And... she's still wearing sandals. The strappy ones with gold accents. In February. At a formal event.
Of course she is.
Quentin's elbow connects with my ribs, sharp enough to hurt. "Control yourself," he mutters. "Your scent."
I take a breath and try to pull it back, but it's hard to focus on anything except the way she's standing up there, completely unbothered by the hundreds of eyes on her. She doesn't preen for the spotlight. She doesn't pose or play to the crowd. She just exists, comfortable in her own skin, like all this attention is something she tolerates rather than craves.
That might be the most attractive thing about her.
"Iris, what's your ideal date?" the announcer asks.
Iris considers the question for a moment, her head tilting slightly to one side. "Somewhere I can be myself. With someone who doesn't expect me to be anything else."
The crowd makes a collective "aww" sound, and I feel something twist in my chest. That's us. That could be us. We wouldn't expect her to be anything. We'd just want her to be—
"That's my future wife, bro," Chad announces, loud enough for half the room to hear.
Kevin frowns at him. "Bro, you've never even had a conversation with her that lasted more than thirty seconds."
"Quality over quantity, Kevin."
The announcer launches into the bidding, starting at five hundred, and paddles shoot up all over the room. My stomachdrops as I try to count them. At least fifteen people. The numbers climb fast, voices calling out from every direction. Six hundred. Seven fifty. Eight hundred. Eight fifty.
Chad stays seated through all of it, arms crossed, watching the competition thin itself out. It's the smartest thing I've ever seen him do. He waits until the bidding stalls at nine hundred, then stands up slowly, making sure everyone is looking at him before he raises his paddle. "One thousand."
He points at himself with his free hand and actually flexes in the middle of an auction. The crowd murmurs, someone nearby whispering about his year-long pursuit of Iris. Unsurprisingly, Iris' expression hasn't changed. There’s not even a flicker of interest or a hint of annoyance. Just... nothing.
"Eleven hundred!" Kevin shouts, and Chad whips around so fast he nearly falls out of his chair.
"Bro, what the fuck?"
"Sorry bro, every man for himself."
"We talked about this!"
"That was before I saw her in that blouse!"
Laughter breaks out a few rows back. People lean forward in their seats, elbowing each other, craning their necks to watch Chad and Kevin argue. Up on stage, the corner of Iris's mouth twitches.
I nudge Quentin with my elbow. "Now?"
"Now."
I raise our paddle before I can lose my nerve. "Fifteen hundred!"
The room goes quiet. Then the whispers start, spreading through the rows around us. I catch fragments of it, people murmuring to each other.The Vark twins. Bidding together. Both of them?
Chad turns around, his eyes scanning until they land on us in the third row. His face twists, his eyebrows drawing together, the muscles in his jaw going tight. "Two thousand!"
"Twenty-five hundred." My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
A guy from the lacrosse team raises his paddle. "Twenty-seven hundred."
Chad whips around to look at him. "Who are you?"
"Fuck off, Chad!" The guy yells.
"Three thousand!" Chad's voice cracks on the number. Gasps erupt across the room. Three thousand isn't a lot by auction night standards but it's more than any other Alpha alone has gone for tonight.
