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"This place is massive."
"Maybe I should ask for a tour," I suggest, as much as I don’t want to.
She doesn’t give it a moment's thought, "No way. We’ll go explore, and if we get caught, we’ll just say you’re giving yourself a tour of your new home."
I smile despite the crap situation. Only Ophelia would think that was a reasonable excuse. In high-society it would be considered so inappropriate to do such a thing.
"Great idea," I smirk. The busier the party gets, the more it feels like a political OFA event than a simple engagement celebration.
I keep eyeing the servers, hoping to catch one of my mates.
"They’re outback. You won’t see them. Melanie tried to put Iggy in disguise, but he fought her like she was trying to get socks on a cat." She bursts out laughing, drawing attention from a gray-haired woman with pearls the size of grapes. She narrows her eyes at Ophelia, but when she turns to me, she dips her head slightly in respect.
"I wish I could see them in disguises, that sounds hilarious."
"Truthfully, once you’re in a catering outfit, you're instantly invisible, so I'm not even sure it's necessary."
"That’s terrible."
"That’s life. Anyway, since the most she could do to get Iggy to cover his neck tattoos was wear a scarf, she delegated them to the kitchen. It’s for the best anyway. If they had to walk around the party and see Kenny grab your ass, Iggy might commit homicide."
Again, with Iggy, a grossly over-exaggerated reaction, yet my insides warm at his protective streak.
"You’re right, it’s probably for the best."
Knowing they’re here but out of reach is hard, but I feel safer knowing they’re close.
Ophelia and I change the subject and wander closer to the other guests, the room now filled with High Hills elites. I know more people here than Ophelia does, despite her having grown up in Arrow Cove. She’s not really accepted into society, but her mates are too wealthy for any of these people to ignore her, so they make polite conversation.
You can hear their disdain for her hidden behind every word, but it’s polished with a smile. So perfect and practiced, so fake. Just like me.
Saul eventually insists that I rejoin them, griping how their new omega wasn’t automatically there when he wanted me to be. What he really meant was I needed to stand by them and look pretty, which is what I spent the next hour doing. They introduced me to work colleagues, friends, and family, and I bowed my head and shook hands while they continued their conversations without me.
My OFA cloak slipped on like a second skin, and though I chafed at the pressure, it eventually became easier to smile softly, keeping my hands folded in front of me, the image of perfection.
When Kenneth tapped a spoon against his glass to garner the room's attention, I stayed quiet, Ophelia and I stealing glances. While they shared the news of our engagement, everyone clapped as if they didn’t already know, as if every one of our outings hadn’t been in the Daily Rag.
When the spotlight turned away from us, Ophelia wrapped her arm through mine once more, and I think she was getting a sick enjoyment out of annoying Stevens, but with Ophelia’s mates close by, they didn’t say a word.
But then Ophelia stiffens beside me, and I follow her gaze to Madam Fletcher, who’s holding congress by the lounge. I see my mother's familiar blonde updo in the crowd, smiling demurely at whatever Fletcher says.
Ophelia grips my arm tighter, and when Fletcher makes her way over to us, her scent changes, growing sharper.
Sully, who’s been hovering nearby, tenses, joining us with her other three mates right behind.
Ophelia greets Fletcher tersely. They exchange stilted pleasantries before Ophelia cuts her off and asks why the winter curriculum, just published on their website, listed Weight Management as one of their courses.
My cheeks burn in embarrassment. Especially when Madam Fletcher's eyes flick to me, giving me a once-over before returning to Ophelia, defending her choice.
"What a crock of shit," Ophelia spits.
"My goodness, Ophelia, I thought your introduction to high-society might have smoothed your edges, but you're still just as uncultured as ever. Perhaps you should ask your lovely omega friend how beneficial these classes are before you judge, hmm? Imogen, you met with our trainers recently. Did you feel they pressured you into losing all this recent weight gain or wasn't it clear that good health was the goal?"
My cheeks flame and I lose momentary control of my mask. My eyes sting, but a warm hand touches my back, and my omega softens against it.
Shocked at Fletcher's blatant dressing down of the most submissive person in the group, Ophelia starts defending me.
But then I realize the warm hand on my back isn’t her. I don’t know why I thought it was.
