Cleo is standing next to the board smiling like the cat that got the cream. That alone is enough to tell me she thinks this setup is ripe for drama. It always is. There’s usually at least one breakdown and one fight after this challenge. But with this lot it’ll be more.
Production asks for a volunteer from the omegas to record the scores, and Petal is quick to step forward with a sunshiny smile on her face, taking the chalk with a flourish.
Someone calls action and Cleo’s smile only grows as she looks into the camera. “This is by far the most anticipated challenge on RoyaLove Getaway, for the fans and the contestants. Am I right, omegas?”
There’s the burble of excited agreement as she continues. “It's finally time to get your lips on the Ashbourne Pack, and see if there’s any chemistry, any spark to go along with thefriendshipsthat have been brewing thus far.”
Her stressing the word friendships has my eyes latching onto Forsythe, he’s already looking at me, but not for long as Cleo urges the alphas to put on their blindfolds before she herds us omegas far enough away that we shouldn’t be overheard if we talk quietly.
The alphas aren’t supposed to know who it is that’s kissing them, so their scores should be based entirely on talent and chemistry.
“Okay,” Cleo says brightly and quietly when we’re all situated. “We’re going to start with-” A glance at the cue card in her hand. “Isadora. Again. What a surprise.”
Even the host of the show can’t hide how fed up she is with this whole charade. If they want this to be believable, they should really work on making it seem more like the pack’s choice, and not like they’re shoving Isadora down their throats.
The dark haired omega tosses her silky locks over her shoulder and smirks at her lackeys. “I’ll try not to embarrass anyone by comparison.”
I can’t watch.
I can’t look away though either. Like a train wreck or a car accident or Courtland when he takes off his shirt.
Isadora saunters closer to the blindfolded men, hips swaying seductively even though they can’t see her.
Petal casts me a concerned look, fingers clutching the chalk so tight the pads are turning white. She’s worried about me. I know it. She’s not jealous about the Ashbourne pack for her own sake. No, she’s worried about how I’m going to feel watching them make out with other omegas.
And she’s right to be because it… doesn’t feel great.
I try to look away as Isadora sidles up to Grieves first, walking her fingers up his tank top until she can hook her hand around his neck. When he doesn’t move to make it easier on her, like she apparently assumed he would, she huffs, steps up onto the box in front of him, and presses her lips to his.
It's… not what I expected.
At all. He looks stiff. Uninterested in returning her kiss. She licks at his mouth and a wrinkle forms between his brows as he finally parts his lips.
“Zero chemistry,” Tristan mutters from next to me.
I nod my agreement. And even though my omega is a hissing jealous creature in my stomach, demanding that I go and rip Isadora away frommyalpha, it helps seeing just how little he’s into her mouth being on his.
Forsythe does a better job of pretending. One of his big hands sliding on her hip, but he doesn’t drag her closer, doesn’t get lost in it. I can’t tell if he’s not into it, or if he just has excellent control. Maybe it's both.
But then I remember when he kissed me. How out of control he felt for the briefest of moments.
Thayer isn’t much better. He doesn’t open his mouth to her, keeping it fairly chaste. His hand resting lightly between her shoulder blades.
“Jesus,” Tristan hisses to me. “How is she the front runner? I have to imagine they’ve kissed before, surely they know already there’snothingthere.”
I shrug a shoulder as Isadora moves to Courtland. “For some packs, it's not about chemistry or even liking their omega. It's about optics. Duty always, remember?”
Which is why I’m not at all surprised when Courtland kisses Isadora like he’s playing the role perfectly, like he enjoys it. And even less surprised by the scores given to Isadora by the pack. Eight. Ten. Nine. Nine.
Applause ripples through the set, polite and practiced. Isadora steps away with a satisfied little smile, already basking in the approval like it was owed to her. “Familiarity has its advantages,” she says to her friends as she moves next to them.
A few more omegas go after her.
I barely register them.
Their kisses blur together—hands on shoulders, mouths opening, bodies pressing in close. Some of them are enthusiastic to the point of desperation, like if they kiss hard enough, long enough, it might tip the scales in their favor. The pack reacts accordingly. Murmurs, low chuckles, the scrape of shoes shifting on the platform.
I feel oddly detached from it.
