The December air hit me like a slap, crisp and fresh. We were experiencing an unusual cold spell, though it didn’t come close to Massachusetts weather. I sat on the front steps, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to steady my breathing. The Christmas lights from neighboring houses blurred through unshed tears.

  The door opened behind me, and soft footsteps approached.

  “I’m sorry,” Tia said quietly, sitting beside me. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”

  I sighed, unable to be angry with her. “You were trying to help.”

  “I wanted Uncle Bill to get off your back.” She bumped my shoulder gently. “I never expected him to react like that.”

  “Neither did I.” I stared at the twinkling lights across the street, thinking of Floris’s smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. “But maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t belong in Floris’s world.”

  “That’s bullshit.” The curse word sounded forceful. “You belong wherever you want to belong. And from what I saw at Thanksgiving, Floris wants you in his world.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?” She turned to face me fully. “Look, I may be younger than you and not, like, experienced with relationships, but I’m not blind. I saw how he looks at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. And I saw how you are with him—happier, lighter. More… you.”

  “More me?” I repeated, confused.

  “Yeah. Like… okay, remember when we were kids and you used to get so excited about old buildings? How you’d drag me around the French Quarter, explaining about architectural styles and historical preservation? You stopped doing that at some point, instead focusing on nothing else but studying. Everything became about safety and prevention and being perfect.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “But with Floris, I saw that old spark come back. When he was here, you lit up like you used to. I overheard you talk to him about the classic New Orleans architecture, and he got it. He actually listened and asked questions and seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying.”

  I remembered that day: Floris’s enthusiasm, his intelligent questions, the way he’d encouraged me to share my knowledge. “He makes it easy to get excited about things.”

  “Exactly!” Tia grabbed my hand. “And that’s what Dad would’ve wanted for you. Not just surviving, but living. Being passionate about something. Being happy.”

  “But Uncle Bill⁠—”

  “Uncle Bill isn’t Dad.” Her voice was firm. “He didn’t know Dad’s heart like Mom did. And Mom loves Floris. You can see it in her face whenever she talks about you two.”

  I thought about Mom’s warm acceptance, how she’d welcomed Floris into our home without hesitation. “She does seem to like him.”

  “Because she sees how good he is for you.” Tia squeezed my hand. “And because she’s not stuck in the past like Uncle Bill. She wants you to live your life, not spend it trying to make up for something that wasn’t your fault.”

  The words hit home, echoing what Floris had been trying to tell me all along. “I miss him,” I admitted quietly. “More than I thought possible.”

  “Then call him.” Tia picked up my phone from where I had put it down next to me and held it out. “Right now.”

  “It’s after 11 p.m. there.”

  “So? He won’t mind if it’s you.”

  The simple truth of her words made my chest tight. I took the phone, staring at it for a long moment before hitting the call button. It rang a few times before Floris’s voice came through, warm and familiar. “Orson?”

  Just hearing him made something in my chest unclench. “Hi. Yes, it’s me.”

  The background noise on his end quieted, like he was moving somewhere private. “Is everything okay, lieverd?”

  “I just…” I swallowed hard. “I needed to hear your voice.”

  There was a pause, then softly: “God, I miss you too.”

  “Today’s been rough,” I admitted, aware of Tia still sitting beside me but needing to get the words out. “My Uncle Bill is here, and he looks so much like Dad, and then Tia accidentally told everyone about us, and⁠—”

  “Breathe, lieverd,” Floris interrupted gently. “Start from the beginning.”

  I took a shaky breath, letting his voice ground me. “My uncle, my dad’s brother, he always pushes about following in Dad’s footsteps, about living up to his sacrifice. And then Tia mentioned you, trying to change the subject, and he… he said some things.”

  “What kinds of things?” Floris’s voice had taken on that protective edge I’d come to recognize.

  “That I don’t belong in your world. That I’m getting distracted from what matters, from what Dad died for.” My voice cracked slightly. “That you’ll get bored eventually and⁠—”

  “Stop.” The word was firm but gentle. “First of all, you belong wherever you want to belong. Second, you’re not getting distracted. You’re the most focused, dedicated person I know. And third…” His voice softened. “I could never get bored of you, Orson Ritchey. You fascinate me more every day.”

  Warmth spread through my chest, and beside me, Tia made a quiet “aww” sound. I’d forgotten she could hear his side of the conversation.

  “I’m…” I struggled to find the right words. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m betraying Dad by wanting something for myself. By wanting you.”

  “Oh, lieverd, your father didn’t die so you could spend your life feeling guilty for surviving. He died so you could live. Really live, not just exist.”

  “That’s almost exactly what Tia told me.”

  “Smart girl,” Floris said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “She’s right, you know. And from everything you’ve told me about your dad, everything your mom has said, he would want you to be happy.”

  “But what if…” I trailed off, the words sticking in my throat.

  “What if what?” Floris prompted gently.

  “What if I’m not enough?” The fear that had been lurking beneath everything else finally surfaced. “What if Uncle Bill is right and I can’t handle your world? I’m just… me. Some ordinary kid from New Orleans who’s terrified of messing up.”

