Chapter 5 Amara
AMARA
By the time the weekend had arrived, my mother was on my back about the dress that she'd gotten me.
She wanted me to try it on and finally I'd relented only to find that it didn't fit.
The emerald green dress clung to my breast and hips like a vengeful ex, refusing to let me go in all the wrong places.
Of course it doesn't fit, I thought.
I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, trying to zip up the back of the dress as if it was going to budge any further. I really wished that she'd consulted me before wasting her money.
"Come on," I muttered one more time, sucking in my stomach.
Naturally, the dress stayed put and I was out of breath from trying.
The dress was beautiful, I'd give her that. Emerald silk with delicate beading across the bodice. Elegant. Expensive-looking.
And at least two sizes too small.
My phone rang and from the distinctive ring tone, I already knew who was calling.
Amelia.
"Hi mom," I answered, still struggling with the zipper.
"Sweetheart! Did you try on the dress? Isn't it gorgeous?"
I looked at myself in the mirror. The fabric continued to strain across my hips. The bodice gaped where it should have hugged. I looked like a sausage someone had tried to stuff into a casing meant for something half its size.
"It's beautiful, Mom. But it doesn't fit."
She was silent on the other end for a moment before saying, "What do you mean it doesn't fit?"
I could hear the disappointment in her voice already.
"I mean the zipper won't close. It's too small."
She sighed deeply as if I was annoying her. "Did you try sucking in?"
I held the phone away from my ear and stared at it. Are you kidding me right now?
"Yes, Mom. I tried. It's just not the right size."
There was another long pause before she finally said, "Well, I suppose we'll have to go shopping then. I'm free this afternoon. I'll pick you up at one."
"Mom, I'm going into work today."
"On your day off? Amara, honey, you're never going to find an Alpha living in that library. Call off, and I'll be there shortly."
My eyes grew wide. "But, mom."
"But mom nothing, I'll see you at one o'clock."
I guessed my job didn't matter.
"Fine," I said, too tired to argue. "One o'clock."
She hung up without saying goodbye and I stood there, still half-zipped into a dress that was never going to fit. I shot a text off to Mrs. Luna letting her know I wouldn't be coming in today. She promptly responded asking if I was ill and then that started a whole conversation.
My mother arrived at exactly one o'clock in her silver Mercedes, looking like she'd stepped out of a magazine.
Per usual her hair had been styled to perfection and her eyeliner was so sharp it could cut an ice cube.
The cream colored pantsuit that she wore was giving Givenchy.
I knew my designers, I just didn't live above my means.
I climbed into the passenger seat wearing my usual cardigan and jeans.
She looked me over and sighed.
"We really need to update your wardrobe," she said.
"Hello to you too, Mom," I pulled my seat belt around me.
She pulled away from the curb, her manicured nails tapping against the steering wheel. "I'm just saying, sweetheart. You'd feel so much better about yourself if you put a little more effort into your appearance."
I bit my tongue.
Hard.
"So where are we going?" I asked instead.
"Marchand's. They have the best selection of formal wear in Fernwood. But first, I need to stop at the farmers market. I promised your aunt I'd pick up some of those heirloom tomatoes she likes."
I didn't bother to protest. It would be like a tree branch meeting fire and I was the tree branch.
The farmers market was quieter than it would be in warmer months, but the vendors were still out in full force, bundled up in coats and scarves behind their colorful stalls.
Someone had set out buckets of early tulips near the entrance, bright pink and white against the gray February morning.
The air smelled like fresh bread and roasted nuts and something warm and spiced from a vendor selling hot cider.
My mother headed straight for the produce section, leaving me to trail behind like a lost teenager.
I was pausing near a display of potted snowdrops, thinking about how much I loved seeing the first signs of spring pushing through, when I heard a familiar voice.
"Amara?"
I turned and my heart did that stupid flutter it liked to do.
Kael.
He was standing a few feet away, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder.
He was wearing jeans and a simple white tee shirt with a green vest that resembled scales, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
His short brown hair was slightly windswept and those hazel-green eyes seemed to catch the pale winter sunlight, the gold flecks more visible than ever.
God, he looked good.
Different from how he looked in the bakery, more relaxed. More himself.
"Kael," I said, trying to sound casual. "Hi."
