Two
TWO
Mia
“PROBLEM?” ZALEN asked, with the kind of scary alpha calm that did absolutely nothing to imply an epic beat-down in the middle of a singles bar wasn’t on the table if it became necessary.
Luca and I both froze like startled rabbits. It was more or less hardwired in when confronted with unexpected shouting and alpha dominance vibes, but the unwanted omega reaction still pissed me off.
“That’s my wife,” Nat snarled, at least making an effort to keep his voice down this time.
“And?” Zalen prompted in a bland tone. “Do you always try to police who your wife talks to in public places?”
I managed to wrest my instincts under control, rising from my own chair with gritted teeth. “No. He doesn’t . What do you want, Nat?”
He had the gall to look hurt, like I’d betrayed him somehow.
“What are you doing here, Mia?” The question had a bewildered air to it, like he couldn’t possibly imagine why I might feel the need to get revenge on him for breaking my heart.
“Having a drink,” I told him, pointing to my wine glass. “What are you doing here?”
Nat’s eyes darted nervously to Zalen. The alpha was still standing with crossed arms, radiating the timeless patience of a hundred-year-old oak tree. I knew perfectly well why Nat was here... although I was a bit surprised he hadn’t chosen a singles bar that catered to betas.
“We need to talk,” Nat told me, rather than answering the question.
“Do we really, though?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said flatly. “We do. Come back to the house, Mia.”
With a final hard glance at my tablemates, he turned on his heel and walked out of the bar. Around us, the gawkers gradually lost interest as it became clear the drama was wrapping up. I willed the hot flush of humiliation to drain from my cheeks.
I was still hovering awkwardly in front of my chair. Wrenching myself free of my paralysis, I stepped to the side and pushed it into place beneath the table.
“I’m really sorry,” I muttered, not able to meet Zalen’s dark brown eyes. “I should... um... I should go. Thanks again for offering me a break from the meat market earlier. It was nice talking with you.”
I started to turn, but Zalen’s voice stopped me.
“Wait,” he said. “Are you safe? If you’re not, we can help.”
I paused, confused for a moment until his meaning penetrated. When it did, my mortified blush returned at triple strength.
“Oh! Oh, good Christ , no—it’s nothing like that.” The idea of being physically afraid of Nat was so far-fetched as to be laughable. “We’re going home to have an overdue fight about the fact that he demanded an open marriage, and apparently it never occurred to him that it might go both ways.”
Damn .
Was that too much information?
That had probably been too much information.
I snuck a look at Zalen’s expression. There wasn’t an ounce of reaction visible. I wondered idly if he played poker. He’d probably be good at it, if so.
“I see,” was all he said. “You have a way to get home?”
To an outside observer, it must seem like a red flag that I wasn’t riding home with Nat. Personally, I was just relieved we wouldn’t be fighting while he was driving. Sharing a car with my husband after these last couple of weeks wasn’t something I was in a hurry to do.
“Believe it or not, they let omegas ride alone in cabs these days,” I said mildly, trying to banish the part of me that liked how concerned he was for me. Really liked it, in fact. “Yes, I do have a way to get home.”
Luca, who’d been letting all this play out without inserting an opinion, cleared his throat and stood. He reached over and picked up my handbag, slipping something into the outside pocket so casually that I might have missed it. I took the clutch when he handed it back to me.
“Sorry. Zalen’s not actually that much of a neanderthal,” he said conspiratorially. “He just gets overprotective when people around him act like dicks.”
“No offense taken,” I said, desperate to get out of there before I managed to plumb any additional depths of embarrassment. “Seriously, thanks again. It sounds like you guys are doing important work.”
And before either of them could answer, I fled.
Phone in hand, I flagged down an Uber and stood shifting from foot to foot as I waited outside the bar. This was the fight I’d been wanting, right? It was past time Nat got a wake-up call about how selfish he was being.
The promised silver Hyundai Sonata pulled up to the curb. I got in and let it take me north, navigating the eleven-mile commute from Soulard to Jennings. Nineteenth-century red brick facades gave way to abandoned factories, then warehouses, and eventually Depression-era bungalows.
Unlike Nat, I wasn’t willing to risk blaring news headlines of ‘ Local Restaurant Owner Charged With DWI! ’ on nights when I planned to go out drinking. And normally on days when I didn’t drive myself, I’d have taken the Metrolink—but this was quicker.
