Episode 29 Public Displays of Peppers
Florence
We’re going to the ballet.
They informed me of that fact as our driver maneuvered the limo through the narrow Durvain streets.
Not just any ballet, though. The Royal Bravonnian Ballet. The one I would have danced in for a season had I not injured my knee.
When I tell them as much, they greet the news with a combination of concern and confidence. “So we would have met you no matter what,” Court says, snuggling into me even deeper.
“Is this going to be too hard on you?” Piers asks, running a hand through his hair anxiously. “To watch other dancers?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ll be fine. I came to terms with my situation a long time ago, dimples. And I’ve always loved watching other performers.”
The flash of cameras is almost blinding as we step out of the limo.
Grieves first, then Forsythe. He holds out a hand and helps Piers out of the car, pausing just long enough to press a quick kiss to our beta’s mouth.
The sight of it makes my eyes sting with tears.
Happy ones, of course. This is what Piers has always deserved.
“Sweet little pixie.” Court smacks a kiss on my cheek before he all but bounds out of the car waving at the crowd like a professional athlete taking the field before he too kisses Piers.
But it’s not a lingering peck like Forsythe had given him.
No, it’s much more heated and probably not all that appropriate for the public sphere.
The beta doesn’t seem to mind, though, blinking up at the alpha with a dazed but ecstatic expression on his face. Those dimples of his I love so much on full display.
Thayer moves to the door, glancing over at me as if to check my readiness for what’s to come. I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile, and he nods once, before he climbs out, moving to the side of the door as Forsythe steps in, offering his hand to me.
My heart thunders in my chest, nearly drowning out the sound of the questions being hollered at the pack…
and strangely enough at Isadora. I have this very brief flare of fear that they brought both of us here.
That even though they said earlier this wasn’t their way of telling the world they’re going to have two omegas, they were lying.
But I shake the thought away. Forsythe seemed genuine earlier, and I’m choosing to believe him. Believe them.
When I slide my hand into Forsythe’s he squeezes my fingers in reassurance, his brown eyes warm and soft as I slide from the car.
There’s an audible gasp as my blond head comes into view, as people see that the royal Ashbourne Pack brought not their betrothed to the ballet, but their fated mate instead.
There’s a moment where every member of the pack keeps their distance, letting the cameras catch a photo of me and the prince holding hands, and then they close in, keeping me in their center as we make our way toward the entrance.
The din of the crowd grows. Questions lobbed at us like grenades. Royal guards form a line of defense between us and them, but it still feels… unsafe. Exposed. Even though the crowd is relatively static. Only their voices pushing at us, not their bodies.
“Okay, Pix?” Court murmurs, ducking his head toward mine in a way that looks intimate.
“Yes,” I whisper back a little breathless because I’m not entirely okay. My chest feels a little tight, my breathing a little erratic. Not a full on panic attack, but… close.
Court frowns, green eyes scanning my expression. “You’re okay, Florence. Deep breaths, yeah?”
“Nothing is going to happen to you, bubbles,” Grieves growls, sounding like he means it. Like he’d ruin the world before he’d let anyone touch me.
I nod. “I know. This is just… it’s a lot.”
“Too much?” Piers asks.
I look up and find all of them standing around me in a circle, facing inward, heedless of the crowd, taking the time to verify that I am okay.
Court lifts worried eyes over my shoulder to where Forsythe is. “I told you this would be too much to spring on her.”
“Do you want to go home, cor mea? Back to the flat?”
Do I? I take a moment to really consider the options. It sounds divine if I’m honest. Putting on comfy clothes and cuddling on the couch with my pack. Exploring each other in a way that we haven’t been able to before. Slowly, at our leisure, at our own pace.
But this is a part of being with them. And I can’t help but see this as a kind of a test. One I really don’t want to fail.
Not that it would change their minds if I did. But that stubborn competitive streak I have is poking its head up.
I have to prove I can do this, that I’m capable of going out in public with the royal pack and not fall apart.
I shake my head. “No. No, it’s fine. I want to see the ballet. I want to stay.”
“You’re sure?” Thayer checks again. “If you’re uncomfortable-”
“I’m good.” I tell him, squeezing his arm in reassurance. “Promise.”
“If that changes you’ll tell us,” Forsythe demands.
