Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Walking into my favorite place, hand-in-hand with my scent match, is surreal. Her candy scent wraps around me, coating me with its sweetness, and the beast in my chest preens as she squeezes my fingers, communicating her need for extra comfort.
Both omegas are amazing, it seems, and the fact that they’ve been best friends since they were kids is mind-blowing. Still, the guys and I have been treating them to different dates, because at the end of the day, they are different people.
Well, they are very alike in a lot of ways after growing up attached at the hip, but their differences are distinctive even to the most ignorant of people.
Elsie is creative and whimsical. From our brief chats, I’ve learned that she loves books, art (maybe not to the same degree as me, but she’s receptive), philosophy. She is attuned to nature, and that shows as she leans her head back and smiles at the feeling of the sun’s rays against her face.
Casey has a soft heart, but there’s a wall of resistance to get to it.
He’s protective, fiercely so, and that fire gleams in his eyes every time we are together.
I can tell he wants to let go, wants to be the omega he innately is, but there’s something holding him back.
A small part of me thinks the omega by my side might be the cause.
It may not be Halloween anymore, but there are still rogue decorations in the lobby waiting to be packed away from another year.
After paying for our tickets, I guide her to the first room.
It’s a vast space, with a high ceiling and precisely placed paintings all over the walls, like an expert game of Tetris.
We head over to the empty bench in the center to sit.
“I hope this is an okay place for a first date,” I comment a bit self-deprecatingly.
She swings her gaze to mine. “What are you talking about? I love museums.”
My head tips into a curt nod, relief shooting through my body.
“I thought it was appropriate,” I finally say. “More than anything, Elsie, I want you to know me. There’s no other place that will do that better.”
Her brows rise and her lips quirk. “Oh? Is this one of your favorite places?”
“Museums in general are my favorite. It’s where I hope to be for the rest of my life.”
She stays quiet, waiting for me to elaborate as we sit serenely.
“I want to be a curator,” I tell her, and her eyes sparkle to life. “You know, oversee a museum’s inventory, navigate the story it wants to tell.”
“That’s beautiful.”
Her words sound genuine, her tone airy and beautiful. I can’t help it as my gaze roams over her ethereal face.
She looks like she belongs in a fairy painting.
“It’s the only thing I’ve ever loved more than soccer. Soccer is discipline and hard work. Museums are the same, but there’s a whimsical quality to it that seems effortless. I want to do the hard work to give that effect to others just passing through.”
“Oh, so you’re an artist,” she says, and although it sounds teasing, there’s a hint of admiration.
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” I agree.
“What are you studying for that?” she asks curiously.
“Anthropology. There’s not many of us, but we all get a much better learning experience that way.”
She looks around the room, taking in all the long, wide paintings. When her eyes come back to mine, I inhale sharply. Even the barest of glances from her takes my breath away.
“Will you walk me through this museum’s story?”
My heart skips a beat. “I’d love to.”
From there, I begin to ramble about anything and everything we come across.
It’s like word vomit that I can’t push back in because I’ve never been able to be so free with this stuff before.
Most people aren’t interested, or just pretend to be, but she is so deliberate with the way she asks follow-up questions, points out little details, and makes her own comments on pieces of history.
When we come to one of my favorite paintings, we stop, and I let a soft smile curve at my lips.
“This is one of the first pieces I ever fell in love with.” I look over it for the millionth time, loving the warm colors and how carefree the women in the painting look.
Elsie’s eyes trail over it before looking down at the plaque beneath it. “How do you pronounce that?” she asks.
“‘Shakuntala.’”
“It’s beautiful,” she responds, her eyes darting to my lips. “This is one of the first paintings that made you fall in love with art?”
I nod. “It reminds me of the women in my family. Of our culture.”
She smiles, but her eyes are inquisitive. “Were your parents born here?”
“They were, but none of my grandparents were. All four of them came over from India around the same time, met and became friends. They had my parents, who grew up together, and the rest was history.”
Something flashes in her eyes. “That’s incredible. Have you been to India?”
“When I was a baby, my grandparents moved back to India. I go there all the time, and they visit occasionally.”
“I bet it’s a dream,” she says. “My grandparents are from Iceland, but not the pretty part. A really cold part that smells like fish.”
Her nearly white hair catches my attention. “Is Elsie short for something Icelandic, then?”
She shakes her head. “Nope, just Elsie. When I was younger, I wished it were more unique, but now I love it.”
I fiddle with my fingers, anxiety wracking me as I speak again.
“You know, you can always call me Rai,” I tell her. “If that’s easier for you.”
She pauses, thinking. “Does anyone else call you Rai?”
“My friends from high school would, besides Brodie and DJ. No one could really pronounce my name.”
Her lips turn into the cutest frown and her nose scrunches.
“They could have tried harder,” she responds. “I will call you by your name, Raivat.”
Something about the definite way she says it makes my stomach dip. “Thank you, Pari.”
She squints slightly, a playful smirk curling at her lips. “You’ve said that a few times now. What does it mean?”
“It means ‘fairy,’” I tell her, and her eyes shine with that new information. “When I first saw your pictures on Brodie’s phone, that’s what I thought. That you looked celestial, like a fairy.”
She leans over, so close that I have to hold my breath. “You are full of secrets, Alpha,” she says, her eyes hypnotizing as she licks her lips.
I exhale slowly. “And I will spill every single one of them to you, for as long as you’ll let me.”
I don’t expect it when she kisses me, the action taking me completely by surprise. Her lips are soft, lip gloss sticking to me as my eyes flutter shut. It’s slow and life-altering, my heart beating in rhythm with hers.
Never in a million years did I think we’d end up here, all because of an app no less, but I am so freaking grateful we are.
When she pulls away, I’m panting and her face is flushed.
“Ready for”—I take a breath—“more art?”
Her smile is wide and beautiful. “Lead the way.”