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We stare at each other in shock before jumping into action. Ry leaps from the bed and gathers our clothes from the floor before dashing into the bathroom. As he does that, I rush for the closet where I saw a plush robe hanging on a hook directly next to the door. I’m too panicked to enjoy how it feels like I’m wrapping myself in a plush cloud, especially as another round of pounding vibrates against the door. “Verity! You have a packed day. Need to get a move on, girlie.” I can’t be sure, but it sounds like Rosey’s voice. And she’s the only one who calls me that.
I reach the door and disengage the lock, then swing it open, revealing the stylist, as I suspected. “Can’t a girl get some beauty sleep around here?” I ask, trying to play off my panic at being found in bed with my beta best friend. The words are quickly followed by an unattractive yawn, and I can only hope she doesn’t ask why I’m so tired.
“You don’t need beauty sleep when you have meee around—” Her singsong cuts off abruptly, and I find her staring at me with wide eyes. “Oh, my,” she murmurs, and I suddenly regret not checking myself in the mirror before opening the door. Can she see it on my face? That I’m no longer a virgin? “We need more time than I expected to get you camera ready. Get dressed and eat your breakfast,” she says, shoving a heaping tray of food at me.
Fucking hell. Rude much?
She calls over her shoulder that her studio is down the hall, and she’ll be waiting with the door open. With a resigned sigh, I head for the bathroom where Ry is leaning against the counter now wearing pants. My gaze roams over his abs, and I consciously make an effort not to drool. I turn before I can glance at his face, though, fear turning in my gut at what I might find there. Does he regret what happened last night?
No. I don’t have enough strength to find out. It’s something for future Verity to handle. Lord knows I have enough to deal with right now. Most important is a shower. I move to turn on the water, knowing I don’t have much time.
“Ver Bear,” he calls, halting me mid step. An instant later, his arms wrap around me as his body molds to my back. “Don’t even think about running from me.” Plush lips brush against the crook of my shoulder before he turns me in his hold so I’m facing him. His hand slides along the column of my neck until he’s cupping my cheek and the softest of kisses lights my lips on fire. “Good morning, beautiful.”
Tension leaves my body as if a plug was pulled from the bottom of a tub, letting it drain out of me. Butterflies swarm and I swear my heart skips a beat. “You don’t regret it?” I can’t help but verify. A strange sense of vulnerability washes over me, something I’ve never experienced around him.
His jade eyes blink at me, and a sweet smile graces his lips. “Knot a chance in Hell. It was the best night of my life, only to be replaced with any moment I can show how much I love you.” I’m almost swept off my feet by his admission, but then I remember he told me last night in the midst of everything. If it wasn’t for our vast history, or the fact I’ve been denying my love for him for years, I’d think it came too soon. But the reminder is exactly what I need to hear right now. No matter what I’ll face in the coming days, I know I’ll have him by my side.
I wrap my arms around his neck and close the distance between us again, slanting my lips over his. “I love you too, Ry,” I get out between kisses. Now that we’ve crossed the line, I can’t get enough of him. He tastes like the sweetest of champagnes. I could get drunk off him.
He cuts the kiss off far sooner than I want. “Can’t have you going out there with swollen lips,” he points out when he sees my pout. “Speaking of, you should probably take a shower. It’s probably not the best idea for you to be around alphas completely saturated in my scent, even if I do enjoy the thought of marking you with it.” He taps my ass and I push him out of the bathroom so I can freshen up before making my way to get primped for the show.
When I’m finished, I don’t bother putting clothes on, opting for the same fluffy robe instead, especially because it faintly smells like Ryland’s champagne, calming me. Besides, I’m sure whatever outfit Rosey has concocted for me will be in her studio, anyway.
I’m reminded of the cuts on my feet as I walk down the hallway, wincing when I accidentally step too hard, but find it’s a manageable sort of pain. I stick my head in a few open doorways as I attempt to find Rosey’s studio.
As I’m passing a closed door toward the end of the hall, I hear someone’s voice on the other side. I pause to see if it sounds like Rosey, but quickly realize it’s Mrs. Violet. My curious nature takes over when I catch the annoyance in her tone. “I don’t care what changes they want to make. I’ll have the ratings up by the end of the season, even if I have to do something drastic to get them there.”
My head jerks back and I try to process what she could possibly mean. If you ask me, it was ominous as fuck, and quite frankly, my stomach turns at the idea of her doing something drastic. I’m already having a difficult time accepting my fate here. The last thing I need is a council member meddling with it.
There’s a shuffling sound like she’s getting up and my heart rate skyrockets. I dash away from the door before I get caught and dart into the only other open one. Thankfully, I can tell it’s the correct one because Rosey is singing loudly to herself. Trying to calm down, I glance around the room. There’s a huge vanity along one wall, lined with everything a makeup artist would ever possibly need. There’s even a container of red glitter that I eye warily. I hope she’s not thinking about putting that on me.
I continue my perusal to find a rack with what I assume is my outfit hanging on it. It’s a stunning two-piece dress. The long black skirt has a floral pattern, but thankfully not a granny-like one, and the top is simple. Solid black with a sweetheart neck and wide off the shoulder straps with a crisscross back. There’s even a pair of black strappy sandals underneath and I’m so fucking stoked they’re not heels. I’m not sure my feet could handle them right now. The mere thought brings flashes of face-planting down the stairs and snapping my neck.
What a show that would make.
Rosey steps out of a closet, presumably where the rest of the outfits are kept, and sees me staring. “You like it? I figured we need to continue to play off your wild girl image, using it to shape who you are as a person for the Heat Fiends.”
“Actually, yeah. This is more my speed,” I tell her honestly. “But I’m not huge into fashion, or glitter, so I’ll trust your judgment on these things, as long as you don’t cover me in craft cum.”
She bursts out laughing. Shaking her head, she motions for me to sit in front of the mirror. Immediately, she gets to work on my hair, blow-drying it from my shower. “Oh, girlie. Don’t tell me that or I’ll have a heyday with your outfits,” she says over the whirr of the hair dryer. “Trust me, we need to raise your ratings with society, or else they’ll pick bad alphas for you. Hence floral for today’s theme. Give them those innocent, sweetheart vibes.”
The idea of them purposefully matching me with alphas I hate sends a spike of fear through my gut. “Then do whatever you need to.”
She continues, running the rounded brush through my hair as she dries it.
“I love that you didn’t put me in heels.”
She shoots me a wink in the mirror. “Right? I totally think you—and the cameras—need to see the height differences between you and the alphas. It’ll be cute.”
“Thank you?” I respond and it comes out more like a question. “I think.”
When my hair is hanging in soft waves, she moves on to splattering my foundation over my face with a brush, before switching to bronzer. She spreads it across my cheeks and nose, making my features slightly sharper. “Uh, Rosey? Aren’t you being a little heavy handed?” I inquire, raising an eyebrow when she keeps going.
“Ehem, who’s the makeup artist here?” she sasses back, and I narrow my eyes. “I’m kidding! But seriously, the cameras will wash you out terribly, even with the updated lighting. You always want a smidge more on than you normally would for television.”
“Oh, good call then.”
“Like I told you on the plane, they hired the best. You’re now a living, breathing representation of my work. Of course, I want you to look amazing. My career relies on it.”
