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"Play dumb, you mean?" I come to a stand.
She waves her hand dismissively. "Look, we’re getting off track here. The point is, you have a duty to this family, and you’ve already promised to fulfill it. Are you backing out now? Do we need to tell the debt collectors we can’t pay?"
I search her face, her posture, for the same fear she held when she first mentioned their debt and her expectations of me to help. I think it’s still there. Buried, maybe, beneath a layer of irritation I didn’t just automatically say yes, Mother, like I always do.
I wish I could say I wasn’t always a pushover, but it’s defined me my whole life. I always wanted to be good. To be praised, to be cherished. I’m just now realizing maybe I’ve been searching so hard and waited so long to settle down with the right pack because the praise and the love I received from my family was always conditional. I've been waiting all this time to fill all these empty spaces inside me with real love because I've never known it before. I never wanted to settle for less than what could fill me up completely. How had I not noticed this before?
I miss my alphas, and they’re not even mine.
"Yes, Mother," I whisper because there’s nothing else to say. Even if her betrayal didn’t cut deep… even if I didn't feel the tendrils of disappointment and fear from this whole mess they’ve created, I’d never abandon them to get hurt or worse.
And besides, I may want Dante, but it's clear they aren’t interested in an omega. The girls gossip about it all the time. Even Roxy went out of her way to tell me about their fraternization policy, so I'd stay away from them.
As long as they never scent me, we'll be like two ships passing in the night. I won’t be like that girl, Emily, throwing myself at them in desperate hope that they’ll take pity on me and let me join their family.
Family… It means something different for everyone. I will always love my family, but I don’t really like them. And when the dust settles and I’m bonded to a pack, forcing myself to mate with them—because it’ll take nothing short of a miracle to make my body respond to anyone but Dante, the very idea of Stevens making me nauseous—I know, as of this moment, things will never be the same between my parents and me.
Standing tall, Mother pats down a flyaway from my hairline, nods once in approval, then leads the way downstairs. The doorbell rings as we descend, and it’s time to face my future.
"Oh, and one more thing," she pauses just before we join the growing alpha male voices. "Keep the news of the collectors and your father's injury to yourself. As far as anyone's concerned, he slipped on the treadmill at the gym." Then she cups my cheek patronizingly, giving it a squeeze, and on we go.
Chapter 9
Imogen
It’s a talent to ignore the discomforting sounds of forks scraping across plates in the vast, silent dining room. My plastic smile would never give away to our company that on the inside, I crave the bass and beat-bumping music of the strip club. It's like a secret locked away, tucked inside, a longing no one can take from me.
Using both the fork and knife—always—I cut small bites from my salad, patting my mouth dry with the napkin after every three or four bites to answer innocuous questions from my betrothed.
Kenneth, the mayor, a tall, lean alpha with harsh lines and high cheekbones, dark hair peppered with early signs of gray, and a perfectly tailored suit, carries most of the conversation.
The deputy mayor, Saul, is similar in stature to his pack mate, though where Kenneth smiles genially, regardless of the topic, Saul learns more toward sternness, and even the lightest comment—My, have you tried that new restaurant on Second Street?—his responses rival a droning scholar, never satisfied with frivolity or casual fair.
Devon and Jonathan are some combination of the other two. Devon likes to talk politics on a global scale, riling up my father, Jeffrey, sparking a heated debate at which, by the end, no one can tell if they agree with one another or are foes. Jonathan also enjoys talking politics, though more haughty, offering his opinion on the state of the economy in Arrow Cove, making no less than five comments toward myself and my family that we couldn’t possibly understand the struggles of high-society people in High Hills, being from Southern California and all. Whatever that's supposed to mean.
I can’t tell if they've always been like this. Boring, kind of rude. If we weren't scent-sympathetic, I might honestly wonder why they were courting me, because they don't seem to find me particularly interesting, either.
Like every other time my mother essentially courted a pack on my behalf, I try to ignore them, and don't care that they couldn't carry on an interesting conversation if they were high on mushrooms and let loose in an amusement park. Maybe the difference now, why I find every word out of their generic mouths grating, is because I've met Dante, and I can’t help but compare the two.
I may not have spent much time—or any, really—with Cass and Iggy, and I haven't even met Red, aside from that glimpse of him when I watched and hid like a stalker behind a thick velvet curtain, but I know they could carry on a dinner conversation far more interesting than this.
"I noticed you’re wearing scent-blockers, Imogen. Is there a reason for this?"
The question jolts me back to reality, and I have to mask my response. "Oh. Well, it’s all the rage these days," I laugh awkwardly, receiving a kick to the ankle from my mother. Stupid jokes aren’t good manners, after all. Rather than excuse my comment, I elaborate, "What I mean to say is it’s not uncommon these days for young people to wear them. The OFA provides the highest quality—"
"Don’t get me started on the OFA, those traitorous rat bastards," Saul grumbles.
Kenneth glares at Saul before relaxing his scowl, turning his charming politician's smile onto me. "In any case, we do love your scent. If you wouldn’t mind, be sure to stop using the blockers in preparation for our next date."
It's not a request, and his alpha dominance laces the demand. My heart pounds in response, but on the outside, I project serenity, dipping my chin. "Of course."
Dinner continues while my fathers and betrothed discuss how they really feel about the OFA—behind closed doors, they can all admit they hate the idea of providing omegas with more resources, while in front of cameras and for the Daily Rag, they support the cause fully. They all carry on a conversation together, and I wonder if they realize I don’t even need to be in the room for this courtship.
A staff member comes to clear the table. Another unnecessary expense, when my mother or fathers could clear the table themselves.
Nearly an hour passes, dessert has been served, and I don't think I've said a single word. I'm good at this, pretending, keeping a smile on. It's so practiced, anyone watching me would think I'm paying rapt attention, when really, my mind has wandered off. So when Jonathan snaps his fingers, I turn directly toward him, at the ready.
"Imogen, that reminds me. I've got something for you, here," he digs into his pocket with all the ceremony of searching for his keys when he drops a velvet box onto the table.
