Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Of course not. I was simply making conversation."
But I could smell the lie underneath her words.
Edward, bless him, tried to change the subject. "Reina, do you enjoy the work? Being around professional athletes must be fascinating."
"It is," I said, grateful for the reprieve. "The athleticism, the strategy, the..."
"The testosterone?" my mother interrupted with a little laugh. "All those aggressive Alphas in one place. It must be quite... overwhelming for an Omega."
The table went silent again.
I felt my face flush. Not from embarrassment. From anger.
"I'm a professional, Mom. I do my job."
"Of course you do." She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "I just worry about you. You look tired, sweetheart. Flushed. Are you feeling well?"
Everyone was looking at me now.
"I'm fine."
"Are you taking your suppressants properly?" Her voice dropped, taking on that dangerous edge I remembered from childhood.
My sister's husband suddenly became very interested in his wine glass.
"Yes," I lied.
"Because you know what happens when you're not careful, Reina." Her eyes bored into me. "We all remember what happened the last time."
The implied threat hung in the air.
Kia shifted uncomfortably. Edward looked confused but didn't ask.
I set down my fork, no longer able to pretend to eat.
"I'm taking them," I said, meeting her gaze.
"Good." My mother smiled, but it was cold. "Because some Omegas think they can just do whatever they want. Date whomever they please. It's reckless. Irresponsible."
She looked at Edward meaningfully.
"An Omega needs stability. A strong, appropriate partner. Someone who can provide without all that... volatility that comes with Alphas."
Edward shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with being used as a prop in whatever game my mother was playing.
"Betas make such wonderful matches," my mother continued. "None of that territorial nonsense. None of that... aggression."
I understood what she was doing now.
This entire dinner. Edward. The pointed questions about Luca and Jaxon.
She knew.
Or at least, she suspected.
And this was her way of telling me it was unacceptable.
My phone buzzed in my purse under the table. I ignored it.
