“Why we’re here is none of your concern,” Forsythe sounds polite, but his body is tense, muscles flexing in a way that lets me know he’s on the verge of losing it. Thayer wraps an arm around my shoulders, tucking me into his chest, while Piers and Court press in closer.
It's already too late, though. I know that.
He got the picture well before we were aware of his presence. The five of us walking down the street together. Hardly worth worrying about.
Well, not on my end I guess. Maybe for them it’s a lot worse. Maybe the queen doesn’t know they’re here, and they’re hoping to keep it that way. But that would be foolish, right? To think they could come here and find me and accost me in public to force me to talk with them, without having anyone take our picture.
No, they must have been aware that this might happen.
But it doesn’t mean that they have to be happy about it.
There’s the thud of multiple boots thundering toward us, and when I look up from the shelter of Thayer’s arm, I find six men in black suits have surrounded us. Including one familiar blond head.
The man Creed clocked as following me, the one that I’ve seen countless times over the last month.
“You’ve had someone watching me?” I murmur the words, but by the way Grieves’ shoulders stiffen I know he heard me. “Grieves?”
He glances over his shoulder at me. “I needed to know you were safe.”
As if that should be enough of an answer.
We start moving again, the guards keeping the photographers away from us, as we go. Emotions swirl in my stomach and I try to parse through them, to figure out how I feel about this revelation. On one hand, it makes me feel warm and cared for, like it’s so sweet. But on the other it’s just another way that proves that they knew who I was to them. He needed to know I was safe, but not enough to come to me himself.
We reach the cafe, and I’m ushered inside the space. The few customers glance up at us as we enter, then do double takes as they realize just who the pack is that I’m with. My cheeks heat under the attention, but I keep my chin up.
“I’m sorry,cor mea,” Sythe says as he ushers me to a table away from the windows, his broad palm pressing into the small of my back. “I didn’t think they would be that aggressive.”
I wave a hand. “It’s a problem for celebrities here. We’re hot news right now. It's not surprising they found us. Like Grieves said, it wouldn’t take much for anyone to find out where I work.”
I’m being incredibly chill about this, which is a surprise to me. I don’t like feeling as though my privacy is for sale to the highest bidder. But maybe the experiences I’ve had recently have managed to mellow me out a bit. To not let something like a photograph of me with the Ashbourne pack bother me all that much.
They, on the other hand, might have a problem with it… or more specifically, the Queen might have a problem with it.
“What do you want, Pixie?” Courtland asks, fingers curled around the back of an empty chair so tight his knuckles are white.
“The banana berry blast?”
“You got it.”
“Black tea for me. With milk.” Forsythe requests as he settles into the chair next to me.
While Court and Piers go to place our orders with a gobsmacked looking barista, Thayer and Grieves settle at the table around me.
“Does your grandmother know you're here?” I blurt out before I can think the better of it.
“If she doesn't, she certainly will in the next few hours.” The prince doesn’t sound worried about that outcome, and it makes my heart flutter with hope. If he doesn’t care that she knows he’s here, does that mean he might be considering taking me as his omega? As their mate?
“I should think she’d be wise enough to know we’d come to you when it was announced you were our mate on international television. It would have looked bad if we hadn’t.”
And that little flicker of hope sputters and dies.
Optics. That’s why they’re here.
“Sythe,” Thayer all but barks at him. “Think about what the fuck you just said to your bloody mate.”
Forsythe’s brows draw down as he reviews his previous statement and I get the treat of watching his skin go pale. “I didn’t mean it like that, Ren.” He reaches for me, but I flinch back. There’s a rasping sound as he scrubs that same hand over his beard. “I meant as far as she’s concerned, it would look bad. We would have come regardless.”
“But you didn't, did you? You knew for a few days who I was to you, that I was sick. Grieves knew we were fated for amonth. And you didn’t come until the rest of the world knew it too. What am I supposed to think about that?”
