A wrinkle forms between her brows as she looks between the five of us. I smile for her, trying to ease as much of her anxiety as I can. I’m tempted to purr, to try to ease her even further, but I can only imagine how well that would go over with my grandmother, with the fans of the show, with my fucking pack, given what I’m about to do.
What we’re about to do.
The producer in charge of this segment clears his throat in a quiet demand that we move forward.
Guilt crashes into me.
All of this is my fault.
Because of the family I was born to.
Not for the first time, I wish I had been born someone else. Someone with fewer expectations placed on them. Someone who could meet Florence Karlin and give her the entire world. But that’s not who I am.
And now I have to prove it.
I’m aware of the cameras, of the eyes on us, as I reach out and gently, carefully take her small hand in mine. The last thing I want to do is cause her any amount of pain or discomfort, and I know I’m about to do that in spades, so I can be as careful with her physically as I can.
She gives me a sweet smile—sweetest smile I’ve ever seen in my entire life—and there’s hope in her eyes. So much fucking hope. Fuck. I should never have given in last night, should have put a stop to things before they went as far as they did.
But I’d been swept up in the fantasy that is Florence Karlin, and I’d lost my mind.
“Florence,” I say, and she knows. Just by my choked tone she knows what I’m going to say. Her cheeks, which had been flushed, go pale and her hand where I’m holding it is suddenly cold, trembling. I hate it, but I can’t change my course. This is part of being who I am.
Her perfect pink lips part as she breathes out, “oh.”
I see her swallow down a whine, watch as her chest contracts, her stomach going concave like she’s pulling in every bit of herself, holding it in control until she shakes herself, a mask falling over her face, hiding her emotions from me, from the cameras, from everyone watching at home. I hate that too.
But I would hate it more if she stayed. If we all got more attached and still had to send her home at the end. Because as much as I want her, as much as my alpha swears she’s ours, I can never have her.
“Florence,” I start again and this time there is no tremble, no crack in her mask. My thumb rubs a soothing circle againsther wrist. “You are an amazing woman. I have- We have enjoyed our time getting to know you very much. And I know you’re going to make a pack very happy someday.” There’s a flicker in the depths of her multi-colored eyes, an emotion that I think might be agony, before she shutters them even tighter. “But unfortunately, you are not our omega.”
I nearly choke on the words, bile burning in my stomach and in my throat. I bite my tongue to keep from taking the words back, so hard I taste blood. I watch as her eyes move off of me, up to the pack standing over my shoulder, silently pleading for one of them to contradict me.
“I’m sorry, killer,” Thayer says, voice just as hollow as before. “You are not our omega.”
“I wish things were different, Pixie.” Court speaks up next, anger dripping from every syllable. “But you are not our omega.”
Grieves doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to, even though it's expected. It's part of this entire stupid TV show. Florence knows what he would say, everyone should.
She twists until she finds Piers, leaning against the wall behind the cameras, hands fisted at his sides, expression stony. And any lingering hope she’d had dies. Right there in front of me. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t force a smile. She doesn’t beg or plead for us to change our minds.
She carefully disentangles her fingers from mine, and I have to curl my hands into fists to keep from reaching for her again, from yanking her against me and kissing those pink lips and promising that I didn’t mean it. That she is ours and will always be ours. That we pick her, will always pick her.
I want to tell her that while she’s not the omega of our pack, she will always be the omega of my heart. Our heart. Our sunshine.
But I can’t say any of that, it will just make it harder for us to separate. For her to go back to her life and us to mate and bond an omega that isn’t her.
Her voice is steady, and monotone when she tips her head down and drops into a small curtsy. “Thank you for the opportunity, Your Highness, Pack Ashbourne. It's been my honor.”
And then she just fucking leaves without a backward glance.
Episode 31: The Spell is Broken
I can’t fucking breathe. I'm in some kind of fugue state, a self-protection fog that’s keeping me from breaking down completely when that’s all I want to do. But it's a blessing really, because I’m pretty sure my omega would be wailing and ripping me apart right now to get back to them.
The pack that just rejected me on international television.
The one that said they wouldn’t do that.
