Chapter 9
Andromeda
“Andromeda, your mother needs to speak with you.” Stuart materializes next to me, holding out his phone.
The makeup artist glances at him, shifting to the side to work on my other eye to give the beta some space to talk to me.
“I’ll take it,” I sigh.
My comment has Stuart’s eyes narrowing on me, their icy depths sending a shiver down my spine.
I don’t even know why I’m talking. It’s not like I could say no to a call from my mother, even if I wanted to.
“Good morning, Andromeda,” Gina says, her voice even more grating through the phone.
“Morning, Mom.”
“Have you seen the new headlines? The Fletchers have released a statement on Ezra going to rehab. They’ve expressed great remorse for the incident and hope for bright futures for everyone involved, after Ezra gets the help he needs. Isn’t that lovely?”
The empty, rehearsed words fall flat against the memory of Ezra in my apartment. As much as that freaked me the hell out, him showing up at my place to speak to me—really speak to me, not through our publicists or media statements—means something more than this cookie-cutter statement.
Because of the family he comes from and the PR company his father can afford, and because of his status as an alpha, the only real consequences Ezra will face will come at the hands of me and his father.
I can’t be there for him anymore. That’s a natural consequence of him cracking my head open.
I also can’t be there to help act as a buffer between him and his father.
I hate my fucking designation. Maybe it’s an omega thing to constantly feel like my heart is bleeding for the people I can’t help.
“Are you listening to me, Andromeda?” Gina says.
“Yes, Mom.”
No, I wasn’t.
And now that I think about it, maybe it’s not an omega thing, considering Gina Sterling only thinks of herself.
“Don’t you dare lie to me,” she hisses.
“Sorry, I think it’s the lingering effects of the concussion,” I say, trying to fight the urge to bite my lips, considering the makeup artist working on me would probably chew me out for messing things up. “Could you repeat what you said?”
“Fine,” she huffs. “I was saying that you’d better not fuck things up. This male omega is the biggest fucking diva I’ve ever met! The demands they included in the contract were insane.”
“Insane? Insane how?” That doesn’t sound like the Beck I know.
The Beck I know has been sending me cute puppy videos, seemingly in an attempt to cheer me up. I’m more of a cat person, but I haven’t found the heart to tell him that yet.
“They’re handling the entire schedule! The only thing I was able to get on the books is this campaign for American Eagle because I could get you both in earlier than their connections could. They’re stonewalling me! I had to fight to make sure that Stuart was there to watch over you.”
My eyes dart to Stuart, whose version of “watching over me” includes his gaze lingering a little too long on my body, only covered in a thin black silk robe. I know the man is into my mom, but that doesn’t take away the creep-factor he exudes at these shoots.
I really wish he weren’t here.
“Wow, that’s pretty crazy,” I say, giving Gina the response she needs to move on.
“Isn’t it? Okay, dear, it’s time for confessionals. I’m going to hang up, and you’re going to call me back and ask me to cancel our Sunday night dinner.”
I have to bite back the groan that’s fighting its way up my throat.
I know the drill with this sort of thing. I grew up with cameras in my face and boom mics hovering above me since I was a child. If anyone thinks most reality shows aren’t scripted to the Gods, then they need their own reality check.
“Okay, why exactly am I asking to cancel our weekly Sunday night dinner?” Our weekly Sunday night dinner that we don’t actually have. We have them maybe a couple of times a year, normally before the release of a new season of her show, and they are set up very publicly
“Because that’s the night of your first date with the male omega, of course! Hasn’t someone sent you the schedule?”
“No, Mom, no one’s sent me the schedule.”
“Hmm, well, I’m sure someone will give it to you today. Now then, are you ready?”
“Yeah, I’m ready—”
She hangs up before I even finish.
My eyes fall shut, and I take a deep breath to collect myself. The makeup artist applying foundation to my face pauses.
“Sorry,” I mumble, shooting her an apologetic glance. She just shrugs, returning to her work.
I tap on my mom’s contact, shooting her another call. She lets it ring a few times—probably to explain to the camera that it’s her daughter calling—before picking up.
“Hello, my dear!” Gina says.
I let her voice wash over me. This is the version of my mom that I dream about. Sometimes, in moments where I feel like living is just floating through an empty void, I remember the phantom touch of her, light against my skin from when I was a child, before the unbonding changed her.
