Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
OLIVIA
I worry about Emeline leading up to the charity ball that I have to attend to appease my mother.
Saying no would have meant nagging and conceding to other requests, like taking a date with a pack the matchmaker picked out.
I’ve been dodging Carrie’s emails outlining pack profiles and her phone calls, but she’s growing more persistent.
If I don’t go on a date, I have to attend this ball.
It’s the only way to keep Mother off my back.
I know I’m wading through the depths of conflict avoidance, but I’m not ready to fight with her or explain that I am, in fact, being courted.
I love Pack Flynn. Mother would lose her mind.
I don’t want her judgmental response to taint my budding romance.
While I’d rather write a check and be on my way, I have to play along and be the dutiful daughter if I want her nose out of my dating life.
Terrington Silk is an exclusive boutique for the rich and socially adept. Which begs the question—why am I here? Kidding. The tulle is getting to me.
Verity reserved us two hours to find the perfect gowns. My sister-in-law has already selected a beautiful green mermaid gown that would make me look like a plague patient, but with her complexion, it works. She knows how to make a dress work for her.
Me, on the other hand? Not so much.
Standing in a slip, I study the next gown I’m supposed to try on. “Is it possible to asphyxiate in all that poof?”
Verity laughs from her place on the fitting room sofa. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”
I lift an eyebrow. “It looks like a loofah.” Do I want to look like I’m about to scrub the crap out of someone's body? No.
She bites her lip and tips her head. “Huh. It really does. Can we see the next options, please?” she asks the staff member assigned to work with us. “So,” she says as we wait for another round of dresses to be pulled, “Sawyer is cute.”
My throat tightens. “What?”
“You have no poker face,” she says with a grin.
I chew on my cheek and glance away. Sawyer is Henry’s best friend, and while I have no intentions of stopping the courting because of that, I do feel a twinge of guilt. Like I’ve somehow betrayed my brother.
Verity nudges me. “Hey, Liv, it’s okay. I’m not going to tell Henry until you’re ready.”
“Um, well, it’s new.”
“I can tell. Your scent blooms whenever Sawyer's name is mentioned.”
As if on cue, my honey and vanilla perfume thickens in the air. “Oh no,” I groan. “Scents are so annoying sometimes.” How am I meant to have a poker face if my scent is screaming to the world that Sawyer gave me my first non-solo orgasm?
“Sometimes they really are,” Verity agrees. “So, tell me everything.”
Why is she eager to know? Is this a setup? “Did you invite me here to make inquiries?”
“Inquiries?” She shakes her head. “You make it sound like I’m investigating you.”
That gives me pause. “If you’re not digging for information, what are you doing?”
She frowns. “I’m talking, Liv. You know, like friends do.”
“Friends?” I parrot, probably sounding like my IQ has plummeted in a matter of seconds. When it comes to friendship, I’m woefully unprepared. In school, I had acquaintances, but most were more concerned with who was looking at who or wearing what. I was interested in science and research.
“We’re friends, right? I mean, I’d like to be,” Verity stammers, cheeks flushing. “Am I being like Marnie? Forcing myself on you?”
I laugh at that. “Trust me, you’re nothing like my mother.”
“Good.” She exhales in relief, picking at invisible lint. “So, do you want to be friends?”
My chest clenches. When was the last time someone wanted to be my friend?
Outside of the pack and coworkers, I haven’t met a ton of people who get me or want to be around me.
Here, Verity is offering me the very thing I always thought I was okay without, and the ache in my chest tells me that not having close friends hurt me more than I ever cared to admit.
“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” I smile at her.
“And if you don’t want to share about Sawyer, you don’t have to,” she says in a rush.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask about knots, but every time I mention knots to the alphas, they get aroused.”
Verity chuckles. “Alphas and their knots.” Sighing, she gets comfortable on the sofa. “Ask me anything.”
“Biologically, knots and heats are triggered to increase the probability of reproduction because some several thousand years ago, our society almost collapsed due to declining birth rates, but if you don’t get pregnant after your first heat and knotting, can they still knot you again?
How long does a knot last? Oh my god, my brother has a knot.
” A full-body shudder rushes over me, and I mutter to myself, “It’s okay, Liv, you’re learning about knots, it doesn’t mean she’s going to tell you about Henry.
” I suck in a breath. “Right, of course. So, where was I? Ah, yes. A beta’s sperm count can be upwards of 600 million, but an alpha’s is six times as much as that.
