Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Marigold
The Luxe Omega.
Even now, a day later, the words don’t feel real.
The surprise announcement replayed in conversations the entire rest of the ball. And in my head. I heard it in the quiet moments between breaths and surprise hit me again. And again.
No one had seen it coming. That was obvious from the sharp silence afterward, the gasps and the whispers that followed me no matter where I went.
It had been hard, but I hadn’t let myself react on the outside. The moment Frederick spoke the words into existence, I lifted my chin and walked into the garden exactly like the other Omegas had before me, graceful and composed like it meant nothing at all.
Inside, though?
Inside, I was shaking.
Adrenaline surged hot and fast and potent and my head spun.
Every stare in the garden clung to me. I felt them trailing over my skin as I moved through the crowd, heard the hushed conversations erupting in my wake.
Some excited. Some jealous. Some confused.
The Luxe Omega.
No, it’s not me. It can’t be me.
The label changed the way people looked at me in an instant.
And the moment my family got the chance, they all pulled me aside, one after another.
Heath was downright over the moon, and I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him smile so much.
He hugged me tight enough to lift my feet off the floor, talking a mile a minute about how proud he was, how incredible this was going to be, how everyone was already asking him to set up dates with me.
Mom was even worse. A complete flutter of excitement, bouncing between fixing my hair, touching my face, and nearly tearing up every five minutes.
But Iris… She had been quieter. Not upset exactly, but thoughtful in a way that made me nervous.
“You can’t let the title decide everything for you,” she’d told me when she finally pulled me aside near the edge of the tent.
“No matter what the Monarch or Heath says, follow your heart through the Season, Mari. This is about the rest of your life. No one else’s.
They don’t have to live with these decisions. You do.”
I’d almost laughed hearing something so openly romantic come from her, but maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Last year, Iris spent half the summer fighting against her own place in the Season before Killian and Xavier barreled into her life and changed everything. As much as she didn’t want it, love smacked her in the face, double time.
And when Iris’s gaze drifted toward the crowd where Reece moved between guests with trays of tiny finger foods balanced carefully in his hands, I wondered if she really could hear my thoughts. Or hear my heart, which was skipping stupidly in my chest.
The rest of the night blurred afterward.
My mini tablet filled almost immediately after the announcement, names stacking beneath each other faster than I could keep up.
I danced until my feet ached, talked until my throat burned, and smiled so much my cheeks hurt.
Everywhere I turned someone else wanted to congratulate me, speak to me, dance with me.
It was overwhelming. I barely remember heading to my room when the ball was over, stripping off my dress, and collapsing in bed, beyond exhausted.
I still am.
We just got back from the first day out by the water for one of the group picnics. But this time, I couldn’t find a tree to sit under and draw like usual. No. This time I spent hours smiling, the center of attention.
While some of the girls were outright bitchy, others sidled up, ready to suddenly be my best friend, and Alicia…
Well. Alicia was Alicia.
Ice. Blonde. Beautiful. Her personal invisible mask firmly in place.
There are times that I can’t help but think we’re more alike than anyone gives us credit for.
No one seems to see past our faces, our smiles. Our being Omega. Rich. Well-bred. A great prospective mate.
I close my eyes. Rue is yelling outside in the hall, trying to verbally provoke Dahlia into doing something with her, and Heath is yelling from downstairs to shut the hell up.
At least life is back to normal. Sorta.
I’m not sure my life will ever be fully back to normal after last night. Especially not now. I’m the Luxe.
I open my eyes and change into one of my regular sun dresses, this one lilac and green, pulling fabric into place with numb fingers and deadened limbs. Then I take my pastels, pencils, and a sketchbook out to the garden to make the most of the late afternoon sun.
Somewhere I don’t have to be the Luxe. Somewhere I can breathe and exist as me.
Finding solace in the shade of the gazebo near a row of Mom’s rosebushes, their scent perfuming the backyard, I draw.
At first the lines are nothing, but soon I loosen up and curves and shadows appear to make a sketch I can go over with the pastels. The roses I’ll do in pencil. I don’t mind mixed media.
But the picture turns into something on its own…into me and Reece. My pulse stutters and spikes.
His face again.
I trace my fingers in the air over his likeness.
He’ll never be built like most of the Alphas I danced with at the ball, and I don’t mind. I prefer his build to a man full of muscle. I adore his brain.
More than that, I love his kind, sweet heart. He’s thoughtful and insightful. Caring without expecting anything to come from it.
I draw bees and butterflies around us. In the fantasy brought to life I’m wearing a crown of daisies, and if I had to guess, he probably made it for me.
There’s so many more ways to lie in reality than there is in art. In my sketch, he is looking at me like we belong together, and I’m…happy.
Really happy. Not the fake stuff.
There’s no more old grief, the kind worn into my bones. Our expressions are fresh and open and full of possibility.
“Mari!”
Oh, shit. Heath.
I glance down at the page, at me and Reece, and panic grips me. I fumble to snap the sketchbook shut and set it beside me just in time.
“Hey, there you are.” Heath’s gaze scrapes over me, and he frowns. “What are you doing out here?”
“Fresh air? Have you heard of it before?”
He snorts. “You should have had your fill at the picnic by the river. Where’s your tablet?”
“Left it in my room. Why?”
Stay calm. My pulse races, thundering in my ears. What if he’d caught me?
Heath motions toward the house, absentmindedly straightening his tie. I’m not sure why he’s dressed so formally today—all sharp lines and business perfection—but he is.
I know Dahlia slipped away early from the picnic, muttering something about lessons again, but after that, my memories of Heath are strangely sparse. I remember him arriving with us, offering a few polite greetings, and then nothing until he reappeared announcing the car was ready to head home.
