Page 86 of Prince Material
“To protect you,” Orson corrected gently. “He saw how much that video hurt you, how it’s still affecting you even now.”
I wiped at my eyes. “God, I must look a mess.”
“You look perfect.” He brushed away a stray tear with his thumb. “And brave. And strong. And like someone who kept another person’s secret even when it cost him everything.”
“Not everything.” I caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I still got you, didn’t I?”
His smile was soft, understanding. “Yes, you did. Though I have to admit, seeing that video was difficult. Knowing what they said about you, how they twisted things…”
“Hey.” I squeezed his hand. “That’s over now. The truth is out there.”
“What happens next?”
“Margriet wants to prepare a response.” I sighed, leaning against him. “Something gracious and forgiving, probably. Show that there are no hard feelings.”
“Are there?” Orson’s voice was careful, analytical. “Hard feelings, I mean?”
I thought about it. “No,” I said finally. “Not really. I wish he’d come forward sooner, but I understand why he couldn’t. Coming out is personal. It has to happen on your own terms, in your own time. And as a celebrity, it’s a thousand times harder. As much as people like to pretend it’s okay to be gay nowadays, that’s not always the case. Careers have been sunk over coming out.”
“You’re too forgiving,” Orson said softly, but his tone was admiring rather than critical. “He let you suffer through all those accusations, all those headlines…”
“And now he’s facing his own headlines.” I turned to look at him properly. “Coming out is never easy, even when you’re ready. Doing it like this, in such a public way, to protect someone else? That takes courage.”
Orson’s fingers traced patterns on my palm, a habit he’d developed when thinking deeply. “You really mean that, don’t you? You’re not only saying it because it’s the diplomatic thing.”
“I mean it.” I leaned against him, drawing strength from his steady presence. “Besides, in a weird way, that video led me here. To you.”
His brow furrowed adorably. “How do you figure that?”
“After everything that happened, I needed to escape. To find somewhere I could be myself, without the weight of those accusations following me around.” I smiled, remembering our first meeting. “So I came here, became your roommate, and proceeded to drive you crazy with my terrible laundry habits.”
That startled a laugh out of him. “You still drive me crazy with your laundry habits.”
“Yeah, but now you love me anyway.”
“I do.” He kissed my temple softly. “So what do you want to do now?”
I pulled out my phone, looking at the missed calls from Margriet. “I should call her back, work on that statement. But first…” I opened my camera and held it up. “Smile!”
“What? No!” Orson tried to duck away, but I caught him around the waist. “I look terrible in photos!”
“You look perfect,” I corrected, snapping a quick picture of us together. His wild curls tousled from the wind, his glasses slightly askew, and his cheeks pink from the cold. He looked absolutely beautiful.
I posted the photo to my official Instagram account—the one I rarely used but which had millions of followers—with a simple caption:
Truth and love win. Jason, thank you for your courage. Wishing you nothing but joy and peace as you embrace who you are. Moving forward with gratitude and joy, surrounded by love that makes everything else fade away.
Orson peered at my phone, his eyes widening. “Are you sure about this? Posting us together?”
“Absolutely.” I pressed another kiss to his temple. “Let them see what real love looks like. No editing, no accusations, just us.”
His smile was soft, a little shy but genuine. “You’re going to make me blush in front of millions of followers.”
“Good.” I grinned, watching the likes and comments already pouring in. “Though I should warn you, my mom’s probably going to frame this photo and hang it in the palace. She’s been not-so-subtly hinting that she needs more pictures of us.”
“Oh god.” He buried his face in my shoulder. “Your mother, the princess, wants to frame a photo where my hair looks like I’ve been electrocuted?”
“Your hair always looks like that,” I teased. “It’s part of your charm.”
