Chapter 6

Cynthia and Carole have suggested that we get together for lunch so that we can catch up on the conversation we didn't get to have at the ball.

At a human eatery.

After having salads and the main course, I am currently drinking my drink while attempting to suppress the urge to inquire of my own sisters whether or not their spouses are aware of their whereabouts.

"...and that's exactly what they were discussing at the Bailey!" Carole yells at me while putting her palm in front of my face and waving it.

"Sorry. Too many mimosas." That is not the case. After drinking two of them, I haven't even begun to feel tipsy. I make an effort to pay attention to what she is telling me. Something regarding the upgrades she had made to her main bathroom You were mentioning something about how they were unable to bring down a wall, right?

"Are you okay?" The question was posed to me by Cynthia with sincere concern.

Do I come clean and tell them that my head is all over the place after what happened with the ball? That I'm not really sure where I fit in with the rest of the pack? Because there is no assurance that my sisters will continue to trust me after that, especially if my closest friends do not. In addition, it appears that their husbands do not hold a particularly positive opinion of the new king.

It's tough for me not to imagine that my sisters' boyfriends are sitting at the table with us, even though I can't see them.

"I'm OK. I just…" I smile and shrug my shoulders. "I simply don't understand what all the fuss is about with remodelling. or things related to the home. It's not that I don't care about what happens. I just can't relate."

"Yet," Carole reminds me. "Have you gotten an event planner? The celebration of Lupercalia is just around the bend.

"Um." I gaze between them. "I'm sorry, I don't know—"

Carole dismisses me with a wave. "Sorry. I'm jumping ahead. It's likely that Mother has planned something productive for each and every hour that has passed between then and now.

"Exactly." It's a relief to have an excuse to sidestep any prospective conversation concerning Ashton.

I don't want to be in his company at all. The prospect of finding a partner does not thrill me nearly as much as everyone else in my immediate environment does.

Cynthia masticates some water as she continues. "Besides, she has a whole year," she remarks. Since Lupercalia falls on the full moon this year, they are unable to perform the mating ritual until after she has undergone her first metamorphosis.

"Take care of securing the party right now. Carole continues to press the matter with determination. "Mother and father will feel a tremendous sense of relief once everything has been resolved."

Due to the fact that deflection was unsuccessful, I face her directly. How did you feel relieved?

She gives me the childish look of rolling her eyes. "Bailey, you're not as stupid as you sound. You are aware that, as a result of the ruse you played by using that legal loophole—"

"A right, not a loophole," I interject, giving her the proper definition of the term.

She does not appear to be paying attention. All of us here at the office are holding out hope that Ashton will be a calming influence for you.

"A stabilizing—" I start by putting my hands on the table and clenching my fists.

"Are you going to attend the ceremony for the full moon?" Cynthia inquires as if it were even somewhat feasible to shift gears at this juncture.

"Um, yeah." My own sisters don't want to be seen in public with me when we go to locations frequented by werewolves, so it's possible that Cynthia is inquiring about this because she wants to be prepared. "I'd prefer to attend before my first metamorphosis. If my behavior doesn't cause the family to be too embarrassed by me."

Carole and Cynthia exchange a glance before the latter continues, "We're not embarrassed to be seen with you, if that's what you think." Cynthia and Carole both laugh.

"Really?" I look around the restaurant, but I don't spot a single werewolf anywhere in the building. Then you must be wondering why we aren't at Minelli's. The Chophouse, perhaps?"

Cynthia snorts and explains, "Because every time we go to the Chophouse, Carole orders something that she doesn't like, and then she complains about it throughout the whole meal."

Although that is correct, it is not the main cause.

At least Carole has the intestinal fortitude to tell me the truth. "Bailey, you put our entire family in an extremely awkward position at the ball," the mother said to her daughter. It's possible that Ashton's father, who is influential and well-respected in the pack, will interpret your actions as evidence that you back Frost's claim to the throne.

"How?" I sneer at it. "I just got back."

Cynthia says, "You just got back from London," as her line of argument.

This is completely impossible.. "Would you guys please quit behaving like I'm a member of a global spy ring? Only one dance was performed! You mentioned that he had feelings for a woman whose name was Amber, right?

"You had one dance "with the king," Carole is quick to point out, as if I need a reminder.

"I didn't even know who he was until I went to the fucking ball!" a person exclaimed. I snap. "Are you seriously concerned about this matter? Or are you simply repeating whatever it is that your husbands want you to say?

"That's not even remotely fair!" Cynthia produces the expression of pain that has become her trademark.

However, it does not work for me in the same way that it did for Mother. "What exactly was it that I was expected to do? Tell him no. Please relay to our group leader that I do not wish to participate in the dance.

My sisters keep silent.

It was Ashton who was present. He might have offered some commentary. I point out that he had the opportunity to participate.

"He has a lot more to lose than you do." Carole makes a face as though she is perplexed that I do not immediately get what she is saying.

Which is bullshit because I completely understand what she's saying, which is that my alleged future spouse shouldn't have to risk a damn thing for me, but I should risk everything for him. Which is why I think she's wrong.

