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Ella
I understood–Idid, I really, honestly, truly did–when Anna rain-checked our girls’ night for the second time.
Her kids came first.Her family,the darker, meaner part of me whispered, as I smiled and affirmed in what I hoped was a believably cheery voice, “No, oh my god, no, Anna,please, donotworry about it, I get it!”
And if–in another dark, private region of my body–a flutter of excitement reminded me that this time, I could text Charlie, that was between me and my brain. I hung up with my sister, and hesitated for a moment, my fingers millimeters from the touch screen of my phone. It had been a busy week for me–I had interviewed Natalie, and written a first draft of my profile–and although I had been meaning to text Charlie, it had fallen by the wayside. I pulled up his contact, staring at the blank chat log.What if he didn’t even text back?The thought burbled up from the most anxious part of my brain.What if he got what he wanted and he never wants to see me again?But no–he wouldn’t. I couldn’t describe it, but I trusted him, after our date and our night together. And besides–I wantedmore. I squeezed my legs together.
My sister ditched me again, I typed. Too pathetic? I backspaced and re-wrote.My sister’s OTHER kid is sick tonight… little twerps keep messing up our girls’ nights!I backspaced again. The blank chat log stared back at me.Hey Charlie,I typed finally,what’s up?
Future Pulitzer Prize winner, right here.
It was only seconds before he responded:Don’t tell me your sister’s kids cockblocked your girls’ night again.
I let out a huff of laughter, a smile stretching my cheeks as I flopped onto my bed, phone in hand. I could still smell his scent in my bed sheets, even after a wash, and the flutter in my stomach grew stronger.Sad but true,I typed.
Want to come over?I got in response.
Is this a booty call, Charlie Prince?
I could ask the same of you, Ella Booker!Then,Fuck. I have a family dinner tonight.My heart sank for a moment before another bubble popped up.Actually, though… Want to come? Otherwise I’ll be seventh-wheeling it.
From booty call to dinner with the family in a span of fifteen seconds. I stared at my phone. I had been surprisingly down for a date–or a booty call, if I was being honest with myself–but a family dinner? I couldn’t even get a dinner date with myownfamily, did I really want to go to dinner with Charlie’s? We’d been on one–one–date, I reminded myself. Dinner with the fam was probably a bit much. I would say no.
My anxiety spiral was interrupted by another text:No pressure if you don’t want to. I don’t want to either, but it’s “mandatory.”
I found myself–strangely, suddenly–on the verge of tears. In high school, after my dad and I moved in with Anna’s mom–Anna herself had been at college and out of the house by that point–I had always been too busy with cross country or homework or friends to eat dinner with my dad and stepmother. I had probably eaten more meals at the formal dining table–used very rarely for special occasions and holidays–than the one in the kitchen, which was generally piled with school work and laptops. What must it be like to have a mandatory family dinner? Charlie, and Philip, and glamorous Margaret from the gala, all eating delicious takeout from Mrs. Sarkar’s together and talking about their lives, their work.
No, I do,I found myself typing.Where and what time?
* * *
I barely had time to change before Charlie texted again to tell me the ride-service car he had called was at my apartment to pick me up. We had exchanged texts as I stripped out of my leggings and T-shirt and pulled on the same peacock-green sweater I had worn to our interview with a pair of straight leg jeans, hoping I looked casual (this was just family dinner, after all), but nottoocasual (I was meeting his family for the first time, after all). I didn’t even bother to hope I looked rich. I just didn’t want to look like a broke college student.
I sent a small prayer to the tiny embroidered pony frolicking on the cotton cable knit as I stepped from my apartment building and climbed into the black car parked in front:wish me luck, pony.Charlie was so unexpected–funny and down-to-earth andgreatin bed–and I just had to hope his family also surprised me, too.
It was Charlie, though, who surprised me: jogging down the front steps of the townhouse to open my car door, then pulling me into his arms and giving me a quick kiss. He ushered me into the foyer, closing the door behind us, and said, without preamble, “We need to talk.”
From the Pages of the Clarion
John Prince, aged 46, died suddenly last night of natural causes.
His small book dealership, Prince Rare Books, occupies several floors of the historic Smythe building, and is well known among the literati and collectors of rare and unusual first editions, manuscripts, and errata. Mr. Prince’s personal library, which contains many rare books on human ethology, is rumored to be over 10,000 volumes and with a replacement cost of several millions of dollars. He has bequeathed this extensive collection to his alma mater, Collingswood University.
He gained notoriety after marrying wealthy omega debutante and heiress Madeleine DuPres; the pair were well known for hosting elaborate fetes at their large estate and for their eccentric notions regarding human ethology. His wife, who John claimed to be his one true love, predeceded him in death eleven years ago.
He is survived by his sons, John “Jack” Prince Jr., Philip, Richard, and Charles. Jack is matriculating at Collingswood University this fall.
THE CLARION, OBITUARIES, JOHN PRINCE, PAGE D3
Charlie
Invitingmy not-quite-yet girlfriend to meet my entire family as a second date was… a rash decision, on my part. Not least because I hadn’t quite known how to break the “oh yeah, my brothers are all mated, yes, like with bites,” thing during our first date, nor had I really wanted to. It was nice to just be Charlie with Ella, notCharlie Prince, youngest Alpha of the Prince Pack, orCharlie Prince, tech mogul,or whatever else I was supposed to be.
But–and my alpha, I had to admit,fucking loved it, was practicallyfucking purringat thought of her here with us, with the pack–she had said yes to family dinner tonight, and I had pretty much no time to brief her on… our, you know, ourwhole thing.
“Listen, Ella,” I said, holding her by the shoulders and looking her in her pretty, sparkly blue eyes, currently wide and confused. “My brothers are going to be here in a few minutes, and I wanted to let you know–” I didn’t know how to phrase this. I thought I would have more time, that, maybe, it would come up naturally, in the course of our relationship. “That… that… the stuff you’ve printed about us? It’s true.”
She stared at me, her brow furrowing, head tilted. “What?”
