“Juniper and…sweet and tart and citrussy. Not quite orange.”
“Blood orange is the closest.” I watch him. “You are all scent matches. I did my best to not react to Wren and Pierce, but my body was propelling me towards both.”
“You scented me at the clinic.” It isn’t a question.
“You made sure I did.” Mine isn’t either.
Luther laughs, but then his molten eyes narrow. “The water is getting cold. I just wanted you to warm back up. Why were you out there in the snow?”
I glance around the room, anywhere except him. I land on the window across from the tub, outside is their farm, covered in white.
Snow.
And it’s still falling.
In Florida.
“Am I even awake? I feel like this has to be a dream. Even on the way here I never thought I would find you. And then Wren said Charles was dead and I thought—I thought—”
Luther attempts not to react, but I can tell how much it has upset him. “You thought I was dead. The one who you met at the clinic. But why are you here now? What changed?”
“I’m—I’m—I’m—”
Luther allows me to stutter, but doesn’t press me for an answer, instead he helps us out of the tub. He pulls a fluffy towel out from under the sink and wraps me in it.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer me right now. There isn’t any rush. You’re here and that’s all that matters.”
“But Wren doesn’t want me here?” The towel is thick and plush as I slip off Pierce’s shirt.
“He doesn’t know what he wants.” Luther quirks his lips. “You’re beautiful. I knew that when we first met, but seeing you now? It’s mesmerizing. And I shouldn’t want you. I could be your dad.”
“I’m twenty-six.” His words cause my agitation to prickle up. He isn’t the first to call me young. To point it out as a weakness.
“It’s not bad that you’re young. Pierce and Wren are in their thirties, but I’m forty.”
My hair has fallen from the buns I put it in, and he tucks the wet strands behind my ears, cupping my cheeks. He presses delicate kisses across my face.
“You are young and beautiful. Painted in freckles and love.”
The wordlovestartles me. I came here because I am pregnant. Not because I want to be with him.
They are scent matches. He is the father of my unborn child.
Luther is kind, sweet, he is everything I have ever wanted.
But I don’t deserve him.
And then there’s Tony.
Grief and guilt are two heavy weights in my shoulders, compressing me further and further into the ground.
“I can’t do this. It’s too much. When the snow clears I need to leave.” I don’t look him in the eyes as I speak the words levelly.
I don’t deserve to live my happily ever after. I am a broken omega. He deserves someone better.
I will tell him about his child once they are born. It will make this easier. I can manage it alone.
“No.”
