Episode 22 Pucker Up, Princess
Court’s gone when I wake up the next morning.
Of course he is.
We’re not supposed to spend the night together unless it's in the Honey suite with a million cameras pointed at us. And I have no doubt I’d be sent home for breaking the rules. Not him, though. Obviously.
He’s one “quarter” of the royal pack and the whole reason for this show.
I’m just a set piece.
One that is easily discarded. That will be discarded eventually.
With that thought in mind, I redouble my determination to keep my distance. No more sleepovers with any of the Ashbourne Pack. Last night was a mistake. A worse one than kissing Forsythe in the dark.
Sleeping curled against Court’s chest, his arm draped over my waist and holding me close, the faintest trace of his scent in my nostrils, not strong enough for me to fully scent him, but enough for me to know when he’s not on suppressants its delicious, and dangerous.
I roll over and bury my nose in the pillow he used, dragging a deep inhale into my lungs before sighing and rolling out of bed.
Thirty minutes later I’m showered, dressed, hair braided and SPF on, just in time. A knock on my door and a harried Lulu calls through it. “You’re late, Ren. You were meant to be on set ten minutes ago.”
“Sorry,” I yank open the door and am greeted by the producer’s disapproving gaze sliding over my body.
“You don’t want to wear something else? Maybe something that shows a bit more skin? A bikini or a swimsuit, perhaps?”
I look down at my yoga pants and sports bra, my uniform during the day on the show so far.
If I’m honest I would love to swim. It sounds refreshing as hell in the heat, but to swim I’d need to show off the mangled mess of my knee.
Taking a dip in the chlorinated water or the ocean just doesn’t seem worth the probing question that would raise.
Not just from the pack, but also from the producers.
“No, I’m good.”
“What about those linen pants at least? The ones you arrived in?”
I arch my brows. “Is something happening today that I need to know about? A reason for me to dress sexier than normal?”
Her lips press tight together. “That outfit is a tragedy.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, I’ll change.”
“Skin, Florence. Show some fucking skin. And hurry.”
Ten minutes later, I’m stepping onto the pool deck wearing a long skirt and a lacy white cropped tank top that shows a large swath of my torso. Lulu had been displeased when she saw me. When she said skin, what she meant was legs.
But we were already running late and so she hurried me away from my cabana and to the set. “Do I have time to eat?” I ask, scanning the groups clustered together. Petal and Tristan are lounging on a set of deck chairs on the other side of the pool and they wave at me. I lift my hand in response.
“I’ll have someone on the resort staff bring you something after. We need to get started.” My stomach rumbles unhappily, but I wouldn’t trade the full night of uninterrupted sleep for anything.
My eyes snag on Courtland, sitting with Odette, but there’s a six inch space between them that wouldn’t have been there a few days ago. He smiles when he sees me looking, a sneaky little thing that to anyone looking would tell them he thinks he’s gotten away with something.
Movement out of the corner of my eye draws my attention to Piers, making his way over to me.
I smile at the sight of him because I can’t help myself.
He grins back, chin ducking toward his chest as he runs a hand through his hair and grips the back of his neck.
“Morning, sunshine,” he murmurs when he gets close, the back of his other hand brushing against mine.
Just that, nothing else, before he’s bypassing me to go to… Forsythe.
Who has, no doubt, been watching all of this, and is deciding to send me home as a result.
I offer the prince a tight smile and turn away as the crew herds us to the newest set on the green space by the beach.
The setup is one I’ve seen before, on countless seasons of Alpha Love Getaway. A black board with a grid already on it, The names of the omegas along the left hand side, The alphas across the top.
The kissing challenge.
I knew this was coming, Forsythe gave me a list of the upcoming games. But I’d somehow managed to block the reality. That I would have to stand by and watch every omega here kiss my pack.
Not your pack, Ren. Never your pack.
“Here,” one of the PAs mutters, thrusting a muffin into my hand, followed by a banana. “Thayer wants you to eat before we get started.”
My brows jump as my eyes search out the alpha in question, only to find him chatting with Isadora, her hand resting on his forearm and smoothing back and forth over the muscles there. Her touch is familiar, and he doesn’t seem to mind it.
Any hunger I’d been feeling vanishes.
