Page 6 of The Dandelion Princess
My father’s greatest love was himself, followed closely by every illicit drug known to man. When he met my mother, a Seongan student and model, I’m convinced that her primary appeal for him was how much she would shock the family.
After he popped off to that great ayahuasca afterparty in the sky, everyone expected my mother—Amma—to auction off the collection of family portraits by Oppeger the Younger and retreat with her regrettably half-Asian children to London orSingapore to live off the fumes of the van Heyden fortune. Instead, the trophy wife dug in her heels and kept Lindenholm afloat, transforming it within ten years into a brand of organic agricultural goods. It drives Noah crazy that the Crown Estates haven’t quite caught up in terms of quality, even if they dwarf us in market share.
Because my mother devoted herself to Lindenholm, I was able to grow my startup, Han Heyden from an idea scribbled on a legal pad in a Stanford dorm room to the thriving tech company that now forms the backbone of Handsel’s reputation as the Silicon Sea.
“Ammawants to relocate to Seong,” I say. “I can’t count on anyone else to shoulder my responsibilities, and it’s time to get serious.”
Noah gives an approving nod. “You know your duty.”
“I thought you knew yours,” I smile, “but I hear you’re still chasing models.”
“I have a type.” Noah breathes a silent, bitter laugh.
I’m not the only one holding back. My oldest friend still won’t talk about the moment almost three years ago when he revealed what his type was. We had run out to Outingen Huis after he returned from an assignment abroad and spent the day riding over fields, ending up on the beach with a bonfire. One beer had turned into two, and then three.
After a few reckless years, he was finally beginning to understand that there would be no true escape from being the next king. For me, my father’s drug-fueled stumble from the cliffs of sobriety was my own personal cautionary tale. We weren’t there to get drunk.
I had asked a question I’d been holding on to, waiting for the right time to deploy, annoyed that I couldn’t seem to just toss it out. “What’s Ella up to these days?”
I felt myself hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
He stared at his hands so long that I was about to repeat the question. Then, “There are people we can’t be with.”
I closed up tighter than a spinster’s night robe and a response squeezed from my throat. “A crown prince can date anyone he wants.”
“Not anyone.” He tossed his beer aside and it landed with a thunk into the soft sand. “Your sister.” He snapped his fingers like he was trying to remember her name. “Alix. I can’t date her.”
I smiled against the lip of my bottle. “I already gave Alix the talk about you.”
“Deal.” Noah didn’t slur but his words were overprecise. “If I can’t date your sister, you can’t date any of mine.” He grabbed my hand and shook it, sealing the contract before I could read the fine print.
He went on, staring hard at the sky. “Employees are off-limits, too.”
“Obviously. I’m not going to start pinching your maids.”
“Can’t call them maids,” he corrected. “Housekeeping staff. I didn’t mean them.”
“Do you mean what’s-her-name?VrouwTiele?” His mother would go through the roof if she thought either of us were chasing her administrative personnel. The power imbalances alone were enough to make me keep my distance even if I was ever tempted by the terrifyingly self-composed secretary.
“Caroline,” he clarified. Her name was as soft as the bonfire hissing against the damp sand and his gaze shifted to the flames. He must have been silent for a full minute before he added, “Promise me you won’t date her.”
“Noah—”
“Promise.”
“Yeah. She’s not my type.”
With that, he got to his feet, tossed his shirt aside and ran into the dark waves.
He never said a word about it again, but that was the night I discovered that, as surely asKarlswagonrolls through the night sky, every model since then was just for show.
Noah bounces the ball between his knees, catching it, spinning it. “You’ve got a type too,” he says. My stomach clenches but he goes on, “I read about your dating scandal.”
I lift my eyes to the dragon and the maiden, shaking my head with a measure of relief. The stupid peculiarity of Seongan celebrity culture is that it’s a scandal that a grown man of more than thirty summers is dating at all. The scandal is amplified by the fact that the girl in question is a member of BLUSH, the biggest pop group to come out of East Asia.
“Is there any truth to it?”
“We did some volunteer work and went to a few fundraisers,” I say, grabbing the ball out of his hands and sinking it into the basket.