Do you know an omega who was impregnated by a beta?
The statistics are there, but I’m fascinated by the possibility of a beta’s sperm doing the job better than an alpha’s. Oh, and—”
Verity places her hand on my arm. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m trying to keep up, but first, I’d never tell you about Henry.
I know that would be weird.” She takes a breath, gathering her composure.
“Right, so, yes, you can be knotted again, even if you don’t get pregnant.
While our bodies have evolved to ensure pregnancy with our heats and an alphas knot, knots are just as fun without that factoring into it.
On average, knots can last between ten and fifteen minutes.
Oh, and you know that omegas ovulate during a heat and once between heats, right? "
I nod.
She continues. “Which means that while you’re more likely to get pregnant during your heat, there is a possibility of conception between heats.”
“I should take notes,” I murmur to myself, pulling out my notebook.
Verity smiles at me, but it’s not cruel or mocking, more like an acceptance of my awkwardness. “I don’t know anyone personally, but my friend’s aunt had a baby and her beta was the father. It is possible.”
“During a heat, if a beta doesn’t have a knot. . .”
“There are toys or a beta can get creative.”
“How do you mean?” I ask, eyebrows pinching together.
Verity holds up her fist. “This can appease the desire for a knot and help an omega.”
I scribble a quick note but then the implication fully registers. The woman helping us bustles in with dresses and says, “Here we—"
“Betas fist their omegas!” I blurt out. “Of course.” The fist would provide something for the canal to tighten around, mimicking a knot. It makes perfect sense.
“—Oh, um.” The woman’s features twist and she turns crimson. “Should I come back?”
Oh my god. I just said that out loud in front of this employee. Mortification has my eyes widening.
Verity jumps in to save the day. “Those dresses are beautiful. I can help Liv try them on if you don’t mind going to look for a few more?”
“Sure.” The woman books it out of the oversized fitting room. Oh, god. Now she’s probably going to tell the other employees. They’ll all know we were talking about fisting, and I can never come back here again. Ever.
Verity stands and grabs the first gown in lilac. A-line. Simple. Understated, yet beautiful all the same. “To answer your question,” she begins, lowering the dress so I can step into it. “Yes. If circumstances are dire, or if an omega likes it, a beta can fist them.”
“I knew knots were big, but I guess I didn’t realize how big.” There’s only so much you can tell from photos and porn.
“And is the pack preparing you?” Verity draws the dress up my body.
I nod. “The pack is really sweet.” I clasp the dress to my chest to hold it up.
She starts to zip the gown. “Have they asked to court you?”
“Yes.”
She nods in approval. “Good. Some packs don’t ask or even court at all, and they’re not worth your time.” Stepping aside, she looks at me in the mirror. “Move your hands.” I do and she beams at me. “This is it.”
“Really?” I look at myself for the first time, eyes widening.
There’s a slit up one side of the dress, flashing some thigh, but the cut is classy and appropriate for a gala, while still being a little sexy.
That’s perfect for me. I’ll never be a seductress, but even a smart woman like me wants to feel desirable.
The lilac material is soft against my skin, and the fit is perfect, as if it’s fate.
“Well?” Verity asks.
“It’s perfect.”
“I knew it.” Her eyes sparkle. “Should we go get lunch?”
“Please,” I beg her with a smile. “Get me out of here.”
She giggles. I’m still surprised Verity actually wants to be friends with me, but I think I could get used to having a friend.
The ball is at the Manson mansion. Shirley loves any opportunity to flaunt her pack’s wealth. Frankly, all the glitz and glam is nauseating, but this is for a good cause. That’s what I tell myself on the ride as Mother makes subtle jabs at me going without a date.
“Honestly, it’s embarrassing.”
“Marnie,” Quincy, one of my dads, murmurs. It’s about all the chastising he’ll do.
“What? It is. My only omega, twenty-seven years old and packless. Not even a prospect in sight.” She scowls at me. “You should have asked Pack Johnson.”
The limo rolls to a stop. “Oh, look, we’re here.” I practically jump out of the vehicle, not bothering to wait for the driver to help us out.
“Olivia!” Mother screeches.
Not now, Mother, I’m searching for a hole to hide in.
The steps that lead to the mansion are meant to be a showstopping piece, but I don’t pause to admire the grand marble stones or the flickering torches that line the steps. I’m sure Shirley, the homeowner, fully embraced this year's theme: Lost in a Fairytale. Right now, I’m lost in a nightmare.