He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Look, you didn’t hear this from me, because I have signed an airtight NDA just like you have, but the queen wants this wrapped up fast. Production is scrambling, because it was supposed to be a twenty episode season and now it's going to be something like twelve. You just don’t say no to royalty, you know? Anyway because of the new tight deadline, we should have you on a plane in a few days. A week at most.”
A week?
A week trapped in a hotel room with nothing to do, without being able to speak to my family? Why? What’s the point? Everyone will know I was rejected in a few days’ time when this episode airs.
This additional time feels like a punishment.
Why do the rejected omegas have to go through this? Especially so late in the series when genuine feelings could be involved?
“I won’t say anything, Marshall. I signed the NDA too. I just want to talk to my family. Please.”
The pained expression on his face tells me what his answer is going to be before he shakes his head. “I can’t.”
I grit my teeth, battling the sting in my nose and behind my eyes. I will not cry here. Not in front of the cameras that I know are stationed around the dock, capturing the omega’s departure from the island.
“Fine,” I finally grit out.
He hesitates. “Are you sure you don’t want to just get the confessional over with? If you do it now, you can just chill at the hotel for the remainder of your stay.”
God no. Please. I won’t be able to hold on to my raging emotions if I do that. My grip is already tenuous enough. If they make me talk about it, I will one hundred percent lose it all together and it will be just one more thing for the world to point at as say ‘see? She wasn’t good enough for the Ashbournes. She’s too volatile. A feral piece of omega trash.’
“No,” I say shaking my head. “Not today.”
“But maybe later?”
“Sure,” I lie. I won’t give any more of myself to this process. To these people who only care about making money, about ratings, about fan approval.
Satisfied, Marshall helps me climb on the boat, holding me steady as it rocks. Then he joins me, settling on the opposite side from me, to ensure he’s not in the shot as the cameras record my expression as I’m booted from RoyaLove Getaway.
The hotel is not fancy. Not like the resort where the show is filmed. In fact it's one of those airport hotels, within spitting distance of the hub of national travel, as though the production team wants to dangle the thought of going home in front of us.
Marshall sees me to my room, and hands me one of two slim plastic key cards, and then he leaves me. I don’t bother to change out of the pink dress I’m wearing, just slump onto the bed and curl into a ball around the heart breaking in my chest.
I try to talk myself out of it, out of this horrible sense that I’ve lost something vital to me. That not only have I lost my ability to dance professionally, but now I’ve lost my pack. I knew going into this show how it would end, knew they would never pick me. Everyone went out of their way to drive that point home, even the pack.
I’m the idiot who read between the lines of what they were saying, who let the pack's actions speak rather than their words. I'm the one who thought love would win out over duty. Who believed in fairytale endings.
It’s my fault I’m hurting now.
Still knowing that and convincing myself to get over it are two entirely different things.
It only gets worse over the week, as my omega wakes up from her suppressed state.
The days are spent curled in the center of the bed, a half formed nest of blankets and pillows around me. I feel ill, like I’m coming down with the flu. Body aches, lack of appetite, fever.
Marshall and Lulu come and try to get me to do a final confessional that they can attach to the end of the episode where I’m cut from the potential mates for my pack. I refuse, beyond caring when Lulu warns me again I won’t get paid if I don’t comply.
Time blends. I barely notice.
A week isn’t so long after all.
Not when you spend most of your time sleeping, escaping into sweet dreams where I am loved, where I amwanted. Only to wake and have reality slap me in the face all over again.
Marshall returns. His voice is worried, his beta scent spiked with the emotion. “We’re sending you home tomorrow, Florence,” he says softly. My heart clenches in my chest, the unspoken words like a dagger.
They chose their omega.
He slides something onto the bed, close to where my hand is curled. “I’m not supposed to give this to you until then, but… I’m worried about you.” There’s a long pause where I can feel him lingering, watching me, waiting for my reaction. “Florence?”
