Page 39 of Prince Material (The Prince Pact #2)
ORSON
Professor Dunant was droning on about wastewater management and pollution control, but I couldn’t possibly be less interested.
Classes had started again after Christmas break, and Floris and I were back in Massachusetts after the most amazing week ever.
We’d spent literally ever minute together and while Tia had labeled us nauseatingly happy and had begged to hold off on the PDAs, I had loved every second of it.
I still couldn’t believe Floris had flown to New Orleans for me.
We’d explored more of the city together, him dragging me away from my books to show him my favorite spots.
He’d listened with genuine interest as I explained the architectural significance of various buildings, asked intelligent questions about restoration techniques, and somehow made me feel like my passion for historical preservation was something to celebrate rather than hide.
The memory of his face lighting up when I’d shown him the hidden courtyard of the Hermann-Grima House, one of the city’s best-preserved examples of Federal style architecture, made me smile.
He’d been fascinated by the original slave quarters that had been preserved and turned into an educational exhibit, asking thoughtful questions about how we could honor history while acknowledging its darker aspects.
“Mr. Ritchey?”
I snapped back to attention, heat creeping up my neck as I realized Professor Dunant was waiting for an answer to a question I hadn’t heard. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
She raised an eyebrow but repeated her question about filtration systems. I managed to answer correctly, though my mind immediately wandered back to Floris as soon as she moved on.
God, I was happy. Happier than I had ever thought possible, even with the looming threat of press discovery hanging over us.
The royal family had a whole PR team, which didn’t surprise me, and Margriet, their spokesperson, had released a statement to the Dutch press when they enquired about Floris being on a flight to the US the day after Christmas.
She’d told them he was visiting a friend on a private visit, which was true, I supposed.
It had bought us some time, but it wouldn’t last.
I had spent a couple of hours with her via Zoom for a basic press training.
When she had asked me if I had a preferred side I wanted to be photographed on, I’d burst out laughing until I realized she’d been deadly serious.
God help me. Both my sides were equally disastrous, though Floris had argued they were equally cute. He so needed glasses.
We’d gone over possible questions the press or the paparazzi could ask and how to respond.
“No comment” was perfectly fine, Margriet had assured me, which was a relief.
I had a suspicion I’d be using that one a lot.
She’d told me never to respond to rude comments or questions, online or in person, to put all my social media—which consisted of a Facebook account I hadn’t looked at in ages and my LinkedIn—on private, and when responding, never to automatically accept the premise of the question.
That last one was still hard for me to wrap my head around, but I’d find out soon enough, I feared.
Much more pleasant, though terrifying initially, had been meeting Floris’s parents and brother via Zoom. I’d stumbled and stuttered, but they’d been so kind and nice, truly making me feel welcome. Laurens had shared some embarrassing childhood stories of Floris.
I smiled, remembering how Floris had tried to tackle his brother through the screen when Laurens started telling the story about Floris, influenced by Prince Tore, trying to convince the palace guards he could speak to ducks.
His parents had been nothing like I’d expected royalty to be: warm, funny, and genuinely interested in my studies.
His father had gotten particularly excited when I mentioned my interest in historical preservation, launching into a passionate discussion about maintaining centuries-old palace architecture while meeting modern safety standards.
As if he’d known I was thinking about him, Floris texted me.
Floris
Save me from this endless lecture about soil composition. I’m dying of boredom.
Me
Pay attention. You’ll need this for the exam.
Floris
But thinking about you is so much more interesting. Did you know you scrunch your nose when you’re concentrating? It’s adorable.
Heat crept up my neck, and I glanced around automatically, though of course no one was paying any attention to me.
Me
I do not scrunch my nose.
Floris
You absolutely do. I have photographic evidence.
Me
When did you take pictures of me studying??
Floris
I plead the fifth. That’s the right amendment, yes? I’ve been practicing my American rights.
I muffled a snort.
“Mr. Ritchey, perhaps you’d like to share what’s so amusing about bacterial load in treatment facilities?”
Professor Dunant’s voice cut through my amusement. This time, several students turned to look at me, and I sank lower in my seat.
