Chapter 4 Jonah
We're still three blocks away from the restaurant when Dad slows the Honda, peering ahead.
"Is that..." Mom leans forward. "Oh my goodness."
The street in front of the restaurant is clogged with news vans, photographers jostling for position. This is our ‘get to know each other’ family dinner as arranged by Diana Norris who I have learned is the head of Colborne Industries instead of Alex.
As far as I can tell, Alex doesn’t seem to have a job.
"Maybe we should park somewhere else," I suggest, my stomach already churning.
"The valet will handle it," Dad says firmly. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. "Mr Colborne’s assistant called earlier. He said they'd send a car for us but I told him we could drive ourselves."
Of course he did. Dad's pride wouldn't let him accept a chauffeured ride but maybe Alex had a reason for offering.
Or maybe Alex didn’t even know the offer was made. Everything I know about him tells me that he does nothing for himself. Ricky takes care of everything.
What else does Ricky do? Set out his clothes in the morning? Brush Alex’s teeth for him? Wipe his rear?
I’d only be half-surprised if I found out that Ricky did.
We inch closer. The photographers haven't noticed our ordinary Honda yet, too busy checking their equipment and gossiping. The valet spots us first, moving toward our car. That's when the sharks smell blood.
"It's them!"
"The omega!"
"Jonah! Jonah Wells!"
They descend like locusts. Camera flashes explode through the windshield, turning the world white. Mom gasps, shrinking back. Dad's scent spikes with anxiety as he tries to navigate through the crowd.
"Keep your heads down," he mutters, but it's too late.
They surround the car, cameras pressed against windows, voices shouting:
"Jonah! How does it feel to be marrying into billions?"
"What do you say about allegations that the Fellowship a cult?"
"Jonah! Are you pregnant?"
"Jonah! What's your stance on omega rights?"
As we approach, the crowd clears slightly and I spot two burly security guards elbowing their way through the crowd. They manage to clear enough space for Dad to pull up. We sit frozen for a moment, trapped in our car while the mob waits to devour us.
"Ready?" Dad asks, voice steady despite the chaos.
Mom grabs my hand. "Yes."
The moment we open the doors, they surge. Microphones thrust at my face, camera flashes blinding. Someone grabs my elbow and I jerk away, stumbling into Mom.
"Mr. Wells! Do you approve of your son marrying Alexander Colborne?"
“Jonah! Are you a virgin?”
I feel my face color, but we push through, Mom's lavender scent sharp with distress. A camera lens clips my temple.
Then the security guards are there, shoving the cameras away and pushing at the crowd as hard as they are pushing at us. One of them roughly grabs my elbow and pulls me through the crowd. By the time we stumble through the restaurant doors, we're disheveled and shaking.
Inside, there is sudden silence. The entire restaurant is empty. The tables are set with pristine white tablecloths and crystal that catches the light like diamonds. All of it cleared out for us. For him.
"Mr. and Mrs. Wells. Jonah." Diana Norris materializes from nowhere, immaculately dressed in a smart black suit. She is painfully thin but her face is artificially rounded and smooth and set in place.
Her steel-gray hair is coiffed into a perfectly formed bun at the nape of her neck. She reaches her hand out to me. "Jonah, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Diana, an old friend of Alexander’s mother. So pleased you could join us."
Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. She scans me and while she doesn’t raise an eyebrow at my clothing, I can see that she doesn’t quite approve.
"Mrs. Norris." Dad extends his hand, trying to smooth his wind-blown hair with the other. "Lovely to see you again. Thank you for the invitation."
She smiles at him, smooth as a shark. “It’s just Ms. Norris. I’m not married. But come, let’s all get to know each other properly. Alexander is already seated."
We follow her through the maze of empty tables and I’m hyperaware of how my best shoes sound too loud on the marble floor. Mom's fingers find mine, squeezing tight.
Then I smell him. Pine and whiskey alpha scent slams into me so hard I stumble. Mom catches my elbow, concern spiking her scent.
"You okay, sweetheart?"
I can't answer. Can't think. He's here, somewhere close, and every cell in my body knows it. That first meeting was absolute hell and heaven at the same time. He smelled so good that I could barely speak or look at him. But he smelled like he’d been drinking for days and spoke to me like he thought I was a hick.
The man who is going to be my alpha lounges at a corner table like he owns the place. He probably does. According to Dad, half the city property has the name Colborne on its title deeds.