Thayer glances up, just as I push the food back to the PA. “I’ll wait.” When it looks like he’s going to protest, I smile. “I don’t want to do this challenge with crumbs in my teeth. That would be… gross.”
And it actually would be. I can’t imagine they’ll give me a chance to brush my teeth again before we start kissing.
With a muttered curse, the harried crew member takes the food back. “If he gets mad about it, I’m blaming you.”
“Blame away.” But I don’t think he will be.
Or maybe I’m wrong if the glare he’s pointing in my direction is any sign.
I arch my brows and shrug, before turning my back on him, and finding my mark on the grass between Petal and Tristan. The omegas line up across from the alphas. They each have a box in front of them that we will undoubtedly use to reach their mouths, and a blindfold in their hands.
Cleo is standing next to the board smiling like the cat that got the cream. That alone is enough to tell me she thinks this setup is ripe for drama. It always is. There’s usually at least one breakdown and one fight after this challenge. But with this lot it’ll be more.
Production asks for a volunteer from the omegas to record the scores, and Petal is quick to step forward with a sunshiny smile on her face, taking the chalk with a flourish.
Someone calls action and Cleo’s smile only grows as she looks into the camera. “This is by far the most anticipated challenge on RoyaLove Getaway, for the fans and the contestants. Am I right, omegas?”
There’s the burble of excited agreement as she continues. “It's finally time to get your lips on the Ashbourne Pack, and see if there’s any chemistry, any spark to go along with the friendships that have been brewing thus far.”
Her stressing the word friendships has my eyes latching onto Forsythe, he’s already looking at me, but not for long as Cleo urges the alphas to put on their blindfolds before she herds us omegas far enough away that we shouldn’t be overheard if we talk quietly.
The alphas aren’t supposed to know who it is that’s kissing them, so their scores should be based entirely on talent and chemistry.
“Okay,” Cleo says brightly and quietly when we’re all situated. “We’re going to start with-” A glance at the cue card in her hand. “Isadora. Again. What a surprise.”
Even the host of the show can’t hide how fed up she is with this whole charade. If they want this to be believable, they should really work on making it seem more like the pack’s choice, and not like they’re shoving Isadora down their throats.
The dark haired omega tosses her silky locks over her shoulder and smirks at her lackeys. “I’ll try not to embarrass anyone by comparison.”
I can’t watch.
I can’t look away though either. Like a train wreck or a car accident or Courtland when he takes off his shirt.
Isadora saunters closer to the blindfolded men, hips swaying seductively even though they can’t see her.
Petal casts me a concerned look, fingers clutching the chalk so tight the pads are turning white. She’s worried about me. I know it. She’s not jealous about the Ashbourne pack for her own sake. No, she’s worried about how I’m going to feel watching them make out with other omegas.
And she’s right to be because it… doesn’t feel great.
I try to look away as Isadora sidles up to Grieves first, walking her fingers up his tank top until she can hook her hand around his neck.
When he doesn’t move to make it easier on her, like she apparently assumed he would, she huffs, steps up onto the box in front of him, and presses her lips to his.
It's… not what I expected.
At all. He looks stiff. Uninterested in returning her kiss. She licks at his mouth and a wrinkle forms between his brows as he finally parts his lips.
“Zero chemistry,” Tristan mutters from next to me.
I nod my agreement. And even though my omega is a hissing jealous creature in my stomach, demanding that I go and rip Isadora away from my alpha, it helps seeing just how little he’s into her mouth being on his.
Forsythe does a better job of pretending. One of his big hands sliding on her hip, but he doesn’t drag her closer, doesn’t get lost in it. I can’t tell if he’s not into it, or if he just has excellent control. Maybe it's both.
But then I remember when he kissed me. How out of control he felt for the briefest of moments.
Thayer isn’t much better. He doesn’t open his mouth to her, keeping it fairly chaste. His hand resting lightly between her shoulder blades.
“Jesus,” Tristan hisses to me. “How is she the front runner? I have to imagine they’ve kissed before, surely they know already there’s nothing there.”
I shrug a shoulder as Isadora moves to Courtland. “For some packs, it's not about chemistry or even liking their omega. It's about optics. Duty always, remember?”
Which is why I’m not at all surprised when Courtland kisses Isadora like he’s playing the role perfectly, like he enjoys it. And even less surprised by the scores given to Isadora by the pack. Eight. Ten. Nine. Nine.