“Sorry, Professor,” I mumbled, forcing myself to focus on my notes.
The rest of class passed in a blur of technical terms and diagrams, though I managed to keep my mind from wandering too obviously.
When we were finally dismissed, I packed up quickly, eager to get back to our room.
Floris had a later class today, and I wanted to finish some reading before he returned and inevitably distracted me with his presence.
As soon as I stepped outside, someone yelled, “There he is!”
I blinked, then froze to the spot as photographers came running, their cameras and cell phones clicking away. A microphone was shoved into my face. “Is it true you’re dating Prince Floris from The Netherlands?”
Panic seized my chest as more reporters converged, their questions overlapping in a cacophony of demands .
“How long have you been together?”
“Did you know he was a prince when you met?”
“What does your family think about the relationship?”
The training with Margriet kicked in through my rising anxiety. Don’t engage with rude questions. You can always say “No comment”. Never accept the premise of a hostile question.
“ No comment,” I managed. My hands were shaking as I clutched my backpack straps.
“Is it true you’re only dating him for his money?”
That one stung, but I kept my face neutral, remembering Margriet’s warnings about showing reaction. Just keep walking. Don’t engage.
Suddenly, a tall, blond guy popped up next to me.
“Members of the press, keep your distance, please,” he called out to the press, putting his arm at an angle to physically shield me.
They backed off a little, giving me enough space to keep walking.
He continued to shield me, guiding my steps when I stumbled.
I’d never been more grateful in my life for someone stepping in to help me, but who was he? He was clearly American, judging by his accent, but too old to be a student. Once we were inside Smelter Hall, I came to a stop, shaking from the experience.
“Are you alright?” the stranger asked, his professional demeanor softening with genuine concern.
I nodded, though my hands were still trembling. “Thank you for…” I gestured vaguely at the door, beyond which I could still hear voices and camera shutters. “Who are you?”
“Nathan DeVos. I’m part of your security detail.” He showed me an ID card that looked official. “Prince Floris hired us to keep an eye on things, especially you.”
“He what?” I blinked, trying to process this information. “When did he…? ”
“After Christmas. He was concerned the press might find you before you were ready.” Nathan’s expression was sympathetic. “Looks like he was right to worry.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest as I realized what this meant. Floris had anticipated this, had taken steps to protect me without making me feel smothered or controlled. He’d known I’d need help but had arranged it quietly, letting me maintain my independence until it was necessary.
“Does he know?” I asked, pulling out my phone. “About the press being here?”
“He’s been notified. He’s on his way back now.” Nathan glanced at his watch. “Campus police has also been alerted. They’ll help keep the press off college grounds.”
Wow, Nathan was towering over me even more than Floris did. And the dude was ripped. Strong arms, big chest, and a tight stomach that had to be a six-pack under his black shirt. He was wearing cargo pants and what looked to be combat boots. This was definitely a guy you wanted to be on your side.
My phone buzzed with an incoming call from Floris.
“Hey,” I answered, my voice shakier than I’d like.
“ Lieverd .” The familiar endearment made my chest tight. “Are you okay? Nathan said they ambushed you outside class.”
“I’m fine.” I swallowed hard. “A little overwhelmed.”
“I’m five minutes away. Stay inside with Nathan, okay? I’m so sorry, Orson. I thought we’d have more time before they found us.”
“It’s not your fault.” I leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “Though I wish I’d worn a better shirt for my first paparazzi photos.”
His laugh was relieved. “Trust you to worry about your outfit at a time like this. ”
“Well, someone in this relationship has to care about fashion, and we both know it’s not you.”
“Hey!” Floris’s mock-offended tone made me smile despite everything. “I’ll have you know my fashion choices are perfectly fine. Hold on, I see the crowd. Be there in two minutes.”
True to his word, Floris appeared moments later, slightly out of breath like he’d run across campus. His eyes found mine immediately, and the concern in them made my heart flip.
“Are you really okay?” he asked, crossing to me in three long strides.
“I am now.” I let him pull me into a hug, breathing in his familiar scent. “Though I think I understand why you were so worried about the press finding us.”