“Tell me about yourself.” It's an order not a request, and I automatically bristle. Even his eyes flick briefly to my face, lingering, thoughtful, before he adds, so quietly, so naturally, I almost miss it. “Cor mea.”
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
“I’m sorry, did you just… did you call mecornea? Like that part of the eye?” It doesn’t make a lot of sense as far as nicknames go, but maybe it's because of my partial heterochromia? Though that affects my iris, not my cornea.
His full lips curve, white teeth flashing in his dark neatly trimmed beard, the sunshine catching on the red strands. “Something like that.”
My nose wrinkles as I squint at him. “But… why?”
He shrugs. “It's notcornea, Florence. Though your eyes are stunning-”
“Bewitching,” Cortland adds. “Like magic.”
“It'scor mea. It's Latin.”
I wait, cheeks pink with their compliments, expecting him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “Ooo-kay. What does it mean?”
Forsythe merely smiles and changes the subject like a pro at dodging things he doesn’t want to talk about. “What do you do in the states, Florence?”
My brows crunch down. Part of me wants to push the issue. But I have the feeling thatcor meadoesn’t mean anything bad. But it probably doesn’t mean anything good, either. The equivalent of a man calling a woman he doesn’t know sweetheart in the states, or how Bravonnians use the word ‘love’ casually. It doesn’t mean anything, and so I let it go.
“I’m a teller at a credit union and I teach yoga a few nights a week to omegas. And all day Saturday.”
“Two jobs?” The prince asks. And I can’t tell if he thinks it's admirable or a shame I have to work so much. Little does he know, I don’t. Not really. Haven wouldn’t charge me rent if she had anything to say about it. Her bonded pack are billionaires. They don’t need the pittance I pay them every month.
But I do help my mom with Ginny’s private school fees. She wouldn’t be able to attend if I didn’t. And my little sister deserves to receive the best education she can.
Not to mention my hospital bills.
I’m pretty sure I’ll be paying those off until I’m eighty. Unless I find a pack wealthy enough to take on my debt.
“Yoga classes don’t pay all that well.” They can, but I don’t charge my students as much as other yoga studios do. I want to be a place that’s accessible to all omegas, not just the rich ones. So I basically charge them enough to pay for the room and maybe a little extra on top. “I mostly teach them because I-”I used to be a dancer. I used to be a helluva lot more physically active and it helps my muscles stay loose after compensating for the pain in my knee.
I bite back those words though. They don’t deserve my truth. They haven’t earned it.
I swallow and start again. “I mostly teach because I think it's important for omegas to have a safe place to practice, to gather and let everything else go. There’s a lot of… pressure on us, you know? Be demure and submissive. Be pleasant to talk to. Find the right pack. Or findanypack really. It's nice for there to be a place where they don’t have to think about it. In fact, it's intended for them to only focus on the practice.”
“And how often do you teach these classes?”
“Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday in the evenings, and all day Saturday. Well, like three quarters of the day Saturday.”
Forsythe stares at me a little harder. There’s a tension in his shoulders that I don’t understand in the slightest. “And what’s your schedule like at the bank? Do you only work there part time?”
I glance at Courtland, hoping to get some guidance on why the prince now sounds like he’s trying to keep some emotion—frustration maybe—under control, but Courtland is looking at me the same way as his prime.
“No, it's full time. The early shift. So I start when the bank opens at seven. Off at four. Head to the studio, prep the room for the class, man the desk if I’m needed. My classes start at 5:30, so I'm usually done by eight.”
“Thirteen hour days?” Court breaks in. “Pixie! You can’t work thirteen hour days! You’re an omega.”
Oh, now I understand where that weird emotion is coming from. Alphas have this notion that omegas are weaker, less robust. That we’re fragile and we need to be coddled and taken care of. And don’t get me wrong, most omegas do need that. We crave it, in fact. It's instinctual. The desire to be taken care of by a pack.
And I’m sure that their experience with the omegas in their social circles, in their orbit, are just that. Pampered princesses just waiting for a pack to sweep them off their feet and to a life of luxury and status.
I am not that.
