Page 74 of The Prince and the Bodyguard
“Floris, I’m at Sandringham House, with the king. You can’t just show up here.”
“What will they do, refuse me entry? I’m a prince of The Netherlands, one of your closest allies. I’d like to see them try. If they do, I’ll create a diplomatic scandal so big, no one will even remember your cousin’s name.”
My head spun. Could this work? “And then what?”
“I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon for an official friendly visit between two princes who have a well-established friendship. I’ll make sure to run into some press to have my pictures taken so it’s all public. And then I’m walking out of there with you.”
I shook my head, even though Floris couldn’t see it. “They’ll never let me leave.”
“They won’t be able to stop me from leaving. And if you happen to leave with me…” He paused, and I could practically hear his grin. “Well, they can hardly manhandle a visiting prince in front of witnesses, can they?”
The audacity of the plan was breathtaking. And it might actually work. “Floris, if you do this, it could cause an international incident?—”
“Yeah, yeah. I don’t think it will, but even if it does, I’ll clear that on my side of the North Sea. It’s about time someone reminded your uncle that modern royalty is supposed to be about service and duty to our people, not about controlling every aspect of our personal lives, and the Dutch will be all too happy to be of service there.”
I laughed despite it all. “I almost want to see those headlines.” Then I sobered again. “Thank you, Floris. I owe you.”
“Nah, you don’t owe me jack shit. This is what friends do… even princes.”
After hanging up with Floris, I called Nils and then Tore to update them as well. Both reacted with similar outrage and immediately offered their support. Nils promised to make public statements about royal autonomy and modern relationships if needed, and Tore offered political asylum in Norway if things went completely sideways. The loyalty and immediate support from my friends were overwhelming and exactly what I needed to believe that fighting back was possible.
I wanted nothing more than to call Bash, but I didn’t know his number off the top of my head, and I had no way of getting it without access to the Internet. Besides, his phone might very well have been confiscated, too.
Charlie popped back in an hour later, as she had promised. She handed me a familiar burgundy red document. My diplomatic passport.
“How did you even get this?”
“I told you. I have connections. Not everyone agrees with what’s happening here, Greg, and I knew who to ask to retrieve this.”
Connections indeed. Maybe my sister wasn’t as proper as I had always imagined her to be.
“Floris is coming tomorrow,” I told her. “His plan is to walk right out of the front door with me.”
Charlie chuckled. “I’ve always liked him. And that’s exactly the kind of bold move that will work. Father and Uncle Henry won’t dare create a scene with international witnesses present.”
“And after that?”
“After that, you go to America. You find Bash.” She stood up, smoothing her skirt with practiced efficiency. “And you find happiness.”
The next twenty-four hours passed with agonizing slowness. I maintained the pretense of compliance, attended the mandatory family meals, nodded along with discussions of engagement schedules while privately counting down the hours until Floris’s arrival.
He appeared at teatime on Thursday, sweeping into Sandringham with casual royal confidence. To anyone watching, he was simply a young prince paying a friendly social call on his friend. No one had a clue of the rescue mission he’d planned.
“Gregory!” he exclaimed warmly when he was shown into the drawing room where I was suffering through tea with my father. “How wonderful to see you. America must’ve agreed with you because you look great.”
That might’ve been the very first lie I’d ever heard him speak as he was not known for his tact. Dutch directness was a thing, but I loved him for it. And he delivered his words with such practiced sincerity that I almost believed them myself, even though I knew I looked like I hadn’t slept in days, which was accurate.
He extended a hand to my father. “Prince James, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I was in the area and thought I’d stop by. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”
“Of course not,” my father responded, because what else could he say? Centuries of protocols demanded he’d welcome Floris, though I could see the wariness in his expression. Unexpected visits from foreign royals were never entirely welcome, especially when those royals had reputations for independence and progressive thinking. He had to suspect something was afoot, but he didn’t comment on it.
We chatted pleasantly about inconsequential matters for exactly the right amount of time—long enough to be properly social, not so long as to overstay the welcome. Then Floris glanced at his watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I do need to head back to London this evening. Greg, why don’t you come with me? We could have dinner, catch up properly. I haven’t seen you in forever.”
It was beautifully done. Casual, spontaneous, completely reasonable. Two young men making plans for an evening in London.
“That sounds lovely,” I said, matching his tone. “Let me grab a few things.”
My bag was already packed, including Bash’s Christmas present.
