Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
Marigold
“Don’t you think?” Caleb Duncan says, looking at me expectantly.
“Absolutely,” I murmur, scrambling to piece together enough of whatever he’s been saying to sound convincing as he guides me across the dance floor. “Tell me more.”
Men love it when you give them the go-ahead like that.
And he does tell me more. Much, much more. Endlessly. Something about a winter trip before Christmas and skiing somewhere elite enough that I immediately stop retaining details.
As he spins me through another turn, I catch Penrith’s eye across the ballroom.
She’s seated near the edge of the dance floor, elegant as ever, silver hair gleaming beneath the chandeliers. When she notices me looking, she offers me the smallest smile. It’s warm. Fond, even. Like she’s witnessing the beginning of something wonderful before anyone else realizes it’s started.
The thought sends a strange flutter through my chest before Caleb sweeps me into another turn. Does she think he’s the Alpha for me?
I hadn’t even considered him as a real contender. He has blond hair, a big nose, and a mouth crowded with straight teeth as large as a pony’s.
Maybe I’m being too harsh…
At least he’s trying to engage me with his stories. All three thousand of them, with no space for breath in between.
I laugh at something he says, hoping it’s the right place for a laugh, but he touches nothing inside me.
The music ends, and after exchanging polite pleasantries, Caleb moves off to find his next dance partner.
My skin breaks out in a cold sweat. I need a drink. I need space. I need fresh air, but my mini pings and my next dance alert pops onto the screen. Great. Another boring person who is bound to leave me underwhelmed. My teeth grind together.
“Hi.”
I spin around to see another Omega dressed in a black feathered cocktail dress standing there holding two cups of the spiced punch. Her style reminds me a bit of Iris’s, but more dangerous with metal-spiked jewelry and thick wedged leather heels.
“Punch?” she offers.
I don’t recognize her, which is unusual since most of the families attending the Season events are all the same, year after year.
But she has a round face and is about a foot shorter than me.
Rue-sized, if I had to compare, but if she’s here dressed to theme, that means she’s at least twenty-one years old too.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting it.
“This is so strange, don’t you think?” she asks, voice low. “It doesn’t quite feel real.”
I suck in a breath. “It can be a bit overwhelming. All the lights and music and—”
“Costumes?” She chuckles. “It reminds me a bit of Halloween.”
“I can see the comparison.” I smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. Are you new to Sabine?” I sip the drink. It’s not only spiced but spiked with some kind of booze that burns when it goes down. I try not to cough.
Her blue eyes watch me. “New to the Season but not to Sabine.”
It takes me a moment to realize what she means. Then it hits me.
She’s not from the Upper Side. She’s one of the Omegas who is part of Iris’s class-inclusion initiative. One of my sister’s requirements for the Monarch when she took the Council position.
“You’re from the Lower Side?” I ask tentatively.
The Omega takes a big swallow of her drink and doesn’t flinch. “Midtown, technically. But I spend more time in the Lower Side than up here. This is my first time participating in the Season and one of these…things.” She waves a hand to encompass the room.
I laugh. “It can be a bit of a culture shock.”
“That’s one way to put it,” she says dryly, glancing around the ballroom. “Everyone here looks so polished. Like they’ve spent their whole lives practicing how to pose in expensive clothes. It makes me feel like an imposter.”
“Most of them probably have practiced their whole lives,” I say. “But I’m sure they feel the same way you do. Like they’re playing a part.”
Like I am.
“Hmm.” Her gaze drifts over the dancers swirling across the floor. “I’m not sure how this helps someone find their mate. Negotiating trade agreements instead of flirting? Odd. Where is the chemistry? Where is the authenticity?”
Her comments catch me off guard, and rather than wait to think of something witty, I laugh harder.
The Omega grins, looking oddly pleased with herself.
“I think my sister Iris would agree with you,” I admit.
“I like Iris,” she says immediately. “She’s trying to change things.”
I nod. “She is.”
“I can’t begin to tell you how excited my mom was when she got the letter about me joining the Season.” The Omega studies me over the rim of her punch cup for a long moment. “But what about you, Luxe Omega? What do you think about all this?”
The title still gives me pause every single time.
“I’m Marigold. But I prefer Mari,” I say and glance down at my drink. “And honestly? I’m still figuring it all out.”
“Ah, well,” she says after a moment, stepping back as another song begins to swell through the ballroom, “for what it’s worth, I think you’re handling it better than most people would.