  “Just you?” Floris’s voice was soft but intense. “Orson, you’re brilliant and kind and so much stronger than you know. You survived something terrible and turned it into motivation to help others. You see beauty in old buildings that most people would walk right past. You notice details others miss, you care about things deeply, and you make me want to be better just by being you.”

  Tears pricked at my eyes, and Tia squeezed my hand. “But the press…”

  “That will be a challenge. I won’t lie about that. But we can face it together, if you want to. And if you don’t…” His voice caught slightly. “If it’s too much, I’ll understand. But please don’t let your uncle’s words make this decision for you.”

  I thought about how it felt to be with Floris, the way he made me laugh, how he understood my need for order but gently pushed me to loosen up sometimes, how he looked at me like I was something precious. “I want to. Face it together, I mean. You’re worth it.”

  His exhale was shaky.

  I smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Though I reserve the right to freak out about it later.”

  His laugh was warm, familiar. “Deal. And Orson?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I…” He paused, and I could almost see him running a hand through his hair the way he did when nervous. “I love you.”

  My heart stopped, then started racing. Beside me, Tia squeaked and clasped her hands over her mouth.

  “You don’t have to say it back,” Floris added quickly. “But after everything that happened today, I needed to say it.”

  My heart pounded against my ribs as Floris’s words echoed in my ears. I love you. Three simple words that somehow held the weight of everything I’d been afraid to want. “I love you too,” I said softly, the words feeling both terrifying and absolutely right. “God, Floris, I love you so much, it scares me sometimes.”

  His breath caught audibly. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled, ignoring Tia’s flapping hands beside me. “And not because you’re a prince or despite it. I love you because you’re you. Because you drag me away from my books when I need it, and you make terrible jokes to get me to smile, and you understand parts of me I barely comprehend myself.”

  “Orson…” His voice was thick with emotion. “You can’t say things like that when I’m an ocean away and can’t kiss you.”

  Heat crept up my neck. “Sorry?”

  “No, you’re not.” He laughed softly. “God, I wish I was there right now.”

  “Me too.” I leaned back against the porch step, looking up at the stars. “Though maybe it’s better you’re not. You might’ve punched my uncle.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” His tone was only half-joking. “No one gets to make you feel less than amazing. Not even family.”

  Warmth spread through my chest at his protectiveness. “Mom’s handling that part. I could hear her yelling at him when I left.”

  “Good. I knew I liked your mom.” There was a pause, then: “My parents want to meet you, by the way. When you’re ready.”

  My stomach did a nervous flip. “Your parents? As in, the sister and brother-in-law of King Friso of the Netherlands?”

  I’d done some research, not wanting to be completely ignorant about his background.

  “No, my other parents,” he teased. “The ones who run the local cheese shop.”

  “Shut up.” But I was smiling despite my anxiety. “That’s… that’s kind of terrifying, actually.”

  “They’ll love you,” he said with such certainty that I almost believed him. “I may have talked about you. A lot.”

  “Yeah?”

  “To the point where my brother threatened to throttle me if I didn’t stop talking about your brilliant mind and adorable curls.” His voice was warm with affection. “His exact words were: ‘We get it, he’s perfect, now please shut up about his eyes.’”

  Despite my lingering anxiety, I laughed. “You did not talk about my eyes.”

  “I absolutely did. At length. Multiple times. They’re very distracting, you know. Especially when you’re explaining something you’re passionate about and they get all bright and intense.”

  As his quiet laugh filled the darkness, I realized something profound: for the first time since that day on the roof, I wasn’t trying to calculate every possible outcome. I was letting myself feel. And somehow, that felt like the bravest thing I’d ever done.

  23

  FLORIS

  I couldn’t sit still. Not after that phone call. Not after hearing those three words from Orson’s lips, words I’d been dying to hear but hadn’t dared hope for. The need to see him, to hold him, to kiss him senseless, was overwhelming.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Laurens said, watching me pace around my room. “It’s the day after Christmas. Every flight will be packed.”

  “I don’t care.” I grabbed my phone, already pulling up airline websites. “I’ll sit in the cargo hold if I have to. I mean, I’ve survived the dorm washing machines. Pretty sure I can handle being shipped as oversized luggage.”

  “The press will notice.”

  “I’ll try to keep a low profile, but yes, they may, though it will take them a while to figure out why I’m heading to New Orleans specifically. And as long as we’re careful once I’m there, they shouldn’t be able to spot me with him.” I looked up at my brother, knowing my expression was probably a bit wild. “But at some point, they’re gonna find out. I love him, Laurens. And he loves me back.”

  “You’ll have to prepare him.”

  “I will, but he knows. I’ve never kept this from him… and he still chose to get involved with me, for reasons passing all understanding.”

  Laurens tried to maintain his serious expression, but I caught the twitch of his lips. “You’re impossible.”

