He lifts his eyes to mine. “I remember.” His voice is low and intimate. A reminder that he was there, in that nes-blanket fort. That he orchestrated my pleasure like a maestro, telling us where to go, what to do.
I shiver and tighten my grip on my coffee cup to keep from reaching for him. “Eat your breakfast, Forsythe.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up and he dips his head. “As you command, omega.”
I wait until he’s taken the first bite, chewed, swallowed, before I say, “I want to leave.”
He nearly chokes on the bite of toast in his mouth, but he manages to keep breathing, glaring at me as he gulps from the perfectly made coffee and then says, “what?”
“The apartment,” I clarify. “I want to leave the apartment. You didn’t let me finish before you started nearly dying on me.”
There’s another of those long moments where he just looks at me, a wave of complicated emotions moving over his face, before he gives his head a sharp shake, turning back to his breakfast. “No.”
That’s it. That’s all I get.
I push aside the hurt at how easily he’s able to brush aside my request, take a deep breath and try again. “Please? It's been a week of being cooped up in here, Sythe. I’ve always wanted to come to Bravonne, to see the sights, try the food, go to a pub, all that. Piers said if you approved the guards we could go. Even just for an hour or two?”
“I’m sorry, Florence, but the answer is still no.”
He turns back to the plate, working his way through the omelet I made for him with efficiency, like he’s only eating to appease me. Like he can’t wait to get away from me.
I set my coffee cup down, uncurl my legs and pop off the stool. “Fine.”
There’s something in my tone that has him tensing, tilting his head to watch as I round the island and stand on the other side of it.
“Cor mea?”
I ignore the way my heart clenches at the endearment. Ignore the way I want nothing more than to throw myself ontohis lap and curl up and beg him to justchoose me. Instead I reach forward and snatch the plate away from him.
“Wha-I wasn’t finished!”
“Yeah,” I turn on my heel, pull out the hidden trash can and dump the half-eaten breakfast into it before slamming it closed. “You were. You didn’t even want to eat it to begin with.”
I keep my back turned to him as I move to the sink and start washing the dishes from my early morning cooking session. What a stupid thing to do, to think that maybe this would change his mind.
But food is practically sacred to alphas and omegas. When an alpha gives it to their omega, they’re saying ‘I can provide for you.’ When an omega gives it to their alpha, they’re saying ‘I can care for you.’
I thought maybe if he knew I cared for him, that Iwantto care for him in the way an omega cares for their alpha, then maybe he would… I don’t know? Come to the magic conclusion that he can’t live without me and damn the consequences.
I feel his eyes on me as I work, the prickling on the back of my neck enough to let me know he hasn’t moved. And for a moment, I think he might actually stay. That this will be the morning he chooses us, his pack and not his duty to the crown.
But then the stool scrapes across the floor making me flinch, knowing I was wrong and he’s going to leave.
“Florence.”
I ignore him, scrubbing the pan I used for his stupid perfectly made omelet.
“Cor mea.”
I shake my head and scrub harder as his footsteps move toward me. His arms appear on either side of my hips, hands resting on the edge of the sink as he presses into my back. His honey whiskey and leather scent makes my knees go a little weak, but I refuse to let them bend.
“Go away,” I mutter at him. “I’m mad at you.”
His huff of laughter brushes over the top of my head. “I know, love. I’m sorry you’re frustrated. I’m frustrated too. Believe me. If I could give you what you asked for, a day outside of this flat, I would do it in a heartbeat, Florence. But it’s not safe. Not yet.”
I frown as I rinse the pan and then shut the water off, turning in his arms to peer up at him. “How is it not safe? If I go with guards, with men you and Grieves trust, why would that be any different than me being in Granton and out in public?”
His jaw flexes. “It just is, Florence. You have to understand that Bravonne isn’t like the US. Most of the people here are loyal to the crown, even if they don’t always agree with the decisions my grandmother makes. And right now she’s made it her mission to discredit you, to prove to Bravonnian citizens that you are a danger to their way of life. To thecrown'sway of life.”
