Chapter 22
Alfie
The little mouse is running late. I can’t say I care about being late for the event—the later we are, the less time we have to be there—but I am looking forward to showing him what I bought for him.
I depress the tiny brass button, and the velvet lid of the box flicks open. The necklace inside gleams, thin shards of light refracting from gemstones and throwing pastel rainbows in every direction.
I close the box quickly and try to ignore the pit in my gut. It’s a lot, but it’s not too much, I tell myself. The mouse will understand what it means.
He won’t read anything into it. He knows the game we’re playing.
He’s a mischievous man and loves playing the role of my partner.
He told me so yesterday. He said he enjoyed the way everyone looked at him at the fucking fundraiser immensely.
He said it healed something in him, something that got broken when his beastly ex-boyfriend took off with his brother.
So no, I’m not worried that the necklace is too much.
He’ll understand the intention behind it completely.
A voice clears behind me, and I turn, raising my brows expectantly. They freeze halfway up my forehead, and I’m dimly aware of my jaw dropping.
The little mouse looks nothing like he usually does. Nothing at all. Usually, he wears sneakers, jeans, and loose-fitting sweaters. He wears his hair curly, unruly, and left to its own devices.
Tonight, he’s wearing wide-legged, high-waisted black trousers and boots with a significant heel. He’s tall for an omega on a good day, and tonight, he’s towering. Long and languid, stretched out to infinity.
His top is sheer. See-through. Skintight black lace that highlights the slightly broader than expected breadth of his shoulders and leaves nothing to the imagination.
All that’s impressive, but it’s nothing compared to his face.
His face is beautiful. A dear assortment of features that suit him so well.
Kind, curious eyes. An adorable upturned nose that makes him look like he’s permanently up to no good.
Soft, fleshy lips that are usually arranged in some form of smirk or smile.
Tonight, he hardly looks recognizable. His hair has been tamed, scraped back off his face and held in place with pomade.
It looks darker than usual, slick with a high shine that makes me feel confused for some reason.
His skin is clear, pale, and glowing. His eyes are hidden by a mask that was made for him.
It must have been because it clings to him like a second skin, molded perfectly into the peaks and troughs of his eyes and nose. It matches the lace of his top exactly.
He’s used kohl to line his eyes, thick black smudges that have erased humor and sweetness and replaced it with something altogether different.
“What do you think?” he asks, twirling all the way around, flexing his hands so they’re turned up and away from his body as he spins.
A barrage of words comes to mind, but I’m delayed. Tongue thick in my mouth. Fog denser and heavier than usual.
“You’re…lovely,” I manage after a pause.
“You look good too. Jeffery really got the length of that jacket right on you.” He narrows one eye, touching his forefinger to his thumb and holding his remaining fingers up. “A perfectly balanced silhouette if ever I’ve seen one.”
He looks at the box in my hands and his eyes glint, obsidian glittering behind a curtain of lace. “Is that for me?”
“It’s…” The presumptuousness of the gift hits me at once.
A heavy thud that lands like a punch. It’s wildly inappropriate to give this to him.
To ask this of him. Completely and utterly inappropriate.
Forward, rude, and ill-thought-out. Not to mention way too personal.
“I. Um. It’s just an idea. Please don’t feel pressured to wear i—”
He opens the lid while I’m still holding the box, and his jaw drops.
His eyes dance around the room, and he all but doubles over with laughter.
“Oh my God,” he screeches. “It’s perfect!
Seriously, Alfie, what a good idea. There won’t be a person in England who doesn’t believe you’re taken after this.
” He slows and tilts his head thoughtfully.
“You know, if you play your cards right, when I go back to the States, you can act heartbroken. I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to turn down invitations to these kinds of events for years on account of it. ”
“Yes, quite.” I swallow uncomfortably. “Good thinking.”
Objectively, I’ve known since before he got here that he’d be leaving. His position is a temporary placement. A fixed-term contract. A job with a start and an end date. Of course he’ll return to Seattle when it’s over. He lives there. His family and all his friends are there.
He turns away from me, dipping his head slightly to offer me the back of his neck. It takes a beat, but I quickly realize that he means for me to put the necklace on for him.
Naturally, I’m happy to do it, but the clasp is a fiddly little thing. Small and difficult to operate, especially since my hands are a little sweaty from the stress that comes with being required to attend a ruddy masked ball.
At last, I’m victorious, and the clasp is open.
I hold an end of the chain in each hand and lower the necklace over Jensen’s head.
He raises his chin as I do it, lengthening his neck to give me more room to work.
His dark hair forms a gentle V at the back of his neck, and at the base of his throat, where his neck meets his shoulder, his scent gland pulses visibly.
A tiny, plump swelling that isn’t noticeable unless you’re as close to him as I am.
I fumble with the clasp, dropping one end of the necklace from my grasp, causing it to slither down the front of his top.
He giggles and fishes it out, handing it back to me, still laughing.
When I finally fix the clasp, he turns to me, long, graceful fingers straightening the lacy ruffle of the neckline of his top, tucking the choker under it so that some of the diamonds are hidden, others on full display.
“How does it look?”
The word I’m looking for is perfect.
Perfect.
Perfect.
Perfect.
I can’t make myself say it, though I’m not sure why, so I say, “Lovely,” again.
As we head toward the door, the little mite crooks his arm and offers it to me gallantly as you please.
For a second, I think about humoring him and taking his arm as he’s taken mine many times.
I’m planning on doing it. I’ve made up my mind to do it, when my hand swings back in a broad, involuntary arc and I land a crisp slap on his rear end instead.
It makes him hop adorably, glaring at me as he playfully rubs the sting out.
I straighten my posture and offer him my arm when he’s composed himself.
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at me. “Fine,” he says. “But only because you’re my employer, not because you’re an alpha.”