He looks like he’s about to touch my hair, and nausea pools in my stomach, but I’m saved from hurling on him when his phone rings. He walks off without a second glance, leaving me alone in the middle of our wedding reception.
I’m sort of at a loss as to what to do because hospitality is different everywhere. If I was in my actual home, I’d be busy refilling drinks and making sure everyone has snacks, but doing that here would make it look like I don’t think Sergey’s staff are doing a good job, which he’d read as me being disrespectful.
Before I decide what to do next, he reappears, but clearly, he’s distracted and eager to leave. Which makes two of us.
As he passes, he clicks his fingers, and I dutifully fall into step as he moves to where the cake is. Grabbing a glass, he uses a spoon on the side of it, and as soon as he hits it a couple of times, the room falls silent.
He speaks in Russian and uses his hands a lot in places, but given the tone of his voice and the lack of anyone smiling or laughing, it sounds more like a eulogy. He keeps talking long enough that I have to adjust how I’m standing, and of course, it coincides with his speech finally coming to an end.
Applause follows, but Sergey’s focus isn’t on them; it’s on me. And it’s not hard to read the challenge in his eyes as he directs his staff to cut the cake. It should be something we do together, symbolic of our willingness to share everything for the rest of our lives, but I guess everyone here now knows what he thinks of me.
But two can play at that game.
I click my fingers, stopping the staff from handing out pieces to our guests, and walk to the head of the line where the first slices are about to be offered. Taking two plates out of the servers’ hands, I smile demurely as I return to Sergey and offer one to him.
“This first piece is yours, husband. It represents our commitment to one another and is a symbol of how prosperous our union is.” I overemphasize that point, making his eyes twitch, but only I see. “The second piece, I will store for our one-year anniversary. Thank you for a beautiful day and forbeing such a gracious man and making my wedding day one to remember.”
The crowd breaks into polite but stilted applause, unsure what I said, but I guess they understand the sentiment. And then, because he’s a prick, Sergey places the cake on a table behind him without taking a taste.
“You will stay here like a gracious wife until the last guest leaves.” He says it with way too much Alpha influence, twisting a simple request into something I can’t ignore. And he knows it, too, the satisfied smile on his face confirming it. “I have business to attend to.”
He leaves me frozen by his bark and walks over to a couple of the more important-looking people, shaking hands along the way. The men he goes to follow him out of the reception. And then, thankfully, the two women who were with the group remove the poor sleeping children, with the help of some of the staff.
It takes another three hours of me standing awkwardly and alone at my reception, but eventually, the only people that remain are the staff.
I’m so hungry, I feel sick, and my head is spinning in slow circles, but at least the whole shebang is done. Making a beeline for the bar, I pull out three fresh bottles of sparkling mineral water, handing one to Kade and one to Santiago, because like me, they haven’t eaten or drunk anything for hours.
Sergey’s loyal staff who are still in the room, working, stay out of our way while I take a seat at the temporary bar. As soon as I’ve finished, I’m on my feet again, but I have to grab the back of the stool as a dizzy wave makes shooting stars spot my vision.
It’s not the first time I’ve experienced being lightheaded, though it usually happens after I’ve worked a stressful double or triple shift with no rest. Keeping my eyes closed, I take a couple of deep breaths before Kade is next to me, offering me his arm.
“Come on, Quinny, let’s get you to your suite.”
“I’m okay,” I whisper, stepping out of his reach. Not because I want to, but because there are people who have stopped working to watch our interaction.
Except, I’m not okay. A fire has ignited deep within me, and with each beat of my heart, it’s taking hold. I inhale and exhale my way through another round of head spins. They’re coming on way too fast. If I was alone with Kade and Santiago, I’d tell them what’s going on. Instead, I call Roshka and Nalla close before walking off without a word.
I’ve barely managed to take a few more steps before another wave crests, and this time, it brings a small pinch of discomfort with it.
I’m displaying the first signs of going into heat, and I, of course, panic.
For so many reasons, I can’t go into heat here. I took medication to avoid this exact situation.
As soon as I reach the stairs, I break into a run. Behind me, I can feel Santiago and Kade responding.
“Quinn, what the fuck? Tell us what’s got you scared!” Santiago demands.
I twist mid step, unable to avoid answering him. I can’t use my words, though. I can’t afford for anyone else to know, but I guess he reads me perfectly when I point at my body, pouting and blinking away frustrated tears.
His eyes go comically wide for a microsecond, and then he snaps into Alpha mode. “Kade, get the door. Run straight into the shower, Quinn. Lots of cold water. I’m going to get you a bucket of ice.”
He stays so close behind me, I feel his concern as obviously as I feel his sweetened breath on the back of my neck. As soon as Kade has the door open, and we’re inside with the dogs, Santiago starts racing back in the direction we came.
“Quinny, tell me what I can do to help.”
“Find my medication. I can’t think where they are. Blue pills,” I grit out as another cramp rips my focus apart.
I don’t wait for privacy, driven by Santiago’s softly spoken command that I take a cold shower. I was going to, but I’m super sensitive to his designation, so my mind reads his suggestion as something I have to obey.
