Page 12 of Prince Material (The Prince Pact #2)

His laugh was surprisingly warm. “Yeah, but you’re different. You don’t care about the prince thing.”

“Should I?”

“God, no.” He took another sip of coffee. “It’s refreshing. Most people either treat me like I’m made of glass or try to use me to get something. And then there’s a few who treat me like shit to make sure I’m not getting arrogant. You treat me like I’m…”

“A disaster who can’t remember to get his laundry?”

“I was going to say ‘normal’ but yeah, that works too.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Though I’ll have you know, I’m getting better at the laundry thing.”

“You left your socks in the dryer again yesterday.”

“Details.” He waved dismissively. “The point is, it’s nice having someone who sees past all the royal stuff. Who sees… me.”

Something in his voice made me look up, and our eyes met across the table. For a moment, neither of us spoke, and I felt that dangerous flutter in my chest again. I cleared my throat. “Even if ‘you’ is someone who thinks chocolate sprinkles are a legitimate breakfast food? ”

“ Hagelslag ,” he corrected. “And don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Besides, you Americans put marshmallows on sweet potatoes and call it a vegetable dish. You have no room to judge.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.” I couldn’t help smiling at his exaggerated eye roll. “At least we don’t eat raw fish by dangling it over our mouths.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

He laughed again, and I watched the way his whole face lit up when he was genuinely amused. It was different from his public smile—warmer, more real. I was starting to catalog these differences, noting when the mask slipped and the real Floris showed through. That was probably dangerous.

I cleared my throat. “In the Netherlands, do you usually have security?”

“God, no.” He looked at me in horror. “You mean like the Secret Service? With earpieces and those scary, dark suits that probably come with a lifetime subscription to Resting Murder Face Monthly ?”

I snorted. He was so funny. “Yeah.”

“No, and if they offered it to me, I’d refuse faster than my brother turns down carbs.

I understand why it’s needed for my uncle and his direct family, but no, thank you.

That’s such an invasion of privacy that I’d never score a hookup ever again.

Can you imagine?” He pretended to do a dramatic whisper into an imaginary earpiece.

“‘Target is making bedroom eyes at subject in blue shirt. Permission to engage in flirting? Over.’ Yeah, that’s a mood killer right there. ”

I almost spat my coffee out and needed a moment to control myself enough to swallow. “Can you refrain from being so funny when I’m trying to drink coffee? ”

Floris grinned. “No promises. Your reactions are too entertaining.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “You know, you should laugh more often. It suits you.”

Heat crept up my neck, and I busied myself with my coffee to hide my reaction. “So, no security, but there must be other restrictions? Rules?”

“Some.” He shrugged. “Don’t embarrass the family, try not to cause international incidents, that sort of thing. Though according to certain British tabloids, I’m not very good at following those.”

The bitterness in his voice made me look up. “That video?—”

“Let’s not.” He cut me off, but gently. “Today’s been good. I’d rather not ruin it by diving into that particular mess. I shouldn’t have brought it up again.”

I nodded, understanding the need to keep some wounds private.

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping our coffee. Outside, people hurried past the windows, caught up in their own lives, completely unaware they were walking past actual royalty.

“Sometimes, I forget,” I said.

“Forget what?”

“Who you are. I mean, not you you, but…” I gestured vaguely, trying to find the right words. “ Prince you.”

His smile was soft, genuine. “Good. That’s exactly what I want.” He paused, then added, “Though I hope you remember enough not to be shocked when the British tabloids eventually figure out where I am and show up with their cameras and creative interpretation of facts.”

“Will they?”

“Eventually. They always do.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But hopefully not for a while. I’d like to enjoy this—” he gestured between us “—while it lasts.”

Something warm unfurled inside me at his words. “This?”

“You know, having a friend who sees me. Who calls me out on my bullshit and doesn’t treat me like I’m made of glass.” He met my eyes. “It’s nice.”

“Even when I lecture you about laundry etiquette?”

“Especially then.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Though I maintain that the dryer is plotting against me. It eats socks on purpose.”

“Sure it does.” I couldn’t help smiling. “It’s all part of an elaborate conspiracy by American appliances to undermine European royalty.”

“Finally, someone who understands!” He threw up his hands dramatically. “Next, you’ll tell me you’ve noticed how the washing machines are secretly allied with the vending machines to create chaos.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You like it.”

And God help me, I did. That was becoming a problem.