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Of course, I respect her. And I'd feel like a fucking dick if I forced her to listen or explain, like every other alpha in her life probably does.
I nod, "Okay, Imogen. I'll go. But please—"
"Yes, I'll come over soon—"
"Tonight."
She glances nervously behind her, then back at me. "Tonight," she agrees before turning on her heels and hurrying back down the hall. I don't like this, her walking away from me toward another pack. But I'm not an idiot. Obviously, there's something going on.
I have to trust her. I'm not starting our courtship out with me betraying that, so with every ounce of effort, I turn and head back to my truck, ignoring the "Sir? Sir!" from the receptionist, wondering how he let the degenerate past the golden gates.
Sitting in my truck, I wait a few minutes before starting the drive, wondering how the fuck I'm going to break the news to Iggy and Cass. They're going to lose their shit.
When I remember Ophelia's cryptic giddiness, I realize she must have known all along. Laughing, light in a way I've never felt, I spend the whole drive back to South Loop in dumbstruck silence. I might have pulled Imogen's satin ribbon out a few times, too.
Chapter 18
Imogen
"We were beginning to worry," Jonathan says, his voice filled with tension, as I return to the table on shaky legs. I take the seat between him and Devon, and as I settle into my chair, both alphas freeze, their nostrils flaring as they take a deep, lingering breath.
Oh no, can they smell Red on me?
Then I realize, based on the sweet overtones their alpha scents all take on, they can smell my perfume. I got so used to wearing the scent-blockers I forgot how easy it is for an alpha to scent the changing emotions and needs of an omega. And my scent-match storming in here to demand my attention most definitely made me feel emotional and needy.
But they're going to think my perfume is for them.
Pretending nothing's amiss, I tilt my head downward and say softly, "I apologize for my delay. I ran into a friend from the OFA and got caught up."
"That's perfectly fine, you're allowed to have friends. So, we were discussing before you came back; since your mother is handling wedding planning and our families have all been informed of the date, there's really nothing left for us to do in preparation. And so, we should really start spending a little more time together. We'd love to have you over some night soon. I think, perhaps, you'd like that too?"
Devon leans close, breathing in the fading remnants of my perfume. The closer he gets to my neck, the more my scent takes an acrid twist. He stiffens and pulls away, brows furrowing, but my expression is serene, unaffected.
I grab a glass of water and take a sip, wishing they hadn't commented when I planned to order wine. As if one glass was going to render me sloppy, but I said nothing and agreed with their choice.
"I think it may be best if we wait until the wedding, don't you? It would be more proper, I think."
Kenneth, across the table, scoffs, "Proper. Like all omegas don't go through heat."
It takes everything in me not to run away from this conversation, and I keep my mask on tight, gritting my teeth, just a little. The mayor waves his hand like he was joking, and amends, "You're right, of course. But there are no expectations if you spend the night with us, Imogen. You will, after all, be moving into our estate. Perhaps it's a good idea for you to spend a few nights in the nest on your own just to get a feel for it. That way, you can order whatever items you may need for your upcoming heat."
Right. Of course. I should stay over so that my nest is in working order because, again, that's what they're really looking for.
My mother tried to convince me they wanted a trophy wife, someone on their arm for dinner parties. But I'm starting to think they just want a live-in sex doll. Whenever we discuss the upcoming nuptials, it always comes back to my heat.
It makes me angry. Still, I'm in public, and I'm stalling, trying not to blow up this bridge for my parents, so: perfection. I smile, downcast my eyes, and agree. "Yes, that would be prudent. Allow me some time to devise a plan. My schedule is quite busy these days, but I will get in touch when I'm ready."
"Busy with what?" Saul scowls from beside Kenneth.
I swallow, attempting to come up with an answer that isn't snappy, when Devon pipes in, "I'm sure she has lots of plans, shopping, and grooming. You know how omegas are."
He winks at me like he's on my side. I smile back, but it's all wrong.
Thankfully, dinner arrives quickly. And when the option for dessert comes, the men say no on my behalf. Of course. I'm an OFA omega, I don't consume gratuitous calories. Not that I want to sit here through dessert, but still.
Suddenly, all this perfection feels like a noose.
The men stand, and it's too slow for me, so I get up and leave the table quicker than them. It may be tacky, just walking away from the table like that, but I can't take it. They hurry to catch up to me, Jonathan beating me to the door, holding it open for me. I'm so glad I drove myself here so I can get away from them faster.
