Chapter 48
chapter
forty-eight
Bridget lowers her sunglasses to the end of her button nose, suspiciously peering at Winter Park’s most well-appointed hotel. I hide my amusement while she roams suspicious eyes over the elegant exterior, taking in the charming European-meets-modern-traditional aesthetic.
She turns her wary gaze on mine, staring over the heart-shaped rim of her blue shades. “A hotel?” she asks flatly. “You brought me to a hotel ?”
Her implication is clear. I chuckle to myself, passing my keys to the valet before snatching her hand, dropping a kiss on her fingers. Beyond satisfied to be able to touch her like this.
She’s been more receptive to affection since our eventful afternoon at her school earlier this week. She still hasn’t mentioned letting us stay for her heat, but moments like these reassure me—I feel safe to her.
And if she trusts me , it’s only a matter of time before she trusts this . Us.
“No, little blue, I’ve brought you to their spa,” I reply, wrapping my arm around her waist.
We match today—a light cornflower romper for her and a navy shirt for me. She nips her lower lip as I guide her toward the entrance, fretting, “I’m not dressed fancy enough for this place.”
I nuzzle a scent-mark into her crown and leave a kiss there. “You look beautiful. But if you’re feeling underdressed, don’t worry—the spa will have us remove our clothing for our treatments.”
Her astonishment reappears as she pushes her sunglasses into her hair. “Treatments?! Plural?”
After weeks of living with her, I’ve finally decided how I feel about her utter shock whenever one of us does something nice for her.
I loathe it.
What was originally bemusing, and maybe even a little charming, now makes me murderous. She doesn’t know how to respond to gifts or pampering because no one has ever given them to her. But it’s more than that.
These reactions? The shock and nervousness? The fact that they happen each and every time…
Someone must have told her she didn’t deserve these things.
And she believed them.
That part doesn’t make sense. The woman I’ve come to know is confident, comfortable, and at peace with herself.
Why doesn’t she think she should have nice things?
The mystery continues as we walk across the wide marble lobby.
Bridget darts apprehensive glances at the stately metal accents.
Her scent disappears so completely, for a moment, I think the hotel is full of neutralizers.
As soon as we step under an intricate iron archway and into the area designated for spa guests, the aroma of essential oils proves my theory false.
I remember her face as we signed the paperwork for her new car, how her lemon-sugar essence dissipated while she fidgeted and chewed on her lip. Much like now.
I file that information away, determined to examine it later and compare notes with my packmates. Right now, I need to pinpoint the reason for her anxiety so I can reassure her.
Despite her obvious unease, Bridget looks like she was born to be here. Her posture and bearing are every bit as elegant as our surroundings. Even dressed casually, she’s always the brightest thing in any room.
I watch her features leap as I check us in. “Couple’s massage for Messina,” I tell the woman behind the desk.
She offers a bland smile to go with her nod. Bridget is much more animated, her brows rising halfway to her hairline. “A couple’s massage?”
“Yes,” I confirm, smoothing my hand down her side. “Have you ever had one?”
She snorts like I’ve asked a patently ridiculous question. “ No .”
The receptionist overhears our conversation and beams a flirty smile in my direction, likely assuming Bridget and I must not know each other very well. I sign the iPad presented to me, fighting the urge to grit my teeth at the random woman… and the thoughtless way my omega writes herself off.
“Me neither,” I return, ignoring the staffer in favor of Bridget’s stunning eyes. “But we’ve had a stressful week.”
She makes another face, silently saying she can’t argue with me, but wishes she could . When her mild scent sours and she turns her narrowed gaze on the other woman, I laugh quietly into her hair.
A quiver slips down her spine as I bend to scent-mark both of her cheeks, keeping my head ducked to stare right into her. “You’ll let me spoil you,” I say, dropping my impassive mask to show her the need burning through my body. “Won’t you?”
Bridget’s whole expression softens. She sags into me, blinking as she nods. “Yes,” she murmurs. “I—Okay.”
The woman behind the desk senses defeat, mutters something about robes, and stomps away. I nuzzle Bridget’s forehead, holding her gaze. “You can take care of your students and your neighbors and your friends—but let me take care of you . Alright?”
She doesn’t answer, but tension seeps out of her limbs. She stretches onto her toes, rubbing her cheek into mine.
Scent-marking me .
