Page 71 of Movers and Fakers

I brace like I’m preparing for a hit.

My mother continues. “Sheila told me you have a girlfriend!”

“Yeah,” I sigh, knowing there’s no use in denying it.

“It was unpleasant to find out through an acquaintance that you’re in a relationship,” my father says in his straightforward way. “You can remedy that mistake by bringing her here to meet us.”

I palm the back of my neck and take a deep breath in through my nose. This is the opposite of what I need right now. I just admitted feelings for Aurora. Neither of us have been in a serious relationship before. We need time to get to know each other.

“So I-I am dating someone, yes, but it’s—” I cut off. I can’t say it’s not serious. The words feel wrong somehow. “I was waiting to make sure things were going to last before telling you.”

The excuse is similar to what we told Aurora’s mom, and I’m hoping my parents buy it, too.

“Your mother wants an introduction, as do I. Discuss a time to meet, then call Fiona to schedule the jet and the visit. We will be in New York for the next few months, which is a short enough flight for you to come for the weekend.”

I look down, feeling defeated. Aurora is going to hate this.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

“What is her name?” Dad asks bluntly. “Her major? Desired occupation?”

“Oh, and is there anything she likes that I can have on hand for her?” Mom adds.

“Aurora Driscoll,” I say quietly, feeling like I’m dooming her by uttering it. “We have the same major. That's how we met. She’s a ballerina and wants to be a principal dancer, but she’s getting her degree in computer science as a fallback.”

I know that if I don’t give this information to my dad that he’ll find it in his own way. There’s no sense in trying to keep things from him.

“A ballerina,” my mom sighs. “How lovely!”

“Very smart of her to have a backup plan,” my father remarks.

“She’s very simple, so I don’t think there’s anything you need to worry about getting her,” I say in answer to my mom’s question.

I could give her more details, but I know my mother well. She’ll go over the top and make Aurora more uncomfortable than she’s already going to be.

“Well, I’m looking forward to getting to know her,” Mom replies.

“See to the arrangements. We will talk soon. I love you.” All of these words are delivered in the same blunt manner.

A harsh wind blows through my jacket, freezing the warmth I once had.

“Love you sweetie!” Mom singsongs.

“Love you too,” I murmur, then hang up and put my phone back in my pocket.

How am I going to ask Aurora to do this? We’d have to get on a private jet, fly to New York City, and meet my parents in their high-rise apartment. They’ll probably ask her too many personal questions and imply things about legacy and our future together that neither of us are ready for. I scrub my hands over my face, trying to figure out what to do.

The one thing that almost kept me from Aurora was feeling unworthy of her. She said once that she wanted someone responsible. A bitter laugh escapes me. That alone should have made me run for the hills. I’ve been running from my responsibilities for years now. And yet … there’s something about her that makes me want more. To be better.

What does better look like, though? I can give up dating around and trade nights out for nights in with her. I already have. But becoming a better man as a whole is a different story. I’d have to face the Rosewood legacy head-on and make a decision.

I’ve stared down opponents in the ring, knowing the odds were against me, with little to no fear. But taking Aurora to meet my parents, showing her the world that I’m supposed to be king of in a few years? That terrifies me. Aurora is so cautious, and I’m worried that this will make her pull away. I wouldn’t blame her if it did.

My phone buzzes again. I heave a sigh and pull it out, expecting a link to some sort of social calendar from my dad’s assistant, Fiona. A small smile returns to my face, though, when I see a text from Aurora.

Princess: I think I might need a few more vases. Or one incredibly large one.

Attached to her message is a photo of pink and white roses deposited in three different vases, with a mountain of roses still behind them. I catch a glimpse of someone wearing a pink T-shirt in the corner of the photo. Her friends are probably helping her. I wonder if she told them about our kiss.