But I don’t ask about it. He always keeps busy.
“Why? You haven’t looked at your mini recently, have you?” He holds my tablet up and I gasp, snatching at it, but he lifts his arm, holding it above his head.
I point at him with a glare. “You were in my room.”
He ignores me. “You have multiple date offers already, most I’ve already confirmed. Your week is getting pretty full. You may want to keep up with things so it all doesn’t get overwhelming.”
“Careful, Heath,” I tease through gritted teeth. “You keep talking like that and people are going to start thinking you are looking out for me.”
“Who are you? Iris?” he huffs. “Please don’t tell me she’s rubbing off on you.”
“Hey, she found her mates last Season. She’s happy.”
She deserves it. So do I.
“It was a rough road, but she got there,” Heath says. “And of course I care about you. I’m your brother. I care about all of you.”
I don’t argue because I know he’s telling the truth. But he has an interesting way of showing it.
Glancing down, he checks his watch and then passes the mini tablet to me. “Ah, shit. I’m late.”
“Late?” I ask. “Late for what?”
“Can I count on you to go over your dates for this week on your own?” he goes on like I didn’t even speak. “If there are any Alphas you don’t like, deny the invite. I’ll handle the rest.”
Wow. He’s letting me control my own dates? He never let Violet or Iris do that.
It takes me a second, but when I find my voice again, I mutter, “Thanks. I will.”
He nods before walking toward the house, his brotherly duty accomplished.
Alone again, I glance toward the shed. For a brief second, I consider going over there to see if Reece is inside working on one of his inventions, but the way my stomach twists at the thought of him, it’s better if I don’t.
After everything at the ball and after the way my heart keeps doing embarrassing things whenever I look at him, it’s better to give him space. To give myself space.
So instead, I head inside.
Things are different now that I’m Luxe.
Voices drift from deeper in the house immediately.
“Hi, Heather, so horrible to see you again,” Quinn says with dramatic flair, almost giddy despite her words.
I follow the sound and slow to a stop in the doorway of the living room.
Heath leans against the back of the sofa, while Quinn lounges across it like she owns the place, eyes bright with mischief as she gives my brother endless grief.
It’s obvious to me something is going on between them, something neither of them wants to admit to themselves. They’d rather just push each other’s buttons every day. What type of love language is that? I’m not sure.
Heath pulls Quinn’s red hair and leans over the couch, getting closer. “That’s all you got, Pippi Longstocking? All these years, and all you can come up with is changing my name to ‘Heather’?”
“Yep, all these years and it still gets under your skin,” she says with a wicked smile. “If it ain’t broke…”
He points at her, and she grabs his tie, pulling it askew until he growls. “It’s a marvel you’re still not mated, Beta. What is this? Your fifth Season?”
“Second. But technically this is your…seventh? Right?”
He scoffs, meeting her glare and tugging his tie free, but he’s still getting closer…
The air’s thick as I hover, unsure if I should go in or back slowly away. But Quinn sees me, jerks on the tie, and slides off the couch as my brother topples over the back and lands in the space she just vacated.
A small laugh escapes me. “Hi, Quinn.”
Heath is rumpled when he jumps to his feet, and he struggles to fix his tie.
Quinn smiles wide, tossing a leather jacket over her arm. “Iris wanted this. She left it here last night.”
“She could’ve come and gotten it her damn self,” Heath mutters.
“Maybe she’s tired of seeing your ugly mug, Heather,” Quinn says. “I know I am.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “I think it’s time to get the locks changed. It’s long overdue.”
She flutters her eyelashes at him.
“Witch.”
Rolling her eyes, she heads for the door, giving my arm a quick affectionate squeeze on the way out.
Flustered, Heath drags a hand through his hair and paces a few restless steps. I bite back a laugh. Even men like my brother can become completely pathetic over a woman. And when it comes to Quinn, he certainly is just that—pathetic.
I wonder if Iris knows.
“I thought you were late for something,” I remind him.
“I am.” Heath glances at his watch again and immediately swears. “Shit.”
But before he can escape, I narrow my eyes. “Not so fast.”
He groans.
“What was that all about?”
He glances at the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do.” I point accusingly at him. “Between you and Quinn. Something’s going on.”
“You’re insane.” Apparently the floor is more interesting than I am because he’s doing everything to avoid my eyes.
“You like her.”
“No, I don’t,” he’s quick to say.
I stifle a laugh. “You totally do.”
“She’s a pain in the ass.”
“You always torment her.”
“She’s always pushing my buttons!”
“You’re emotionally stunted.”
He rolls his eyes and takes his keys out of his pocket. “Whatever. I’m leaving.”
“You like her,” I continue, grinning now. “Actually like her like her.”
His head snaps toward me, irritation flashing hot across his face. “That’s utter bullshit and you know it.”
I let his tone roll off me. “Is it?”
“Yes,” he snaps. “Christ, Mari, she’s a fucking Beta.”
The words hit me wrong immediately. “What does that matter?”
“Come on, you know. I’m an Alpha,” he says, like the word alone should explain everything. “She’s a Beta. There’s no way it would work between us. Besides, why would I ever be with someone like Quinn Hyde?”
“What the hell do you mean?” I ask. “Why wouldn’t you?” For some reason, his tone or his expression, the situation strikes me oddly.
“Have you seen her? She is the complete opposite of my type.”
So what? I stare at him. “Heath—”
“And now I’m late.” He spits out another curse. “I need to grab dinner to go before I leave.”
He turns and heads toward the kitchen.
Then I hear it. A tiny, broken sound.
A sob.
My stomach drops.
I whip toward the foyer in time to catch a flash of flame-red hair disappearing through the front door. The slam echoes through the house a second later.
Oh no.
Quinn. She heard.
All of it.