The charcoal suit makes his shoulders look broader, his storm-gray eyes darker. He glances up from his phone and our eyes meet—
Oh no.
Heat races down my spine. My knees go weak. His pupils dilate, just for a second, and his fingers tighten on his phone. Then he jerks his gaze away, jaw clenched, and goes back to scrolling.
Like I'm nothing.
"Please, sit." Diana says, gesturing to the chairs. They’re white like the rest of the restaurant, covered in linen covers that have a big bow on the back. All I can think is that I hope I don’t spill spaghetti sauce or something equally staining on top of them.
My parents exchange a look with me. I don’t want to sit right next to Alex so I start moving to the other side of the table, but Diana gets there first.
“Here, why don’t you take the seat next to Alexander?”
I don’t know how to refuse politely so I comply. I sit down to Alex’s right, and under the guise of moving my chair closer to the table, shift it away from him a couple of inches. As if that will help.
Alex shifts, adjusting his cuffs, and the movement wafts more of that whiskey-pine scent my way. My stomach clenches.
Mom sits to my other side, reaching over to squeeze my hand.
"I took the liberty of ordering for the table," Diana continues as she takes the seat opposite me. "The chef's tasting menu is extraordinary."
“Thank you, that will be lovely,” Dad says.
Diana frowns and coughs, looking at Alex. He actually rolls his eyes and then puts down his phone and puts his hand out to my father. “Hello, good to see you again.”
Dad shakes it, then Alex shakes Mom’s hand. He doesn’t shake mine. He doesn’t even look at me.
"Now then." Diana opens a leather portfolio thick with papers. "We have three weeks until the wedding of the season."
"Three weeks?" Mom's voice pitches high.
"Optimal timing for media coverage. The prime match announcement has generated significant interest." Diana flips through pages covered in timelines and spreadsheets.
It has been twenty-four hours and someone has put that entire binder together for her.
"A ninety-six percent compatibility rating. The public is fascinated."
With that comment, I am suddenly convinced that she tipped off the press outside.
"The Bellmont is available on the twenty-third," she continues.
The Bellmont? Even I’ve heard of that. And they just happened to have availability? Just as the thought hits, I realize that they didn’t have availability. They would have made availability.
Some other poor saps have lost their wedding venue at the last minute because Diana decided that’s what she wanted.
I glance at Alex. He’s barely paying attention. This is his life. Every inconvenience bulldozed out of the way without him asking or even noticing.
And me? I’m more than an inconvenience if I don’t play my part. How would they bulldoze me?
Diana doesn’t appear to notice that I’ve suddenly gone still.
"I've reserved the grand ballroom. We should manage to fit around a thousand guests, not including press."
The room tilts. A thousand people. My lungs forget how to work.
While I’m panicking, the first course arrives: over a dozen tiny dishes come out borne by an array of bow-tied waiters who fuss over them for a moment, adding spice with a flourish, setting out tiny cutlery and, memorably, for one dish, putting the flame out.
I don’t know what half of this stuff is but fortunately, there is definitely no spaghetti sauce for me to spill.
I’m half tempted to ask for spaghetti anyway and watch these fancypants people explode with horror.
Mom gives a bright smile. “Thank you, this looks lovely, but about the wedding... we were hoping for something... smaller. Something with family and close friends. Our church—"
"Ah yes, I need to ask about the church." Diana reaches for a notepad. She looks up. None of us have dared reach for the food. “Come now. Eat. Eat."
She waves at the tiny dishes. I reach for my plate and as I begin to reach for something that might be chicken, a waiter appears out of nowhere, startling me.
He takes the dish and starts spooning it onto my plate for me.
Maybe if I open my mouth like a baby bird, he’ll spoon it straight in there too.
I notice that despite telling us to eat, Diana hasn’t reached for anything herself. Instead, she taps the tip of her pen on the paper. “The Faith Heritage Fellowship. How long has your family been... involved?"
The way she says 'involved' makes it sound like we're in a criminal organization.
"All our lives," Dad says carefully. "I was baptized there. We were married there."
"How traditional. And your beliefs regarding omega roles?"
Mom shifts uncomfortably. "We believe in natural relationships between alpha and omega, with each serving their true roles."
"True roles." Diana's pen moves across the page. "And these roles would be?"
"Alphas lead and protect. Omegas nurture and support." Mom's voice stays steady, but I can smell her anxiety. "It's worked for us for almost three decades."