Now.
I get a giddy little thrill at the mentally calling them mine. And before I know it I’m all but skipping down the path toward the small dining hall where we gather for breakfast.
But when I get there the room is empty. No alphas. No Piers. No omegas.
Am I really that early?
I’ve never gotten here before the pack. Not once.
While I’ve started to view this as a vacation, sleeping in until production wakes me. I’m fairly certain Forsythe and his pack stick to a strict routine complete with wake-up alarms, a fitness schedule and nutritionist approved diets. Last night's gut bombs notwithstanding.
Maybe things are running a bit slower after the storm. Maybe they needed a little extra sleep after their exertions the night before?
Still they should be here soon, so I busy myself with pouring the perfect cup of coffee. Just the right amount of creamer and oat milk. But when I sip it, I realize it's not as good as the coffee Grieves makes for me and I have to wonder if he does something special to it, or if it's just that he’s made it for me that makes it better.
“Florence,” Marshall pops up at my elbow, making me jump and almost spill my coffee. “I’m glad I caught you. We need you for a confessional after your date.”
“Right now? I haven’t even had my coffee.”
“Not our fault you slept in. You’re scheduled for an 8:30am confessional. It's 8:30. Let's go.”
I don’t remember them telling me about this, but if I’m honest the longer filming goes on, the less I listen to whatproduction says. There’s no point. They’ll fetch me when they need me. Like Marshall is doing now.
“Okay, lead the way.”
He runs his eyes over me, like he’s assessing my mental wellbeing or something. Whatever he sees, has him sighing heavily before he spins on his heel and leads me to one of the rooms set aside for confessionals.
My heart thunders with every step I take, my stomach clenching with nerves. They’re going to ask about the date, about how I think it went.
And I’m going to lie my ass off.
What happened last night was for me. For us.
Not for the cameras and not for the show.
Private. Special.Ours.
Lulu is already waiting, crossed leg bouncing, lips pursed.
The chair in front of the cameras is empty. Also waiting.
Both of them watch as I settle into the chair, lacing my fingers together over my stomach, resting my elbows on the wooden arms. My mouth curls into an insincere smile, one I have the feeling they can see is fake. “Should we get started?” I prompt, wanting this to be over as soon as possible.
They exchange a look. One that tells me they know something I don’t and it's going to suck for me but be great for their ratings.
Lulu’s smile is tight around the edges when she turns back to me.
“You had your date with the pack last night.” I nod. “Take us through it. What you did and why you did it.”
I let out a breath of relief and do as they ask talking at length about the food, the fort, the video games and why I planned the date I did, while being careful to reveal that it was mostly for Piers.
“Don’t you think it was a bit… common for the royal pack?”
I knew this question was coming, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling a pinch of anger. “I think everyone can benefit from a relaxed and easy night. Even royalty. Maybe they need it more than any of us.”
Lulu hums and eyes me, pen cap tapping against her chin. “The power went out last night during your date.”
I nod. “It did.”