He smiled and walked over, and I had to tilt my head back to look up at him. He was so tall. Even in the open air of the market, he seemed to take up space in the best possible way.
"Didn't expect to run into you here," he grinned widely.
"Yeah, my mom dragged me out for... errands." I gestured vaguely behind me.
His eyes tracked the movement, then came back to my face. "Everything okay?"
How did he always know when something was wrong?
"Just dress shopping," I admitted. "For the gala thingy."
Something flickered across his expression. Just for a second. Then it was gone.
"Right," he said. "The gala thingy."
There was something in his tone, something that I couldn't put my finger on.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.
He held up his canvas bag. "Restocking. I like to use local ingredients when I can. The honey vendor here has the best stuff in Fernwood."
I grinned because the farmers market was so Kael coded. Of course he'd love shopping local for the bakery.
"That's really cool," I said.
He shrugged, but I could see the hint of a smile. "I'm kind of particular about what goes into my pastries."
I know, I thought. I've been eating the results and getting fat as hell.
My mother's voice cut through the moment. "Amara? Where did you... oh."
She appeared beside me, her eyes going wide as she took in Kael, all six-foot-something of him.
"Mom, this is Kael. He owns The Ember & Crumb. Kael, this is my mother, Amelia." I gestured between the two of them as I introduced them.
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Brooks," Kael said, his voice warm and polite.
My mother's expression shifted into something I recognized immediately. She was sizing this man up in hopes that he might be a suitable Alpha.
"The bakery down from the library?" she asked, her smile brightening. "Amara mentions it all the time."
I cringed inwardly because those pastries were so damn good. Not that she needed to tell everybody and kill me with embarrassment.
"I hope that's a good thing," Kael said, his eyes flicking to me with amusement.
"Oh, it's definitely a good thing," my mother said. "She says she goes there every morning like clockwork."
Kill me now, I thought.
"Mom..."
"Well, I should get going," Kael said, saving me from further embarrassment. "Still have a few more vendors to hit. But it was good seeing you, Amara."
The way he said my name made my stomach flip.
"You too," I managed.
He nodded to my mother, then started to walk away.
But he paused, turning back.
"Amara?"
"Yeah?"
Those hazel-green eyes held mine. Steady. Sure.
"For what it's worth? You're going to look beautiful. At the gala."
My mother made a small sound beside me.
I couldn't even muster up words and was about to faint from lack of air. Kael smiled, soft and genuine, then disappeared into the crowd.
"Well," my mother said, fanning herself dramatically. "He's gorgeous. And clearly interested."
"Mom, stop."
"I'm just saying, sweetheart. That man looked at you like you were the only person in this entire market."
Had he, I wondered.
I replayed the moment in my head. The way his eyes had found me. The way he'd smiled. The way he'd said I'd look beautiful. Not "you'll look nice" or "have fun."
No, he'd most definitely said that I was going to look beautiful.
"Come on," my mother said, linking her arm through mine. "Let's go find you a dress that'll make that baker's jaw drop."
Marchand's was everything I expected. The floors were pristine and made of white marble. Above us were crystal chandeliers sparkling in the pale winter light filtering through the tall windows. Dresses that cost more than my car displayed on mannequins like works of art.
A saleswoman approached immediately, her smile practiced and professional.
"Welcome to Marchand's. How can we help you today?"
"My daughter needs a gown for the Solas Valentine Gala," my mother said, already walking toward the formal wear section like she owned the place.
The saleswoman's eyes lit up. "Oh, how wonderful! The Solas Valentine Gala is such a prestigious event. I have to show you our latest collection."
I followed behind them, feeling more and more like I was being dressed up for auction.
My mother started pulling dresses off the rack immediately. There were sleek column gowns and fitted mermaid styles. She seemed to pick up anything that would show off my figure instead of letting me breathe in it.
"Here," my mother said, thrusting three dresses into my arms. "Go try these on."
Once I was in the fitting room, I immediately noticed it was larger than my bathroom at home. There was plush red carpeting and a velvet bench for me to sit my items on. Even the lighting seemed to be both flattering and honest.
Slowly, I removed my clothes and tried on the first gown.
It was a black column gown that clung to every curve. In theory it was beautiful, but in practice it made me feel exposed. Vulnerable.
Like everyone would be able to see exactly how much space I took up.