The driver dropped me at an unprepossessing white three-bedroom house off Jennings Station Road. Light filtered through the living room window. Nat had beaten me home.
I squared my shoulders and marched up the front walk, preparing for battle. Letting myself inside, I closed and locked the door behind me before turning my full attention to the rumpled figure sitting on the couch.
Jacket gone, sleeves rolled up over well-defined forearms, Nat peered up at me from beneath jet-black hair that had escaped the day’s styling. His brown eyes—deep set and heavy lidded thanks to whichever of his biological parents had been Chinese—were lined with stress and exhaustion.
“What the hell , Mia?” he asked, in a much softer tone than the one he’d used at the bar.
I tossed my clutch onto the small table in the entryway.
Where to fucking start ?
“Are you seriously ,” I snapped, “going to give me a hard time for going to a bar and talking to strangers after you basically told me that I wasn’t enough for you? That you needed to find other people to fuck?”
“You said,” he began plaintively, “that you were okay with what we had! That it wasn’t a problem for you! You as much as told me that you were fine with no sex! That’s why we’re in this situation in the first place !”
My anger surged, thin and sour like bile. I could smell the way it curdled my scent, announcing my emotions to anyone with a functioning nose.
“I’m an omega! I’m not a beta! If you want sex that we’ll both enjoy, you need to let me know so I can have synthetic alpha pheromones ready to kickstart my libido. I have always been very clear about that !”
Nat scrubbed his hands through his hair in frustration, mussing it further. “And do you not see any reason why a man might start to resent the fact that his own wife needs to take drugs before she’s willing to have sex with him?”
The unfairness of this might have been easier to take if he’d gotten off the damn couch and paced around angrily rather than just continuing to sit there, looking pitiful and wronged.
I blinked at him. “They’re not drugs , they’re pheromones ! What the fuck , Nat? Did I somehow miss the part where you stumbled into this marriage having no clue about omega sexual biology?”
“I don’t know,” Nat said coldly. “Did you miss the part where you haven’t had a natural heat in more than a year?”
Disbelief flooded me, and all I could do was stare at him. “Nat... how the hell am I supposed to randomly disappear for a week every few months when I’m the head chef at a Michelin-star restaurant ? For that matter, how the hell are we both supposed to disappear? Who do you think is going to run the place?”
He threw his hands up in disgust. “I don’t know , Mia! But for the third time, why the fuck were you in a bar picking up alphas when you’re so quick to tell me that sex means nothing to you?”
The words ‘ to make you jealous, you complete asshole,’ were born and died behind my lips.
“To make a point,” I said instead. “And don’t you dare act like you found me riding some alpha’s knot in the men’s room. I was sitting at a table with two people that I’m pretty sure were already together, having a glass of fucking wine and talking about youth centers .”
“In a singles bar,” Nat grated out.
“A singles bar you just happened to walk into,” I shot back viciously. “This may come as a shock to you, but I’m not exactly getting my needs met in this marriage either.”
A look of combined horror and petty victory twisted his features. “But you just said—”
“My emotional needs,” I snarled. “For god’s sake , could you think with some other body part besides your dick for one goddamn minute ? When was the last time you talked to me about anything that wasn’t related to the restaurant... or to your need to fuck other women because I’m not enough for you?”
Nat went cold and still. “I don’t know. Probably around the same time you last made an effort to put on some pretty lingerie and be intimate with me. When was that, exactly?”
My throat grew tight and clogged. My stomach felt like it was in danger of eating itself, not helped by the wine earlier. That was my excuse for not managing a decent comeback before Nat surged up from the couch, grabbed his jacket, and stormed out of the house. A minute later, I heard the rumble of his Jeep rolling out of the driveway and disappearing.
I stood in the middle of the cramped living room for an embarrassingly long time, tasting stomach acid. Eventually, I unclenched my fists, picked up my handbag, and zombie-walked to the bathroom. The harsh fluorescent lights illuminated a pale face with lines where there hadn’t been any a year ago. Dark bags underlined bloodshot eyes.
Desperate to distract myself from the flaming wreckage that was my marriage, I dug my fingers into the side pocket of my tasteful black clutch, indulging a dull throb of curiosity. I came out with a rectangle of stiff cardboard.
It was a business card, simple but elegant in dark, jewel-tone green with pale gold text. Luca Doyle , it said. Grant writing, freelance project research and management . And below that, a phone number.