In the café, she'd been guarded, wary, like a stray dog expecting to be kicked. Here, alone in our home, she looked unburdened.
When was the last time I'd seen an omega look like that?
Not the omegas at functions who smiled but it never reached their eyes. Omegas who calculated every word. Nor the omega who'd tried to trap Etienne with a fake pregnancy scare. Or the ones who saw dollar signs instead of a person.
Presley threw her head back, laughing at something her friend said. Her blonde hair caught the light streaming through the window, turning it gold.
"Sometimes," Fritz said quietly, "theoneisn't who you'd ever believe."
My jaw tightened. "She's our surrogate. Notthe one."
"Isn’t she?"
"That's the arrangement."
"Arrangements change."
"She's temporary." I closed the window, the footage disappearing into black. My reflection stared back at me from the dark screen. Jaw tight. Eyes hard. The face of a man who didn't believe in fairy tales.
"You keep telling yourself that."
I ignored him, opening my desk drawer. My fingers found the black AmEx card I kept for emergencies. I pulled it out, turned it over.
Presley had arrived with nothing. A ripped cardigan. Leaking boots. Charity shop clothes that hung off her frame. She'd eaten like she was afraid the food would disappear, like she couldn't trust it would still be there tomorrow.
And now she was wearing Etienne's shirt because she had nothing else.
My thumb ran across the raised numbers on the card.
"What are you doing?" Fritz asked.
"She can hardly keep wearing Etienne's shirts."
A slow smile spread across Fritz's face. "No. I suppose she can't."
I slipped the card into my pocket and stood. The chair scraped against the floor.
"I have work to do."
"Of course you do." Fritz headed for the door but paused with his hand on the handle. "For what it's worth, I think she's good for us. For the pack."
“You know thisafter one day?”
“Yep. From the moment she arrived in this office and told us our future child wouldn’t need a nose job.”
He left before I could respond.
I stood alone in my office, the card burning a hole in my pocket, the image of Presley dancing burned into my mind.
She was temporary.
She had to be.
12
Presley
I tied Etienne's creasedshirt at my waist, the fabric still held a faint scent of him even after I hand-washed it yesterday. The knot sat just above my belly button, and I paired it with my black leggings, the ones that didn’t look threadbare on my arse.
