Page 89 of Prince Material
By the time we were done and back home in Den Haag, where Floris had bought a house for us, I was exhausted.
“You did great today,” he said as we settled on the couch with a glass of wine.
“Thanks.” I leaned against him, enjoying the quiet after the chaos of the day. “Though I still can’t believe you made me try that herring thing.”
Floris laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest where my head rested. “Hey, you can’t come to the Netherlands and not tryharing.”
“It’s raw fish, Floris. Raw fish that you’re supposed to dangle over your mouth like some demented seal.”
“But you tried it.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “That earned you major points with the Dutch public, by the way. They love seeing foreigners embrace our traditions, even the weird ones.”
I snorted. “Especially the weird ones, you mean.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the last rays of sunlight paint patterns on our living-room wall. Our living room. Sometimes it still amazed me how naturally that phrase came now, how easily we’d built this life together.
“What are you thinking about?” Floris asked softly, his fingers playing with my curls.
“How different this is from what I imagined my life would be.” I turned to look at him. “Five years ago, I was so focused on being perfect, on living up to my father’s sacrifice. I neverthought I’d be here, in the Netherlands, engaged to a prince and eating raw fish at national celebrations.”
His eyes softened. “Regrets?”
“None.” I reached up to trace his jaw, still amazed that I got to do this, that this beautiful, ridiculous man was mine. “Though I could do with less orange in my wardrobe.”
“Impossible. Orange is clearly your color.”
“I’m not getting married in an orange suit. I draw the line there.”
Floris gasped in mock horror. “But think of the patriotic statement we could make! The headlines: ‘Royal Wedding Goes Full Dutch.’ We could have orange flowers, orange cake?—”
“Stop.” I covered his mouth with my hand, laughing despite myself. “You’re terrible.”
“Actually…” Floris shifted slightly, and I recognized his “we need to talk about something” pose. “About that. We need to finalize the details. The team needs time to prepare everything.”
My stomach did a nervous flip. “Oh.”
Our wedding date was set for September fifteenth a year from now, and while I couldn’t wait to marry him, I was less enthusiastic about the spectacle it would be.
“Hey.” He caught my hand, squeezing gently. “We can do it however you want. Small ceremony, big ceremony, elope to Vegas—though my father might actually have a heart attack if we did that last one.”
I struggled to find the right words. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you. I do. So much. But the idea of doing it in front of the whole world…”
“Who says it has to be the whole world?” His thumb traced circles on my palm, grounding me. “We could do something small for family and close friends. The palace has private chapels that would be perfect for an intimate ceremony.”
I blinked. “We could do that?”
“Of course.” He smiled softly. “Contrary to popular belief, royal weddings don’t have to be massive state occasions. Not when you’re not first or second in line. And while there would need to be some official elements, we get to decide how we want to celebrate our love.”
Something tight inside me loosened at his words. “Your family would be okay with that?”
“They want us to be happy.” He shifted to face me properly. “Besides, they all love you.”
I snuggled closer to him, feeling the tension drain from my shoulders. “A small ceremony sounds perfect. Though your fan club might be disappointed.”
“My fan club?” He raised an eyebrow. “You mean those teenage girls who keep sending me marriage proposals on Instagram?”
“And the middle-aged women who comment heart emojis on every photo of you.” I poked his side. “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”
“I only notice the comments from one person.” He caught my hand, bringing it to his lips. “Usually complaining about my laundry habits or pointing out that I’ve left coffee cups everywhere again.”
