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Serena goes entirely still, staring at me across the backseat of our hired car. When she finally moves, her eyes drop to her lap.
“I didn’t ask to be this way,” she murmurs. “I never would have chosen this.”
Fuck. My chest cramps as I reach for her hand, scooping her fingers into mine. “I know that,” I tell her. “But even if you had—that still doesn’t make what happened your fault. I should have had better control of myself before I walked in there.”
Every time I think back to that moment, I can’t fathom what came over me. I only remember looking into her eyes. And not being able to waste one more goddamn second not being with her.
She glances down at our hands, her expression pensive. “Maybe I am angry,” she finally whispers. “A little bit.” She flicks a timid expression at me—the same one she wore when I first saw her through the interrogation room door. “Does that make you mad?”
My heart heaves and twists, but I force my gaze to stay steady. Needing her to hear me. And believe.
“No,” I reply. “It makes me proud.”
chapter
forty-two
Being on Tristan Thorne’s arm is… an experience.
This shopping trip is our first outing one-on-one. Only, not really, because a small troupe of security guards moves in front of us before we even get out of his limo-like Bentley. Tristan doesn’t seem annoyed, though. He simply slips out of the car and helps me out, then steps a respectable distance away.
I’m not sure how to feel about that. Ever since biting me, he’s always maintained some distance between us. Before, I thought he did it because of his own regret.
But after what just happened in the car—is it possible he really has just been giving me space?
And do I actually find that devastatingly romantic, or is this just my crazy hormones talking?
Because damn. They are insane.
I’m insane.
Tristan’s brow lowers as he watches me fuss with the skirt of my dress. I wanted to look nice going out with him, since there’s always a chance he’ll be photographed—but the slinky, asymmetrical black dress feels wrong now.
I’m worried it’s cut too high. And maybe my hair is too big, and I probably look stupid in these designer sunglasses?—
“Serena.”
I stop fidgeting, doing my best to settle into a blank mask. “Mm?”
Tristan’s frown deepens. “Are you all right?”
I keep my features smooth for any hidden cameras. “It’s nothing. Just my Omega being a bitch.”
Well, shit. So much for acting sophisticated for the senator.
Surprise quirks his features for a second before he flashes an unexpected smile. “Tell me if she gets out of hand. My Alpha might know a few tricks to get her under control.”
Double shit.
Now I’m perfuming. Out here, in public, with people around who will know I’m his omega, and I can’t control myself, and?—
Silly little slut.
I tilt my face down and open my mouth to apologize, but Tristan steps smoothly in front of me. With his back to the world.
He reaches for my cheek, cupping it gently. “Dr. Monroe told you this is all perfectly normal. It’s healthy for an omega your age who has never been on suppressants. And your heat is coming up. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of.”
I’ve given up trying to figure out how he always knows what I’m feeling when I can never quite read him. At the moment, I’m just grateful he understands.