They are both staring at me in silence, and it is at this precise time that I am aware that I do not know one of them. They are not the same individuals that they were before I left, before they took werewolf mates and began the adult werewolf lives that we are all expected to live for the welfare of the pack. Those people do not exist anymore.

The worst of my concerns have come true. I am aware that after Ashton and I are married, it will be expected of me to support and agree with everything that he does or says. And these expectations won't just be his; everyone around me, including my sisters who have previously objected to that kind of conduct, will believe that I'm not serving my purpose in the pack if I don't fall in line and be the ideal partner. And he won't be the only one who has these expectations.

I put on my best impersonation of our mother's use of the passive-aggressive phrase "it's been great getting together," and I say to my siblings, "It's been great getting together." "Unfortunately, I have to leave."

I stand up from my seat and push it back to its original position. As I do so, I hear a crackling sound that draws my attention to the restaurant's entrance.

Before I ever see him, I can feel him. It's very unsettling. But I turn my attention to the door, well aware that Orion  Frost will be standing there. When we make eye contact as he arrives, it is very evident that he is aware of my presence as well.

A little over five years ago, I used to ask my sisters whether or not the magnetism was real or whether or not I was just imagining it. But at this time, I am unable to do it. It's impossible for me to believe that they won't rat me out to their friends.

Orion  is being guided in our general direction by the maître d'. At the very least, the maître d' is attempting to take the lead, but Orion  is already one step ahead. It is too late to go away from him now. Our lives are destined to collide.

It doesn't matter that I can't pull my sight away from Orion 's since I don't want to see how my sisters react to it in the first place. He does not even make an effort, and I am certain that I am not imagining this anymore. I don't know what I'll do if I move toward him if I leave the table; therefore, I can't walk away from the table either. It's possible that I’ll try to strike up a discussion. Or I could just charge at him. Which of these would be the more embarrassing situation?

The closer he approaches, the more my face begins to heat up. I could swear that I could feel my heartbeat in my eyeballs. But I can't look away. He offers me a nod and a smile that, if one were to be uncharitable, could be interpreted as cocky. I, on the other hand, chose to view it as confident. If I portray him in my mind as a pompous and pretentious usurper monarch, then maybe I won't keep thinking about him.

In spite of the fact that I tell everyone else that the incident that occurred at the ball was "just one dance," the thought of it takes up a beautiful beachfront property in my imagination.

He does not communicate with me in any way. I can't help but keep my eyes on him until he enters a secluded room in the back of the building, even though he doesn't even show the slightest hesitation as he walks by.

"What business does he have here?" When Cynthia asks, there is an undertone of questioning in her voice.

It is inconceivable for her to believe that this is some sort of trap or that he was aware that I would be here. That is completely ridiculous. Who could have possibly informed him? Why would he even bother to show up?

Dummy, she believes that you were the one who told him.

Oh, well, screw that.

I say it with a carefree air as I make my way to the coat check and mutter, "Perhaps he's meeting someone he doesn't want to be seen with."

The car ride home is spent with me alternating between worrying about what my sisters think of me and being afraid that I have seriously offended them emotionally. Even though Cynthia and Carole have become different people, I still consider them to be my sisters. I need them on my side because it's not like other people are falling over themselves to defend me.

As soon as we arrived at the gate, I activated the intercom. "I am grateful. You are welcome to leave me here.

I could really benefit from breathing in some clean, crisp air right now. I don't wait around for the driver to get out of the car and open the door for me. Because Thralls are humans, it would be inhumane to force one of them out of the warmth of the car when they do not possess the same natural immunity to the cold as I do.

I am still a werewolf, even though I haven't gone through the transformation process just yet. I am still eligible for some of the benefits.

I enter the grounds by going through a pedestrian gate that is less frequently used and is located next to the enormous wrought iron behemoth that covers the expansive driveway. As I do so, I dip under a canopy of ivy. I remove my shoes while balancing myself against the brick fence that surrounds the grass, which is covered in snow and has not been disturbed in any way. My connection to nature, to the freedom of the crisp, cold air, and to the ever-changing seasons were all strangled during the five years that I pretended to be human. The majority of people on Earth consider weather in general to be an annoyance that must be put up with. Despite the fact that we are quite strict with regard to everything else, werewolves take great pleasure in it.

I let out a yell of delight as I sprint across the grass, breaking the snow that has ice crystals stuck to it beneath my feet. Each exuberant, foolish leap I make and each whirl I do relieves the strain that has built up during the day. When my lungs are full of crisp, frigid oxygen and my feet are damp and chilled, there is simply no room for wrath, despair, or terror in my life. There is simply no room. I am on the verge of throwing myself to the ground in the snow to build a snow angel when I notice a sports car that I am not familiar with parked in front of the house.

My stomach drops. It's not really all that strange. Even if it's a newer model than the one he drove five years ago, everything else about it is the same. That's a Porsche 911, by the way.

The car that Ashton likes best.