Page 68 of Prince Material
“Different.” I forced myself to pay attention. “Did you know they start classes at eight in the morning? I thought their constitution forbade cruel and unusual punishment.”
Dad chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”
“Barely. And don’t get me started on their food portions. Everything comes supersized. The other day, I ordered a ‘small’ coffee and got what we’d consider a bucket. Though I have to admit, I’m developing a concerning addiction to something called ‘mac and cheese.’ It’s basically pasta drowning in cheese sauce.”
Mom wrinkled her nose. “That sounds… unhealthy.”
“Oh, it absolutely is. But it’s like a warm hug for your stomach. Plus, they have this thing called ‘dining dollars’ which basically means I can eat my feelings without actually seeing money leave my wallet. Dangerous system, really.”
“And the classes?” Dad asked, as always more interested in academics. He was an engineer himself, so I definitely took after him in that aspect.
“Challenging but good. Half my class struggles with converting to the metric system, but that’s one challenge I don’t have. On the other hand, I still can’t figure liquid ounces out. Every time I order a drink and they ask which size, I have to guess.”
The conversation flowed easily, my family’s genuine interestin my experiences making it simple to share. It felt good to talk about the little cultural differences that still caught me off guard, like how Americans thought nothing of striking up conversations with complete strangers, or how they seemed physically incapable of pronouncing my name correctly. The rolling r was too much, apparently.
“Have you made any friends?” my mom asked.
My heart skipped at the opening she’d inadvertently provided. This was my chance. I’d promised Laurens I’d tell them about Orson, and really, there wouldn’t be a better moment. We were all together, relaxed, no pressing engagements or staff hovering nearby.
I took a deep breath. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you all.” I glanced at Laurens, who gave me an encouraging nod. “I’ve met someone.”
The silence that followed felt heavy with anticipation.
Mom’s face lit up immediately. “Oh? Tell us about him.”
“His name is Orson,” I said, watching carefully for their reactions. “He’s my roommate, actually. He’s studying civil engineering too, and he’s brilliant. Probably the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
“A roommate?” Dad’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s convenient.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Trust me, it wasn’t planned. But he’s amazing. He’s from New Orleans originally, and he’s incredibly focused and dedicated to his studies. He wants to work in disaster prevention, specifically flooding. You’d love talking to him, Dad.”
“And how serious is this?” Mom asked, her voice gentle but probing.
I met her eyes, knowing honesty was crucial here. “I’m in love with him.”
Dad’s coffee cup clinked against its saucer. “Aren’t you a bit young to be throwing around words like love?”
“Marc,” Mom chided softly, but I shook my head.
“No, it’s okay.” I straightened in my chair, channeling every lesson in poise I’d ever learned. “I know I’m young, and I know my track record with relationships isn’t exactly stellar. But this is different. Orson is different.”
“Different how?” Dad pressed.
“He sees me,” I said simply. “Not the prince, not the tabloid target, but the real me. He challenges me to be better, helps me with my studies, calls me out when I’m being ridiculous. And he’s so brilliant and passionate about what he does, even though he tries to hide it.”
“Hide it?” Mom’s brow furrowed.
I hesitated, not sure how much of Orson’s story was mine to tell. “He lost his father during Hurricane Katrina. He was only four. It changed him. He’s very focused. Sometimes too focused.”
Understanding dawned in Mom’s eyes. “Ah. And you help him find balance?”
“I try.” I smiled, thinking of all the times I’d dragged Orson away from his books, shown him it was okay to live a little.
“And does he understand what being with you means?” Dad asked carefully. “The public scrutiny, the responsibilities, the expectations?”
The question made my stomach clench. “We’re working on that part. He knows who I am, obviously, and for his own reasons, he’s fine with keeping things private for now. But I haven’t fully explained what might happen when the press finds out.”
“You need to tell him,” Dad said firmly. “Before it blindsides him. You know how ruthless the tabloids can be.”
