Page 71 of Prince Material
“His name is Floris,” she announced. “He’s from the Netherlands. Look!”
She turned her phone around, showing what appeared to be an official royal family photo. Floris stood tall and elegant in a crisp, blue suit, looking every inch the prince he was. My chest tightened at the sight of him, even in a photo.
“Oh my god!” Heather abandoned her own phone to lean closer. “He’s gorgeous! How did you even meet someone like that?”
“He’s my roommate,” I muttered, wishing I could disappear into my chair. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Sasha’s eyes were wide. “You’re dating actual royalty! That’s like, totally a big deal!”
Uncle Bill set down his fork with deliberate care. “Is this true, Orson?”
Something in his tone made me sit up straighter, defensive. “Yes. We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks.”
“A few weeks?” Bill’s expression darkened. “And you think that’s appropriate? Getting involved with someone like that?”
“Bill,” Aunt Lydia said softly, but he waved her off.
“No, this needs to be said.” He fixed me with a hard stare. “You have responsibilities, Orson. Goals. Your father died making sure you’d have a chance to make something of yourself, to help prevent other families from going through what we did. And now you’re getting distracted by some European playboy?”
His words were sharp daggers, but beneath the pain, something else stirred. Anger.
“You don’t know him.”
“I know his type. They’re all rich, spoiled little brats. Is this really what your father would’ve wanted for you?”
“Bill!” Mom’s voice cracked like a whip. “That’s enough.”
But the words were already out there, hanging in the air like poison. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, waiting for my response.
“You don’t get to use my father like that.” My voice came out steadier than I expected, despite the trembling in my hands. “You don’t get to decide what would make him proud.”
“I knew him better than you did,” Bill shot back. “You were only four?—”
“Exactly.” I pushed back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor. “I was four when he died saving me. Not you. Me. I’m the one who’s lived with that every day since. I’m the one who’s tried to be perfect, to be worthy of his sacrifice.”
“Then act like it!” Bill’s face was red now. “Focus on what matters instead of getting caught up in some fairy-tale romance that’ll never work out anyway. You don’t belong in that world, Orson.”
“Bill, stop it right now.” Mom stood up, her hands flat on the table. “You have no right?—”
“I have every right! Henry was my brother, and I won’t stand by while his son throws away everything he died for!”
The words hit like a physical blow, but something inside me snapped. All the pressure, all the guilt, all the carefully contained emotions I’d been holding back for years came rushing out.
“You think I don’t know what Dad died for?” My voice shook with anger and something deeper, rawer. “You think I don’t feel it every single day? But Floris…” I swallowed hard, thinking of gentle hands and understanding eyes, of someone who saw past my walls to the person underneath. “Floris makes me better. He challenges me to think differently, to see beyond equations and safety factors. He makes me want tolive, not just exist.”
“And what happens when he gets bored?” Bill demanded. “When he realizes you’re not cut out for his world? What then?”
“Then at least I’ll have known what it’s like to be happy!”The words exploded out of me. “To be more than the kid whose father died saving him!”
Silence fell over the table. Even Sasha and Heather had stopped playing with their phones, staring at me with wide eyes. Mom reached for my hand, but I pulled away, needing space.
“Orson,” Mom started softly, but I was already pushing back from the table.
“I need some air.” I headed for the front door, grabbing my jacket from the hook. Behind me, I could hear Mom telling Uncle Bill exactly what she thought of his behavior, her voice carrying that rare edge of true anger.
The December air hit me like a slap, crisp and fresh. We were experiencing an unusual cold spell, though it didn’t come close to Massachusetts weather. I sat on the front steps, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to steady my breathing. The Christmas lights from neighboring houses blurred through unshed tears.
The door opened behind me, and soft footsteps approached.
