d been deadly serious. God help me. Both my sides were equally disastrous, though Floris had argued they were equally cute. Hesoneeded glasses.
We’d gone over possible questions the press or the paparazzi could ask and how to respond. “No comment” was perfectly fine, Margriet had assured me, which was a relief. I had a suspicion I’d be using that one a lot. She’d told me never to respond to rude comments or questions, online or in person, to put all my social media—which consisted of a Facebook account I hadn’t looked at in ages and my LinkedIn—onprivate, and when responding, never to automatically accept the premise of the question. That last one was still hard for me to wrap my head around, but I’d find out soon enough, I feared.
Much more pleasant, though terrifying initially, had been meeting Floris’s parents and brother via Zoom. I’d stumbled and stuttered, but they’d been so kind and nice, truly making me feel welcome. Laurens had shared some embarrassing childhood stories of Floris.
I smiled, remembering how Floris had tried to tackle his brother through the screen when Laurens started telling the story about Floris, influenced by Prince Tore, trying to convince the palace guards he could speak to ducks.
His parents had been nothing like I’d expected royalty to be: warm, funny, and genuinely interested in my studies. His father had gotten particularly excited when I mentioned my interest in historical preservation, launching into a passionate discussion about maintaining centuries-old palace architecture while meeting modern safety standards.
As if he’d known I was thinking about him, Floris texted me.
Floris
Save me from this endless lecture about soil composition. I’m dying of boredom.
Me
Pay attention. You’ll need this for the exam.
Floris
But thinking about you is so much more interesting. Did you know you scrunch your nose when you’re concentrating? It’s adorable.
Heat crept up my neck, and I glanced around automatically, though of course no one was paying any attention to me.
Me
I do not scrunch my nose.
Floris
You absolutely do. I have photographic evidence.
Me
When did you take pictures of me studying??
Floris