I don’t think I could do what you do.” Before I have a chance to answer, she lifts her drink toward me in a tiny salute.
“Good luck tonight, Mari. I guess I’ll be seeing you around. ”
Then she disappears into the sea of feathers and glittering gowns.
I blink after her. What a whirlwind meeting. She seems nice, though. Honest.
This world may eat her alive.
But I’m glad more Omegas and Alphas are being brought into the Season. It shouldn’t only be the richest families in Sabine that participate.
It isn’t until Gregory Witmore walks up to me for our scheduled dance that I realize I never got her name.
And she’s right. I’m sure I’ll be seeing her again soon.
I do my duty, dancing with the list of Alphas on my mini.
Each one asks the same things, each one boasts and metaphorically thumps his chest the same way. They all claim they’ll make a good mate for an Omega.
I could pick any of them and they’d mark me tomorrow if I wanted. We could be mated within the month, ready to live in bliss, and I’d be pregnant soon after. Part of me wonders what is preventing me from going ahead and being done with it. But the other part of me…
It knows.
A hollowness spreads inside me as the night goes on, but I play my part. I smile and nod. I answer when it’s expected. When my most recent dance partner kisses my gloved hand and moves off, I welcome the small breather.
There hasn’t been a moment to myself between responsibilities. Even my small conversation with the Midtown Omega feels like a distant memory.
I drift toward the edge of the ballroom near one of the champagne towers, grateful for a moment where no one is asking me rehearsed questions about my hobbies or desire for future children.
My hand wraps around a flute of champagne I don’t want.
“Have you seen him?” Alicia whispers loudly to the two Omegas near her. Loud enough for me to hear without trying.
They cluster near the small band of musicians who are changing their music sheets for the next song.
“That new Alpha? The one in white?” One of them gasps. It’s Melissa Gilderoy in her peacock feathers again. “Oh yeah. I saw. Do you recognize him?”
Alicia shakes her head, blonde curls bouncing all around her face. “He’s wearing a mask, but I don’t think he’s from around here. I don’t recognize him at all.”
“So mysterious,” the third Omega coos. I think her name is Nichole or Nina, something like that. “Do you think he’s from the Lower Side?”
“Must be,” Melissa replies. “Or he could be from the mainland. He isn’t wearing any blocker.”
A group gasp rings out. “Oooh!”
My interest piques. A new Alpha who isn’t wearing a blocker? Interesting.
“I haven’t seen him dance with anyone tonight,” Alicia goes on.
The three of them crowd around their mini tablets, feathers and jewels colliding as they whisper furiously.
“His name has to be on here somewhere,” Alicia says as she scrolls. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t care what his name is,” Melissa says. “He’s tall.”
She says it like his height is the most important attribute to a man.
“And did you see his shoulders?” the other adds. “And his mask?” She fans herself dramatically. “I swear the feathers make him look even hotter.”
I bite back a laugh. They’re practically foaming at the mouth over a guy. It’s a bit pathetic. I haven’t seen one Alpha here tonight worth foaming for.
My own mini tablet pings with another dance, but this time I deny the dance request without even looking at the name and put it into my handbag. I’ve hit my Alpha limit tonight.
The ballroom suddenly feels too hot. Too loud.
Whoever the mystery Alpha in white is, I don’t want to stick around to see him. My feet ache, my dress clings to sweaty skin, and the empty cavern of my abdomen can’t be filled with more champagne. Or conversation.
I scan the crowd, searching for Heath. Maybe we can leave early. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I’m fairly certain I’ve heard the phrase strong future bloodline enough times tonight for it to qualify as psychological warfare.
Time to go.
But when I finally spot my brother near the far side of the room, he’s trying—and failing—to wrestle a phone away from Rue.
“Give it to me,” Heath growls under his breath while Rue dances backward through the crowd with the phone lifted high over her head.
“No! Who is Lana? Your face when her text popped up was hilarious.”
“Rue—”
“O.M.G.! She texted you three times!”
“Rue.” His voice goes dark.
“She used a heart emoji, Heath!” Her laughter echoes off the chandeliers.
He lunges for the phone. Rue yelps and ducks away again, nearly crashing into a passing Alpha.
I immediately decide I want no part in whatever disaster is unfolding over there. Instead, I slip through one of the side doors leading onto the back patio. Cool night air brushes against my overheated skin, and I exhale slowly in relief.