Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
Violet
“ D on’t bite your nails, Violet.” Mom swats my hand away from near my mouth.
“I’m not.”
“Isn’t it a beautiful day, girls?” Mom beams and sweeps her gaze around the park where people are wandering and kids zipping about. The warmth of the sun in the cloudless sky strokes my face and makes sweat cling.
“Perfect,” I say, even though I had prayed hard for rain.
A band plays on the small open sound stage. The music is non-confrontational and about twenty years old but not even cool enough to be called retro. Since the picnic’s only a guise for the Monarch—Sophine—who is head of the Council and lives on the isle during the Season to observe and pick out a “lucky” Omega to be deemed her Luxe. The most beautiful and desirable Omega of them all .
Why does she do this? Tradition? Boredom? No one really knows why she focuses so much on Sabine in the summer, but that’s how it’s been forever and no one dares question her authority.
It’s hard not to wrinkle my nose at such strange and almost archaic customs, but I’ve had years of practice being the perfect daughter. Even before Dad’s accident, and Heath stepping away from finding a mate, I’ve known that the first-born Omega daughter is a duty I have to wear like a crown.
Best behavior, perfect manners, and generally being someone an Alpha would want by his side.
“Imagine,” Iris says, coming up behind me as Mrs. Hyde hijacks Mom’s attention. She points at the woman’s brightly colored dress that’s too tight for her and pinches her body in all the wrong ways. “What do you think goes on under that over-fluffed hair of hers? I bet it’s just the whistle of the wind blowing through her ears.”
“Iris Anne Gardener,” I say, trying not to laugh. “That’s our neighbor, Mom’s friend, and your best friend’s mother you’re talking about.”
She rolls her eyes. “She’s cruel to Quinn. I hear stories. And it doesn’t matter how rich the Hydes are, or that her brother’s an Alpha. For some reason, a once-celebrated Omega gave birth to Beta girls.”
“They can still get mated. Everyone can.” Not participate in the Season, though—only Omegas and Alphas can do that. But Beta, Delta, and Gamma girls can still find a match. It’s just that no one watches them under a microscope like they do with us.
At least on Sabine .
But I push that out of my head and smooth my fingers down the pretty floral fabric of the summer dress Mom picked for me. I fix my gaze on my sister. “Now go, find your friend, and keep out of trouble.”
“And if I want to get into trouble?”
I clutch my stomach. It’s been in knots since I woke up this morning. “Don’t, Iris. Please. This is the first Season we’re taking part in, and Mom…” I flounder for the words, for breath.
“Don’t worry, Vi, I know. Mom wants this, and she misses Dad. But you?—”
“This is Mom’s first real outing after Dad’s passing. It’s important we support her and we be the perfect family. So if you’re going to act up…”
I run an eye over her outfit: a dark-blue dress ending above the knee, showing off thick black lace stockings, and her chunky boots on her feet. She’s at least got her hair pinned up, but the audacious makeup is still her signature.
“Then go meet Quinn somewhere. You need to stay here for at least thirty minutes. You need to last that long.”
“I’m wearing a dress. What more do you want from me?” she hisses.
“For me, Iris. Be good for me.”
“Fine.” And she stomps off in search of her friend.
With her on her Iris version of good behavior, which will have to do, I search the crowd. Jade’s in green, her rich auburn hair dotted with sparkling green gems, her dress flowing and beautiful. We used to be friends in school. Same with Samantha Li, the pretty girl with the shining black hair shimmering with pearls. But they both look at me, lean in and cover their mouths, and giggle .
Heat shoots through every pore.
Dahlia’s standing off to one side, making sure Rue’s reined in. Which is an impossible task. As I get closer to them, ignoring the boys who catcall any girl passing, boys who aren’t yet ready for their Season, I make my way to the big, welcoming oak. And I take a moment to bask in the shade.
“Look.” Rue’s suddenly beside me, thrusting her phone at me.
The animated, sexy bee—if anthropomorphized animals can be sexy—slinks across her screen, pulling a banner behind her.
On it is a picture of a monarch butterfly with a board behind it, a board with girls pinned like insects to it.
“Oh, good god,” I say. “Anyone know if the Monarch’s seen this?”
“We’re trying to catch a glimpse of her, but she’s supposedly over there, in that cabana.” Rue points at the fanciest looking tent that’s set up. “All the QB says is?—”
“QB?”
“Queen Bee.” Dahlia rushes overs, out of breath. “It’s Rue’s new nickname for her, one she hasn’t shut up about since we got here.”
“Not my nickname,” Rue says. “I didn’t come up with it. But everyone’s using it on Stitch.”
I look at her. “What does the QB herself say?”
Rue holds the phone closer to her face to read. “‘Bee-siness not as usual. The Monarch herself is cocooned at the picnic. Is she going to emerge as something even better after her Season’s trip to her dermatologist? Or just pick her chosen girls? Honey pots in a row. Stay tuned.’”
“So nothing,” I say.
“ Everything ,” Rue squeals. “Do you think the Queen Bee is the Monarch in disguise?”
Both Dahlia and I turn to her. “No.”
“Fine.” Rue turns and races off, hair flying, toward a friend in a matching pair of flowery jeans and summer tank.
I sigh and lean against the tree, gazing out. There’s Heath in the distance. He’s munching on a finger sandwich among a copse of trees and rose bushes that lead down a path to one of the mazes. I can’t see who he’s talking to. A guy, one who’s at least as tall as Heath.
