Episode 23 Kissing Frogs #2
A big broad palm lands on the back of my neck, squeezing gently, easing a lot of the tension I’ve been holding since Forsythe approached my tiny little yoga class and asked to speak to me.
I hate it.
Hate that the omega in me reads this as a calming, soothing action from my alpha, when it's probably just his way of trying to get me to not make too much of a scene.
I try to move away from him, but Sythe tightens his grip, not letting me go anywhere.
“Stop being stubborn, cor mea, and sit down. Actually listen to what we have to say, rather than making assumptions.” He seems to realize I will not respond well to commands, because his touch softens and so does his tone. “Please.”
It's the please that does it. Makes me move to the empty space on the lounger next to Thayer and drop onto it, being careful not to brush against him. Or any of them.
None of them says anything.
Instead they’re busy staring at each other like they're waiting for someone else to start.
It won’t be me. They called for this little meeting. They can bloody well start it.
I fold my arms over my chest, keeping my back straight even though a large part of me wants to melt into the professor, who has somehow inched closer to me on the white cushion.
So much so that his thigh presses into mine.
I scoot in the other direction, needing space, but Forsythe settles there, almost as close as Thayer, and there’s nowhere for me to go.
“Thank you for giving us the chance to explain,” Grieves says softly.
I open my mouth to tell him there’s nothing to explain that I get it.
It's my time. I’ve known this was coming from the beginning and I’m shocked that they kept me this long.
But I’d started to think—started to believe—that there was something growing between us.
Something big and important and life changing.
And that’s my fault.
Not theirs.
But that doesn’t give them the right to be unnecessarily cruel.
“You said you knew how this was going to go. Isn’t that what you told Piers?” Thayer asks, somehow managing to sound curious and not accusatory. “That you knew we wouldn’t choose you, but you wanted to stay as long as you could for financial reasons?”
I did. “I do. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with you treating me like garbage in the meantime.
I’m not here for you to pile on because it makes good television or because it's a kneejerk reaction to actually-” I cut off the words before I can give them voice.
To actually feeling something for me. That’s what I was going to say.
Because there is no doubt in my mind that is exactly what happened. Each one of them kissed me like it meant something, like I am precious to them, and they couldn’t let that stand. Not with the narrative they’re building.
I can already see the way production will cut my kisses.
The way Thayer curled his hands over my shoulders to push me away from him before calling me overeager.
Forsythe’s rigidity at the beginning, but not how he melted into me, into us.
The way Grieves’ hands hung at his sides limp and unresponsive, but not how he eventually gripped me tight, like he never wanted to let me go.
They’ll show all the points where the alphas tried to keep their distance, and none of the good parts.
Because they’re selling some grand romance between the Ashbourne Pack and Isadora, while I’m just… fodder for drama.
If I’d managed to keep my distance, emotionally, if I’d managed to keep feelings out of it, I might be okay with them using me as a foil to Isadora.
To being the low class, down to earth working girl to her blue blooded pedigreed perfection, but the problem is that a huge chunk of me, both omega and Florence, feels like this pack is mine.
And so when they make subtle digs about my life and my upbringing, where I’m from, it hurts. Badly.
Because that makes my omega think we’re not good enough for our pack. She reads it as a rejection, when really… there isn’t any type of relationship to reject. But omega and alpha instincts aren’t logical like that.
“You’re right, Pixie,” Court says, sliding off the lounger and onto his knees in front of me, hands pressing into the cushion on either side of my thighs. “Of course, you're right. What happened today was unacceptable. And it won’t happen again.”
“Because I’m going home.”
“You aren’t going home,” Grieves growls at me. “Stop saying that, bubbles.”
“You’d be foolish not to send me home,” I mutter, folding my arms over my chest. “People will question it, seeing as you scored me so low.”
“What can we do to make this right, cor mea?” The prince asks leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees, twisting his head to look at me. “Do you want us to have the production crew call everyone back so we can redo your scores? Give more honest answers?”
I frown at him. “What?”
Court nods. “Yeah. We should do that. It’ll take a bit to set up, but we can redo your scores.”
“No-”
“Piers, see if you can track down the producer.”
“Guys-my lords, that’s-”
“Maybe we should do the kisses again, too? Just for consistency’s sake.”
“That’s enough!” I push to a stand hands fisted at my sides, making their conversations stall out as they all look at me in surprise.
Even Piers who had been halfway out of the cabana pauses, looking back over at me.
“We aren’t redoing the scores, or the kisses or anything.
If we do, they’ll just use this as another way to say I manipulated you. ”
“How would anyone know?”
I motion at the surrounding area, the production staff, the other omegas, the staff of the resort.
“It’s not exactly a secret. If you think for one second that Isadora wouldn’t leak that I threw an omega hissy fit and made you give me better scores, then you really have no idea who you’re going to bond with. ”
All of them slump, bodies caving in defeat.
“You just-” I glance out to the pool and then back. “You just shouldn’t have done it in the first place. Learn from this. Do better. Be fucking better.”
“We will,” Forsythe says softly. “We’ll do better with you, cor mea. For you.”
I shake my head. “Don’t do it for me. In the long run it won’t matter, will it? Do better for you. For your pack. For your country. The people who are going to watch this show and see the way you treat us and take their cues from you.”
The prince nods slowly. “You’re right.”
I scoff. “Of course, I’m right. You should know by now that’s always the case.”
Court barks out a relieved breath, like this is some kind of sign that I’ve forgiven them. Thayer and Grieves’ shoulders relax. The corners of Forsythe's mouth tip up.
“We’ll strive to remember that in the future, killer.”
I try to hide the flicker of hurt that statement causes. There is no future. Not for us. Not beyond the next few days.
Forsythe’s brows drop and he scrubs a hand over his perfectly manicured beard. “I know you just finished a yoga session, but would you be willing to do another with a group of beginners?”
He’s staring at me intently. They all are, and I can see this for what it is. A peace offering. A signal to the rest of the world that they might have been harsh in their rating of my kisses, but that doesn’t mean they don’t like me, they don’t want to still spend time with me.
“Speak for yourself,” Court sniffs. “I’m practically an intermediate now.”
I giggle at that. I can’t help it. Despite joining me for practice nearly every day, Court is still just as inflexible as ever and his poses seem to be getting worse. Though I suspect that might have to do with how much he likes having me touch him to help correct his posture.
The giggle melts into a sigh, and I shake my head. “Fine. But this doesn’t mean I forgive you. It's more like I… tolerate you.”
The prince’s mouth curls into a smile, small, but it reflects in his eyes. Like he’s actually happy I’m willing to give them even this much.
“We’ll take it, cor mea. Anything you’re willing to give us.”
I shiver as I lead the way back to the little section of the pool deck I’ve all but claimed as mine, his declaration striking a chord deep within me. Not so much because of the words, but because I think he means them.