“Hi Mom,” I say, my voice a little too thick with real and genuine emotion for my liking.
“What’s going on with you? You’ve been such a busy, busy beaver these days.”
If only her affection for me were real. I’ve long since come to terms with the idea that I’ll never be a good enough daughter for her to actually care about me when the cameras are off, but moments like these always feel like such a cruel reminder.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “I have been. I was just wondering if we could rain check our Sunday night dinner?”
“Oh? Of course! You never miss our dinners, want to share what’s so important that you need to reschedule?”
“I um, I have a date. With a pretty special someone.”
There’s a muffled noise on the other end of the call, like she’s covering the microphone with her hand to talk to the camera. Probably something about how babies grow up so fast.
“Exciting! You’ll have to bring him around to one of our dinners sometime soon then. I’d like to meet this special someone. Alright, I won’t keep you. I know you’ve probably got plenty of things you want to do other than talking to your mom.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, Andromeda.”
The phone falls to my lap as she hangs up the call.
I don’t know when the last time she said she loved me—actually loved me—was. It’s always in front of a camera or important people who need to see the image of the perfect mother-daughter duo.
Because of the press that follows her due to her past, she has to cling to the image of a dedicated mother who left an abusive situation to protect her daughter. It’s the only thing she has.
I don’t know how anyone buys it. I don’t think I’m a very convincing actress.
“Here’s your phone back,” I mumble to Stuart.
I’m saved from having to have a conversation with the beta when Beckham Knight comes in.
He freezes at the sight of me in the chair, his eyes going wide.
“Am I late?” he asks, spinning in a circle.
Leo pops his head into the room, offering me a nod in greeting.
“No, we’re on time.”
“My schedule is a bit different; I had to get here earlier because it takes longer for me to get ready. You’ve only got to get airbrushed, really. Your face and hair are so perfect you won’t need much work.”
The compliments slip out before I can stop them. They’re true, but it’s definitely a lot more forward than I normally am.
There’s a faint pinkish tint to his cheeks. The sight of it has my lower belly doing things that it probably shouldn’t.
He has no right looking that fucking perfect.
“Airbrushed?” he asks.
“Have you ever done any modeling before? They airbrush our bodies. It’s also got some de-scenter so things aren’t overwhelming on set.”
De-scenters are available at every drugstore in tons of different forms. The commercially available ones never erase an omega’s scent enough to completely hide their designation, but it definitely takes the edge off.
It’s honestly polite, because when an omega gets pissed or upset, it can be a pretty unpleasant experience to be around. Especially if you’re another omega or alpha, who react to scents and perfumes stronger.
“Oh wow,” he says, his eyes going wide as the other makeup artist starts to guide him towards a changing station in the room.
“You’ll be okay! It just tickles a bit.” The makeup artist lets out a little huff when I turn in the chair to offer him a reassuring smile.
The returning smile he flashes me is worth it.
My eyes remained glued to the mirror in front of me, giving me a prime view of when Beck steps out of the changing station in nothing but his boxers.
There’s a stereotype that omegas and alphas are like two peas in a pod. It makes sense. We’re biologically wired to want each other.
But Beck isn’t an alpha. He lacks the heavy shoulders, big bulk, and muscle mass commonly associated with any alpha who spends a minute breathing in the general direction of a gym.
Instead, his body is all sleek lines.
And I wouldn’t be able to hide the way my perfume sweetens in the air if my life depended on it.
His gaze jerks towards me as his nostrils flare when he catches it.
Whoops.
Everyone in the room is under ironclad NDAs not to discuss the events of this shoot without approval. It’s just how the industry works, especially because this campaign is happening before Beck and I have made our first public appearance as a couple.
But I think the way my scent acts as a bright neon sign pointing down at me, broadcasting how hot I think Beck is will probably reduce the number of people who think we’re faking it.
I’m sure the layers of airbrushing and foundation cover the flush I can feel across my face.
“I’m going to talk to Knight’s team,” Stuart says, resting a hand on my shoulder as he passes me.
“Okay,” I say, fighting the urge to brush his hand off me.
Beck’s expression shifts in the mirror, his gaze locked on Stuart’s hand. I guess Stuart being a bit creepy is the perfect distraction for getting airbrushed for the first time.
“Wow,” Beck says, once he’s done. He moves to my side, resting his own hand on my shoulder. The same shoulder Stuart just touched. “How do you not get overstimulated?”