Days like this are some of the worst, and I’m not quite sure I have the fortitude to wade through the Council’s unexpected matching announcement.
“Hey, Megs,” Charlotte says as she breezes into the room.
Her hair’s already tucked away in her satin bonnet, and she’s wearing one of the matching pajama sets I got her for Christmas last year. This one is baby blue and brings out the golden undertones of her light brown skin. She wedges herself onto the counter, crossing her legs and tucking her hands under her thighs. Her gaze lands on the packet for a moment before closing, and her throat moves with a delicate swallow.
Marcus comes in without fanfare, dressed in nothing but an old set of gray sweats and his hair damp from a recent shower. I hand him the packet before he can decide I should open it. If it’sreally his Omega by some strange miracle, I want him to know first. I move to stand beside where Charlotte’s perched, close enough I can see the photo without having to crane my neck.
For a minute, I think Marcus won’t be able to open it. His eyes are locked on the nondescript paper, but I doubt he’s actually seeing it.
“Marcus?” Charlotte asks, looping her hand around his wrist.
He sucks in a breath, like he’s been pulled from a trance.
“Sorry,” he whispers. His hands shake as he rips open the top of the envelope and pulls out the first page. His eyes fly over the words, and then there’s tears lining his lashes.
“Is it him?” Charlotte pulls him closer, trying to see the official announcement. Her eyebrows furrow as she reads something. “Cole Fallon? Is that him, Marcus?”
Marcus nods, reading over the page again before silently offering it to me. I take it but don’t bother to read it, focused on him instead. He feels just as delicate as last week, like one strong breeze or misspoken word might cause him to shatter entirely. He wipes his cheek on his shoulder as he digs through the rest of the packet, spreading the mess of papers across the counter. His breath catches as the picture surfaces.
And then he sobs, the sound full of so much relief it’s heady even at a distance.
“It’s him,” he breathes through the tears.
He holds out the picture to us, and I finally allow myself to focus on something other than him. The man in the photo is in his early twenties, a carefree feel to his smile and vibrant hazel eyes. His black hair is longer than Marcus’s, a windswept wave in the strands that hit right around his ears and drape across his forehead. A corner of his mouth lifts in a knowing smirk, like he and the cameraman have a secret that amuses him. His olive skin glows in the lighting of the photo. The clothes he wears are simple: a medium wash pair of jeans, dark purple polo with alogo I don’t recognize emblazoned on the chest, and white, low-profile sneakers. A set of sunglasses are hooked on the collar of his shirt. The entire ensemble screams old money in a way I can’t really explain, almost like he’s stepped right off a modeling photoshoot.
Despite my exhaustion, awareness zings through my veins, and a bare hint of raspberry gathers around me.
“Wow.”
Charlotte giggles.
“You’ve rendered Megs speechless.” She plucks the photo from my hands. “He’s younger than I thought.” She digs through the information from the Council, plucking a sheet and reading through it. “Wow. Only 21.” Her eyes are wide as she focuses on Marcus. “Wait. You bonded three years ago. That would make him…”
She trails off, and Marcus’s face reddens with a fierce blush.
“Marcus!” I say in feigned indignation. “Who knew you were a cradle robber!”
Marcus’s laugh is wet. “I had no idea. He… he didn’t seem like he was eighteen.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “God, just the sound of that…”
He takes the photo from Charlotte, absorbing it all over again.
“What was he like at the gala?” I finally ask the question. It’s been sitting perched on my tongue since he told us the Omega had been there, that we’d almost met him.
Marcus purses his lips and puts the photo down. Charlotte leans over and wipes his cheeks, and he grabs her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm, lightly scent marking her like she’s the Omega and not a newly designated Alpha herself. Sage explodes around us, and Charlotte blushes.
“Sorry,” Marcus mutters, but it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. At all.
“Marcus, focus,” I say with humor, smiling at how quickly he’s relaxed now that we know he’ll see his Omega again. “I have another shift tomorrow.”
He sobers between one breath and the next. His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at me, leaning against the counter on the other side of Charlotte, the part that juts into the kitchen, forming the peninsula where we eat most often.
“He was… reserved,” he says after a minute. “And nervous, but that makes sense. Those galas are a mess for Omegas in the best of circumstances.”
“He wasn’t mad that you’re bonded?” Charlotte asks the other question that’s been on my mind.
Does the Omega regret the bond, or is he all right with it? With Marcus being legally attached to us? Did he mention how him and Charlotte are more than just friends or legal partners but also lovers themselves? How much time did they even have before everything went off the rails and the cops were called for whatever disturbance had happened?
“No, he wasn’t mad. He was…” Marcus swallows and then scrubs his hands over his face. “I’m not sure. But not upset.” He looks at all the information the Council has given us and then touches the edge of the photograph. His laugh is disbelieving again. “I suppose you’ll be able to ask him tomorrow.”
