“It’s nothing. I’ll let you get back to it,” I tell him, pushing my feet. He doesn’t let me go though, arms clamping down on me to keep me where I am perched on his thick thigh.
“Florence, you really need to stop doing this,” he growls, pinching my chin to turn my face toward him. “I’ve said something to upset you, I need to know what it is, so I can fix it.”
My hand curls around his wrist, intending to brush him off. But instead I just stay there, looking into those blue, blue eyes of his. “I’m not sure you can fix this, professor. It's just… the realization that even if this does work out, if you pick me-”
“I do pick you. Always.”
My lips curve into a small smile at the immediate declaration, but I make myself finish the thought. He’d asked me to after all.
“If you pick me, and we bond… I won’t be going home. Not really. I’ll visit of course. Go on vacations to see my family, but I’ll have to move here.” He glances around the office like that will provide him some clarification as to what the problem is. “To Bravonne, a country that currently devalues its omega citizens, where I’ve been painted as a villain, to a palace ruled over by a woman who despises me on principle and nothing else.”
“That’s not necessarily true.”
“No? You’re currently doing lesson planning for your job. Here. In Bravonne.” I meet his worried gaze head on. “I know we haven’t talked about it since things are still up in the air, but I suspect it’s assumed I’ll give up everything I know and trust and love, to move here and be with you.”
It certainly wouldn’t be the other way around. Forsythe is a prince. He does have a duty to his country as much as I hate to admit it. He needs to be close to the throne, to the crown.
And I can’t fault Thayer for wanting to continue to teach.
I understand that until recently, I didn’t have a career. Working as a bank teller and a yoga instructor is certainly not on par with being royalty. It's easier for me to dig up my roots and move than it is for them.
Doesn’t mean I think it’s fair, though.
Especially if they can’t give me everything I need.
They’re trying—well, some of them are trying—but we aren’t there.
I’m not sure we ever will be.
Maybe with the rest of the pack, but certainly not with Forsythe, not with how he’s been absent, all day every day.
Thayer studies me for a long moment, his thumb brushing absently along my jaw, like he’s mapping out the problem.
“Alright,” he says finally, tone shifting to something more deliberate, sharper. The professor in full effect. “Let’s examine that.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Of course you would say that.”
“Indulge me.” His brow lifts as he gives me a little shake. “You’re assuming a series of outcomes and treating them as inevitabilities. That you’ll have to stay here. That nothing about Bravonne will change. That you’ll be isolated. Hidden. Unhappy.”
“That’s not an assumption,” I argue, my fingers tightening slightly on his wrist. “That’s my current reality.”
“Current,” he repeats, pointedly. “Not fixed.”
I frown at him, not fully understanding.
He leans in slightly, his voice dropping, blue eyes more intent now. “Let me ask you this, killer. If the variables change—if the laws change, if the crown changes, if our duty changes, if we claim you publicly—does your conclusion remain the same?”
I open my mouth, then close it again.
Because… no, it doesn’t.
Not entirely.
“That’s a lot of ifs,” I say instead, dropping my hand from him, and shaking my head. “A lot of uncertainty.”
“It is,” he agrees easily, sliding his hand until he’s collaring my throat. “But you’re already living in a world where impossibilities seem to happen with alarming regularity.” When I only stare at him, his lips quirk. “You found your scent matched mates on a reality dating show, and suddenly you’re resistant to entertaining hypotheticals?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re so damn annoying.”