Pride warms my chest. My fingers flex against her hips. “Again.”
Her lashes flutter at my simple demand. Or was it more like a plea? I only know her perfume is much too faint, and I need more.
Surprise streaks across her features. “You… want to smell like me?”
I shake my head. “No—I have to . My Alpha is already pissed as hell anyone else is going to touch me. I need your scent all over me before we go in there.”
Bridget’s answering smile is a small, fragile, breathtaking thing. “Seriously?”
A hissed shriek cuts off my reply, flying at us from the hallway leading to the spa’s private lounge. “ Bridget?! ”
Every ounce of color drains from my omega’s face. Wide, panicked eyes fly to mine, then leap over my shoulder. Her mouth falls halfway open, squeaking, “Alicia?”
I start to turn, craning my neck just far enough to catch a glimpse of a tall strawberry-blonde alpha standing in a cluster of three women. Each of them sports similar tote bags and loungewear, topped off with the sort of understated jewelry that hints at old money.
Before I can put myself between them and Bridget, she sidesteps me and squeezes my arm. “I’ll be right back.”
When I start to protest, she shoots me a look as close to imploring as I’ve ever seen her. “Wait here?”
My brows crouch lower, but I nod. Swallowing my frustration and angling my body toward the front desk with every intention of listening as closely as I can.
Because in the last twenty seconds, Bridget went from heavenly lemon cream to a type of acidity I’ve never experienced before.
Is it her sister?
Or something else?
“I’ll be right behind you, girls!” Alicia trills to her friends. In the mirrored wall behind the front desk, I see her wave them off and turn on her heeled sandal.
The second the other ladies disappear into the lobby, Alicia intercepts Bridget in the middle of the room. The syruped phoniness runs off her voice, leaving it dry and brittle when she snaps, “ What are you doing here?”
Bridget bites her lip, leaning away with a resigned wince. As if she expected this reprimand. “I’m—I?—”
She glances in my direction, catching my eye in the mirror. A darker, mottled version of her peachy blush spreads over her face as she drops her gaze to her shoes. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says simply.
Alicia throws up her manicured hands and lets them slap against her sides. “We’ve discussed this! Our family knows people here. You can’t be out in polite society this close to your heat, and—oh my God—do you even have de-scenter on?”
No, she doesn’t. Because I whisked her out of the house before she remembered to reapply it. I swallow the urge to charge over, watching in the reflection.
“You could have just walked past me, and no one would have noticed,” Bridget mumbles. “I wouldn’t have said anything.”
Alicia pops her hip and props her hand at her waist. The motion is similar to something my omega might do, but also utterly different. Bridget cocks her hip to be sassy whenever she stands up for herself or others; her sister seems firmly bent on intimidation.
“We agreed ,” Alicia cuts back. “You’re not supposed to come here. Or to the Waldorf for tea. The nine a.m. church service at All Saints, the Cotillion…”
She continues, rattling off a list of our town’s most prestigious locales. Cold horror sinks into my stomach. Recalling her anxious face as we walked through the lobby… how her scent dipped to practically nothing.
It’s more than some twisted, self-imposed belief that she doesn’t deserve to be in places like this and have nice things.
She wasn’t allowed to have nice things.
She was told she couldn’t be in places like this.
I close the distance between us before the instinct even registers. Stalking to the space behind Bridget’s body, winding an arm around her waist while I reach for her limp hand. She turns in my embrace, blinking. Stunned.
Alicia watches me bring her sister’s wrist to my lips, brushing the delicate skin, scent-marking it, until Bridget perfumes. When she does, I ignore its acrid edge and smile, pressing a kiss to my omega’s palm.
“Mmm,” I murmur, “Time’s up, little blue. I need you back.”
Bridget’s body trembles, but her muscles loosen as I start to purr, nuzzling her cheek before I spare her sister a glance. “Apologies,” I drawl, making sure she sees how unapologetic I truly am. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Adrian Messina, Bridget’s pack alpha.”
Alicia’s slack mouth suddenly snaps into a twisted smirk. “No need to keep up your charade for my sake, darling,” she sneers. “I’m the one who came up with the whole arrangement. Although I was surprised to hear an alpha like you had decided to join such a band of misfits. Especially given…”
She waves a blasé hand at her sister. I can’t even think long enough to decide what she’s referring to—all I see in my arms is the perfect woman.