Friso
You know that exhilaration,Casimir thought,when you’re zooming down the wide and open freeways of Los Angeles, when the traffic becomes tightly packed around your car and yet no one slows down?
When you are barreling at eighty miles an hour, a missile in a speeding flock of missiles, and the pavement runs away underneath you and you know that you should divert but the feeling, the utter joy of getting away with it, of sailing as the wind rushes over your car,thattakes you, and youfly?
The other cars ahead of you are blocking your view, and the sunset streams across the sky, glaring on the windshield and blinding you. Your music roars around you from the stereo. You’re moving almost by instinct, keeping your car even with the others, the equivalent of flying wingtip to wingtip, as you and other cars form a dart and flow together.
And then you dodge through an opening and survive yet another minute.
Thatwas what Casimir was feeling when he and Rox were sitting on the couches in his office, when she so casually asked about his middle name, Friso.
Friso.
What a name.
What an odd, obvious name.
Casimir dodged, and he feinted, and he survived each moment of the conversation, when any comment could have turned into a flaming pile of rubble and twisted metal.
And yet, surely Rox wouldn’t want things from him. Surely she wouldn’t take advantage of him for something that he couldn’t control and had never sought.
The cynical side of himself laughed at such immature thoughts.
Of course, she would.
Any time that anyone found out anything more about him, they changed, and they always changed for the worse.
It was better to keep quiet.
He had no need to tell her the things that he had shoved deep down inside, the pain, the horror, all the reasons why he was a monster. It wasn’t as if they were dating. It wasn’t as if he had any sort of a shot with Rox. She was married to someone else.
She. Was. Married.
So it didn’t matter, while they talked about Holland and tulips, that Casimir was a prince of the Netherlands, currently sixth in line for the throne. It wasn’t like he was particularly hiding it.
All right, he was.
But surely he would never inherit. His older sister and her four children were ahead of him in the line of succession, and Ana might plan to have more children.
He was never going to inherit the crown. He had given up all his official duties to be a lawyer and occasional trade ambassador for the Netherlands. Being a member of the royal family had nearly no impact in his day-to-day life.
Casimir could not have been more delighted.
So he hadn’t mentioned it to Rox or to anyone else.
He had no reason to mention it.
It was not as if he were in love with her or had any chance to build a life with her.
She. Was. Married.