I hum my agreement and turn toward the entrance, that seems to be no closer than it was when we exited the limo. “Let’s do this.”
They close in again, this time a little closer, a little more intimate, and while before we had been strolling, taking our time, letting everyone get a good look at the six of us together, now they pick up the pace, sweeping me along in their wake.
“Where’s Isadora tonight?” someone shouts and that has the pack pausing. Forsythe shifts a little closer to me, his hand a strong solid weight on my hip.
He turns his cool gaze to the man who shouted it and says mildly, “Not here, obviously. You should get used to seeing us without Isadora Aureline. It's bound to happen more frequently.”
Court muscles in on my other side. “What he means is we aren’t going to be seen with her ever again.”
My heart lurches and I blink up at the pack around me, not fully believing what I’m hearing.
But then Forsythe shifts his attention to me and everything about him softens. “Indeed,” he says without looking away from me. “We’ve found our fated mate and no one else will do but her.”
Cameras flash and I’m sure I look ridiculous with my mouth hanging open in shock. “Did you just claim me publicly?” I hiss at them as Forsythe gently nudges me toward the entrance of the theater.
“I did.”
“We did,” Thay stresses.
“And you… What about Isadora?”
“Not our problem anymore.” Courtland shrugs.
We step into the atrium and the elegantly dressed people inside all go quiet, tipping their bodies into bows or curtsies of respect for the pack around me before they all straighten.
But they don’t go back to what they were doing before we entered, watching as we move through the parting crowd toward the stairs.
I want to ask why they didn’t think to tell me they broke things off with Isadora earlier.
Like as soon as they entered the apartment, or in the limo or at any point before right this moment.
But I’m worried that the quiet of the room would make my question carry, and then people will know our private business.
No, better to wait until we’re seated.
I’m sure they have one of those fancy private boxes that overlooks the whole damn theater. I’ll press them for information then when we’re alone, when everyone around us isn’t pretending to not be listening in.
Look at you being all logical and grown up about this.
“Shall we find our seats?” The prince murmurs to me, like he knows I’m bursting with questions and is of the same mind that it’s a conversation that needs privacy.
At my nod, his hand finds my lower back and we move.
Everyone else does too, parting for us, as we pass through them, guards splitting the crowd in front of us, and following behind.
I keep my chin up, a small congenial smile on my face as we go, hoping that no one else can tell that I’m fighting back an anxiety attack.
My pack presses closer as we reach the stairs to the mezzanine. “We have a private box,” Thayer tells me from my other side. “We’ll have some privacy there. Get away from all these curious eyes.”
I smile up at him gratefully, as Forsythe laces my hand into the crook of his elbow to offer me stability as we start our ascension.
“Jalapeno!” I freeze halfway up the stairs.
Thayer’s hand flexes against my lower back.
The cameras in the lobby flash, capturing the moment.
I barely pay them any mind, my attention pulled to the male omega pushing his way through the throng to the base of the stairs, where he’s stopped by a line of guards.
“Excuse you,” he says sounding offended.
“That’s my jalapeno and I haven’t seen her in ages. Let me through.”
They don’t budge an inch, and Tristan looks up at me with an arched brow. “Are you going to do something about this?”
I look up at Forsythe, waiting for him to give the order, but he just meets my questioning gaze with a small smile curling his lips, waiting.
Oh. He wants me to give the order. This is him giving me… power. Telling the world that he trusts me with not just my own safety, but his as well. Oh, dear lord. I’m not sure a declaration of his love right here on the steps would have been more romantic than this.
Sythe arches a brow as if to say, ‘well?’
My lips part but no sound comes out. I clear my throat and try again. “You can let him through please.”
Immediately the guards part and Tristan gives them a disdainful look as he slips through the gap, taking the steps two at a time to crush me to his chest in a hug. “Missed you, Ren,” he murmurs. Dark chocolate and chili surround me, warm and decadent.
The prince lets out a low warning growl, that the omega ignores, holding me tighter for one moment before releasing me, gripping my shoulders and stepping back to look down at me. “God, you look bloody divine. Is this one of your designs?”
I finger the flowy fabric. “It is. I wasn’t planning on making it for myself, but…”
“But then you realized you were going to marry a prince and thought, why not me?”