But though I’m drawn to find out, I make myself look away and try to center myself before having to make polite conversation with any potential mates.
“I wish Rue had put on a dress,” I say.
Dahlia, who’s wearing a long flowing dress with line-drawn flowers, shrugs. “She’s fourteen. Jeans for fifteen and under is allowed.”
I bite my lip, hating myself for being the watchdog, when all I want is for everyone to be happy, our family shining the way Mom wants it to.
“You don’t look like you want to mingle, Violet. You could sneak home.”
“I can’t do that to Mom. Besides, it’s my Season. I’m supposed to be getting a look at the eligible Alphas.”
“And the competition,” she says, as more Omegas pass with their families, all dressed up in their pastel colors and matching hair accessories.
“Mom—”
“Had hers.”
I turn to her and shake my head. “Mom wants what’s best for us, and so do I. And this is making her more like herself. After Dad’s death, I want that, don’t you?”
She nods.
“Besides…” I put on my brightest smile. “It’d be nice to finally have a mate who cares for me. Maybe make a pack of my own with lots of children.” It’s the perfect thing to say, something I’ve rehearsed in my head since it was decided this summer would be my Season.
Having a family and kids of my own is what I’ve always wanted, but now, the stress of getting those things is weighing down on me. It’s too much.
“Violet…” Dahlia’s voice is calm and full of concern.
I draw in a deep breath and paste on my faux smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“Can I come with you, at least?”
“Of course.”
We head out, arm in arm, and Marigold, who some might describe as flighty but is much sharper than others give her credit for, sees me and bounds over. “You need more backup?”
“I don’t need?—”
“You may want to reconsider. Mom’s working the picnic for you, but these girls are all out in their catty glory, so you need backup.” Mari leans in. “Besides, I want to catch a real glimpse of the Monarch herself. Do you think she’ll mingle?”
“I don’t think mingling is on her to-do list,” Dahlia murmurs.
“But,” Mari says, “she’ll have spies everywhere. Not to mention the Queen Bee.” She nods once. “Keep your eyes peeled.” Then she dances off .
As she does so, two girls approach us, both blonde. Lara I know, the other I don’t. Lara’s hair is the color of ice, and she wears the palest blue with sequins, gems, and glitter. It’s like an elevated summer dress pretending to be a ball gown. And the other girl is in gold to go with her gold hair. Her dress says fancy cocktail hour with the stars.
“Alicia, this,” Lara says, looking me up and down, “is Violet Gardener.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say politely.”
The other girl smiles prettily, but there’s no warmth in her blue eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Mari suddenly appears. “Cupcakes?”
The two girls rear back.
“No,” Lara hisses. “Do you know how much fat is in those?”
“And sugar?” Alicia says, the gold woven through her hair glinting. I get the sinking feeling I’m woefully underdressed. “Why not just offer us an XL on a plate.”
“Along with a heart attack.” Lara shudders.
Mari smiles and bites deeply into a cupcake, then closes her eyes and moans. “So buttery, so sweet, so good .”
Alicia looks down her nose as though she’s just seen something utterly disagreeable. “Just know you and your…common little family might have bred a whole lot of Omegas,” Alicia says, “but that’s nothing on real money, real beauty, real class. By first ball, no one will even know your name, Daisy.”
“It’s Violet ,” Dahlia says, voice tight and small.
“You have to admit,” Lara says, “you’ve never stood out, and looking at you now, you still don’t. But you were once nice to me, so I’ll make sure to send the leftovers your way. Rumor has it someone famous will be in the Season this year. And he’s all mine.”
“Mine, you mean,” Alicia says. “That dreamy movie star, Asher St. James.”
“Who?” I ask.
I know of him. His name is familiar, but I haven’t seen any of his movies, unlike Mari and Rue. But why would a famous Alpha come here to our little island when he has a dazzling career in Emporia?
“This isn’t a competition,” I tell them. “We’re looking for our mates, possibly our love matches. So I wish you both the best?—”
“Did you hear that? Little Miss Boring believes in love .” Lara smirks.
“You’ll get the dregs, if you’re lucky. Maybe on your fifth Season—” Alicia stops as someone barrels into her. Then she shrieks. “Oh my god. Wine? You spilled wine on me!”
“Oh no,” Iris deadpans. “My bad. And it’s not wine. It’s extra-concentrated cranberry juice. Very hard to get out.”
The two girls stare, Alicia close to tears.
“Of course you Gardener weeds would gang up,” Lara says. “But it won’t work.”
They stomp off, and people around us murmur, gossiping.
“I need to sit,” I say, staring at my sisters. I know Iris did it on purpose, and part of me thanks her, but the other part… Oh, man, what problems is this going to bring?
And like it or not, the Queen Bee will report it. Those girls will twist it. They’ll?—
“Come on, Daisy ?—
“Don’t call me that, Iris.”
“Violet.” She kisses my cheek, then rubs the lipstick off. “Let’s all go mingle. Now.”
“What if?—”
“If someone wants to report the incident, let them. I tripped, and they were being downright nasty, not becoming of Omegas ready to have their Season.” Iris links arms with me and Dahlia and Mari take my other side.
Rue sees us, waves bye to her friend, and rushes off to be with us, and together we join the picnic as a united front.