Heat prickled across my skin, spreading from my core outward like I'd swallowed the sun. My reflection in the mirror showed flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. My hair stuck to my damp forehead. I looked a mess.
This couldn't be happening. Not here.
My heat wasn't due for another week.
I turned the tap to cold, splashing water on my face, my neck, anywhere I could reach. The relief lasted seconds before the heat came roaring back.
I pressed my legs together, biting back a whimper as slick pooled between my thighs.
The bathroom door opened.
I jerked upright, my heart hammering.
Caron stood in the doorway, her expression shifting from curiosity to understanding in a heartbeat.
"Oh, honey." Her voice was gentle now, nothing like the sharp assessment from earlier. She crossed to me, digging through her designer handbag. "First time in public?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Here." She pulled out a small silver canister. "Heat delay spray. Medical grade. I buy it because the last thing I need is my heat hitting anywhere I’m surrounded by alphas who aren't mine."
She held it out.
I took it with shaking hands. "Thank you."
"Spray it on your scent glands. Wrists, neck, behind your knees if you can reach. It'll buy you a few hours."
I did as she said, the cool mist settling on my overheated skin. The effect was almost immediate. The fire in my veins banked, not gone but manageable.
And I could breathe again.
"Better?" Caron asked.
"Yes. Thank you so much."
"Don't mention it." She tucked the canister back into her bag. "We omegas have to look out for each other. Even the mysterious ones who show up with French flankers. We should meet for a coffee one day."
I managed a weak smile. “Love to.”
She left, and I stood there for another minute, gripping the edge of the sink, willing my body to cooperate.
The spray would give me a little longer before my heat hit in full force.
I just needed to get home. Needed to get back to the townhouse.
The moment I walked back into the VIP box, something had changed.
The match was over. The other wives and partners were gathering their things, chattering about dinner plans and after-parties.
And Etienne was there.
He stood by the door in his kit, dirt smeared across his face, his hair damp with sweat. His chest heaved like he'd run the entire way from the pitch.
His eyes found me immediately.
"Presley."
The way he said my name made my knees weak. I’d gotten used to him calling me Princesse.
