3. Chapter 3 #2
“Let me guess.” I fold my arms. “You did genetic testing and found out that you’re a descendant of Robert the Bruce.” I know I need to rein it in. My voice is dripping with sarcasm.
He laughs, unaffected. “I did do genetic testing, but no, I don’t have any famous ancestors that I know of.
My father’s family were French settlers in what is now Nova Scotia, who were forcibly pushed out by the British once they took control of the region from France.
After deportation, they ended up in Louisiana.
My mother’s ancestors were Scottish settlers in Georgia, but information about them has been harder to come by, so I started consuming more and more Scottish history.
I fell in love with it and admire what Scotland and its diaspora have contributed to the world.
When it came time to pick an area of expertise, I couldn’t imagine any other answer. ”
“Oh,” I say. His reasons for getting a PhD aren’t as passionate as mine, but something about his answer makes it seem like he’s not telling me the whole story. I’d assumed he was here on a whim, given how attractive and apparently wealthy he is, but maybe he’s more than just a smug prick.
Before I can say more, Maeve returns with another woman and introduces us.
“Professor, I would like for you to meet Torin Ramsay and Beau Fontenot, both first-years focused on Scottish history. Beau and Torin, this is Dr. Claire Moreau. She leads our European history track, so she’ll be your research advisor. ”
Professor Moreau is a tall, chic woman in a well-fitted black pantsuit, crisp white blouse, and low black heels. Strands of silver grace her pulled-back black hair. Her red lips and the small iris brooch on her lapel are her only pops of color.
I rush to shake her hand first. “It’s lovely to meet you, Professor.
I read your most recent essay ‘From Stirling to Paris: Scottish Envoys and Diplomatic Networks in the French Court’ in The Journal of European Historical Studies.
I appreciated how you traced lesser-known envoys and their personal networks.
It added a fascinating human dimension to the political narrative. ”
“Thank you, Mr. Ramsay,” she says with a soft French accent. “That’s very kind of you. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.”
Get in! Excitement bubbles in my chest. I’m already scoring points with our advisor while Beau stands there watching us talk.
The bubbles pop when Beau joins the conversation, speaking in rapid French.
Given what he’d just told me about his heritage, and since a second language is required for admission to the program, I should’ve guessed.
Thankfully Professor Moreau responds in English. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Fontenot. I’m sure I will learn as much from you as you will from me. Your French is impeccable, by the way.”
“Merci, Professeur,” Beau says, his accent perfect. “I started learning when I was a child and spent a semester in Paris so I could become more fluent.”
Just a moment ago I thought maybe I could end up liking him, but his bragging has me back to thinking he’s an insufferable clod.
The professor turns to me. “And what languages do you speak, Mr. Ramsay?”
“I speak Scots and Scottish Gaelic, and I can read Latin,” I say, proud of my mastery of these languages, especially the ones of my country, though I doubt it’s doing much to endear me to my French advisor.
Beau responds before the professor can. “That’s impressive.
Those are all hard languages to learn, given how few people know them at this point.
” I can’t tell if he’s being patronizing or not.
I consider the low number of Scots and Gaelic speakers to be one of the greatest tragedies of English oppression.
Something that James often downplayed or dismissed.
Maeve weighs in, saving me from that train of thought. “That’s true. I’m from Galway and was lucky enough to grow up in a family that still speaks Irish. Otherwise it would’ve been a hard one to pick up while also learning French.”
Great, I’m the only one who doesn’t know French. Perfect.
Not wanting to detract from my great start with the professor, I listen as Beau and Maeve continue to speak with her.
Having stepped on so many conversational landmines with Beau already, I file away mental notes on each of them to smooth out future interactions.
Professor Moreau’s inscrutable expression, Maeve’s enthusiasm, the way I can’t stop staring into Beau’s earnest eyes.
I’m drinking the last of my whisky when someone calls Professor Moreau away. Maeve suggests refills, and I nod in agreement.
Beau turns and extends his arm, inviting Maeve to go first. “Lead the way, m’lady,” he drawls and flashes her a smile.
“Such a gentleman,” Maeve says and strides toward the drinks table. Then Beau motions for me to go in front of him as well.
“No, you first,” I say, gesturing with a forced smile. “I insist.”
He searches my expression, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, if you insist,” he says and follows Maeve.
I try not to watch his backside as I walk behind him, but it’s impossible not to admire his well-built frame again.
His tailored jacket highlights the way his broad shoulders taper to a lean waist, his muscular ass pushing out the vents of his jacket with every step.
He’s so fit, I wonder briefly if we’re even the same species.
I tear my eyes away and pour myself another dram of whisky as Maeve asks about Beau’s academic background.
“I double-majored in Finance and History in my undergrad at UT Austin,” Beau says. “Then I worked in financial advisory at one of the Big 4 accounting firms for a couple of years before going to Rice for my MBA and a master’s in European History.”
I’d assumed he’d gone to Ivy League schools, but given that Rice University is often called “the Harvard of Texas,” I reluctantly admit his academic pedigree is impressive.
“So you’re a Texan, eh?” Maeve asks. “Have you ever been to a rodeo before?” Then her eyes widen. “Wait! Have you been in a rodeo before?”
Beau lets out a deep chuckle. “The biggest rodeo in the world is held in Houston each year, and I grew up going to it. My parents are big volunteers and donors to the rodeo’s scholarship fund, so I’ve been to a lot of events there. I even met 50 Cent at a fundraiser one time.”
“That’s cool, but it didn’t answer the bigger question,” Maeve says.
“Which is?” Beau asks innocently, taking another sip.
“Have you ridden a bull or not?” Maeve is eating this up, and I hate to admit that I’m curious too.
“Well, those are two different questions,” he says and taps his chin like he’s pondering his answer, adding to Maeve’s suspense.
She pokes him in the ribs, making him jump.
“Fine, I’ll answer both,” he says, trying not to spill his drink.
“Have I ridden a bull? Just a mechanical one at a bar in Austin while drinking with a bunch of fraternity brothers in college. As for being in a rodeo, you are looking at the 2003 Mutton Bustin’ champion.
” He’s very matter-of-fact when he says this, but it’s clear by the look on Maeve’s face that she is just as stumped by this last statement as I am.
Maeve’s head ticks to the side as a hand goes to her hip. “What are you on about? Are you doing something weird with sheep?”
Beau almost spits out his drink. “What? No!” he says, red in the face. “It’s a competition held at rodeos where kids get laced up in gear and helmets and are put on a sheep’s back. The startled animal goes running off, and the kid who holds on the longest wins.”
He’s smiling at the incredulous looks on our faces. “What? It’s fun.”
“Isn’t that harmful for the sheep?” I ask as Maeve eagerly asks if the kids ever cry when they fall off.
“Nah, it’s mostly five-year-olds, so the sheep have more wool than human on them. And yeah, some kids cry,” he says, failing to keep his grin at bay. “A couple of my buddies do an over/under on how many will shed tears on any given night.”
“That’s diabolical,” Maeve says with a cackle. “I love it.”
“It is equal parts adorable and hysterical,” Beau admits, and I smile despite myself.
“What about you, Torin?” Maeve asks. “Where’d you go to uni and all?”
And Beau chimes in with a smile, asking, “And what kinds of animals have you ridden?”
Before I can answer, someone whistles loudly. I turn to see a middle-aged man in a gray suit and recognize him from my interview for the program. He’s friendly but intimidating, and the room falls into silence to hear what he has to say.