  “Impossibly charming, you mean.” I ran a hand through my hair, probably making it stand up in all directions. “His uncle said some awful things to him yesterday. About how he doesn’t belong in my world, how he’s betraying his father’s memory by being with me. And all I could think was how wrong that was, how perfect he is, how much I needed to be there and tell him that in person. I need to do this, need to see him.”

  My brother studied me for a long moment, then pulled out his own phone. “I’ll call our travel planner. She might be able to find you a first-class seat somewhere.”

  “Really?” I stopped pacing. “You’re going to help?”

  “Of course I am.” He smiled. “Someone has to make sure you don’t end up actually trying to sneak into the cargo hold.”

  Two hours later, I was in a car heading to Schiphol Airport, a hastily packed bag beside me. Laurens had worked miracles and found me a first-class ticket to New Orleans with only one short layover, in New York. I caught up on some reading on the flight to New York, and later on, messaged with Orson as he woke up. I hadn’t told him I was coming, wanting to surprise him, though I’d texted his mom to make sure he’d be home. Diana had responded enthusiastically, even offering to pick me up from the airport, but I’d insisted on getting an Uber. She was already doing me a huge favor by keeping my arrival a secret from Orson.

  Luckily, one of the privileges I had as a member of the Dutch royal family was a diplomatic passport, which meant I didn’t have to go through the usual long line at border patrol everyone else was subjected to. I made my connecting flight with ease, getting a nap in on the last leg, so I would at least arrive somewhat fresh.

  I caught some people snapping pictures of me, both at Schiphol Airport and at JFK, but they all looked like Dutch tourists, not press or paparazzi. Hopefully, it would take a while before those pics made their way to the internet.

  The New Orleans air hit me with an unexpected chill as I stepped out of Louis Armstrong International Airport. Even in December, the city rarely got truly cold, I had learned from previous research, but today was an exception. The forecasted temperature was barely above freezing. At least the humidity was taking a break, giving my hair a temporary reprieve from its usual rebellion against gravity.

  The Uber ride to their house felt simultaneously too long and too short. The driver seemed to sense I wasn’t in the mood for conversation and put on some Louis Armstrong, which seemed fitting. My heart raced with anticipation, my palms sweaty. What if this was too much, too soon? What if showing up unannounced was crossing a line?

  But then I remembered his voice on the phone yesterday, the way he’d said, “I love you too,” like the words were being pulled from somewhere deep inside him, and all doubt vanished. This was exactly where I needed to be.

  The Uber pulled up to the familiar yellow house, Christmas lights twinkling along the porch railings. I grabbed my bag, thanked the driver, and took a deep breath before walking up to the door.

  Diana opened it before I could knock, pulling me into a warm hug. “You wonderful boy,” she whispered. “He’s going to be so happy to see you.”

  “Where is he?” I asked, suddenly nervous.

  “In his room, studying of course.” She rolled her eyes fondly. “Some things never change. Go on up.”

  I took the stairs as quietly as possible, my heart pounding against my ribs. The door to Orson’s room was partially open, and I could see him sitting at his desk, wild curls falling over his forehead as he bent over what looked like a textbook. The sight made my chest tight with emotion.

  God, I loved him. Every careful, brilliant, overthinking inch of him.

  I knocked softly on the doorframe. “So this is what civil engineers do on their Christmas break? Study more?”

  Orson’s head snapped up, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “Floris?” Orson stared at me like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “How… What are you…”

  “Surprise?” I managed, drinking in the sight of him. His hair was even wilder than usual, like he’d been running his hands through it while studying. He wore that soft, green sweater I loved, the one that brought out the gold flecks in his eyes, and his glasses were slightly askew in that way that always made me want to reach out and straighten them.

  He stood up so quickly, his chair nearly toppled over. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”

  “I couldn’t stay away.” I stepped into the room, letting my bag drop to the floor. “Not after yesterday. Not after what you said.”

  “What I…” His eyes widened as understanding dawned. “You flew all the way here because I said I love you?”

  “Because you said you love me, because your uncle was an ass, because I needed to see you.” I moved closer, drawn to him like gravity. “Because I love you too, and saying it over the phone wasn’t enough.”

  Orson made a soft sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and then he was moving too, meeting me halfway. His hands came up to frame my face as our lips met, and everything else fell away: the journey, the press, the complications. None of it mattered except this, except us.

  I pulled him closer, one hand tangling in those wild curls while the other wrapped around his waist. He tasted like coffee and something sweet, probably the remains of Christmas cookies, and his body fit against mine like it was made to be there.

  When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, I rested my forehead against his.

  “Hi,” I whispered.

  He laughed, the sound warm and real. “Hi yourself. I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

  “Where else would I be?” I brushed a curl from his forehead, savoring the ability to touch him again. “The second you told me you loved me, staying away became impossible.”

  His eyes searched my face, those beautiful, brown depths full of emotion. “But the press… Won’t they notice?”

  “They might, yes.”

  “And you’re okay with that?” Orson’s hands tightened slightly on my shoulders. “With them finding out about us?”

 

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