Page 36 of Prince Material (The Prince Pact #2)

ORSON

Seeing my uncle Bill, my father’s younger brother, always triggered me.

He looked too much like my dad, sounded too much like him.

Spending time with him was a painful reminder of what we all had lost, and somehow, we always talked about my dad when Uncle Bill came to visit.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. He’d clearly loved my dad and he was nice enough and so was Aunt Lydia, but I still always ended up feeling sad.

When my mom had told me they were coming to visit us for Christmas—they lived in Oklahoma—I had screamed on the inside.

Of course, I’d shown nothing of those emotions to my mom and had merely replied I was looking forward to seeing them, as well as my two cousins, Sasha and Heather.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

My cousins were airheads, interested in nothing but boys, fashion, and celebrity gossip.

Even Tia struggled to connect with them.

Of course, missing Floris didn’t help.

I had expected to feel some sadness over not seeing him, but I hadn’t counted on this deep sense of…

of loss, almost like grief. How could I miss him this much after such a short time to gether?

We were talking mere weeks, not even months, and yet my heart hadn’t gotten that memo and ached like we were separated after being together for years.

Uncle Bill and Aunt Lydia had brought their usual holiday chaos with them.

My cousins were arguing over the number of calories in a dinner roll while my uncle dominated the conversation with his voice that sounded so much like my dad.

The dining room was decked out in Mom’s festive decorations, tiny white lights twinkling along the windowsills and her prized angel centerpiece casting soft shadows across the tablecloth.

We sat down for dinner at four. Steam rose from the golden-brown turkey that had taken Mom hours to perfect, surrounded by all the traditional sides: creamy mashed potatoes with rivers of gravy, green bean casserole topped with crispy onions, sweet potatoes crowned with toasted marshmallows, and Mom’s famous cornbread dressing that always made the whole house smell like sage and childhood memories.

But even with all this comfort and familiarity around me, my thoughts kept drifting back to Floris, wondering what Christmas dinner looked like in a Dutch palace, if he was thinking of me too.

“Pass the potatoes, please,” Heather called from across the table, barely looking up from her phone. Her perfectly manicured nails clicked against the screen as she typed.

I handed over the dish, trying not to feel irritated by her constant texting. At least it meant less awkward conversation.

“So, Orson,” Uncle Bill said, his voice so similar to Dad’s, it made my chest tight. “How’s college treating you? Still on track with civil engineering?”

“Yes, sir.” I pushed my glasses up, a nervous habit I couldn’t seem to break. “Classes are going well.”

“Good, good.” He nodded approvingly. “And after this?”

“I’m hoping for a job with a big engineering firm. ”

“Your father would be proud. Following in his footsteps, doing something meaningful with your life.”

The words hit like a physical weight, pressing down on my shoulders. I caught Mom’s slight frown, the way she opened her mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it.

“Orson’s at the top of his class,” Mom said instead, her voice carrying that particular mom-tone that meant she was being protective. “His professors are very impressed with his work.”

“As they should be.” Bill’s expression turned serious. “It’s what Henry would’ve wanted, isn’t it? Using your education to prevent other tragedies.”

I could feel it coming, that familiar pressure building. The weight of expectations, of duty, of trying to live up to a sacrifice I could never repay.

“Orson should study whatever he wants.” Mom’s tone was sharper now. “We shouldn’t put a moral obligation on his shoulders.”

Bill’s face grew tight. “I’m saying that he has a responsibility. Henry died making sure he lived, and?—”

“And Orson’s dating a prince!” Tia blurted out, clearly trying to change the subject.

The silence that followed was deafening. I stared at my sister in horror, heat rushing to my face. Of all the ways I’d imagined this coming out—and I had imagined several, usually involving careful explanation and context—this wasn’t one of them.

“A what now?” Sasha’s head snapped up from her phone, suddenly interested in the conversation. “Like, an actual prince?”

“He’s not… We’re not…” I stammered, but Tia was already pulling up something on her phone.

“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 to live , 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.

“I’m sorry,” Tia said quietly, sitting beside me. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”

I sighed, unable to be angry with her. “You were trying to help.”

“I wanted Uncle Bill to get off your back.” She bumped my shoulder gently. “I never expected him to react like that.”

“Neither did I.” I stared at the twinkling lights across the street, thinking of Floris’s smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. “But maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t belong in Floris’s world.”

“That’s bullshit.” The curse word sounded forceful. “You belong wherever you want to belong. And from what I saw at Thanksgiving, Floris wants you in his world.”

“It’s not that simple. ”