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I turn to Stirling. “I’ll fetch the jacket. Our guest will be here soon, and we don’t want him waiting on the doorstep.”
“Brush your hair while you’re at it,” Mother calls. “You look like a ragamuffin.”
Lifting a hand to let her know I heard, I head back down the hall and take a right at the ballroom, where a set of four mini-suites offer a place for drunk guests to sober up after partying too hard. The closets are kept stocked with various clothing so whoever stays over doesn’t have to do a walk-of-shame home the next day in their party attire.
I find a blue jacket in my size and trade it out for my green one. The collar on it lays flatter than the one I arrived in, but the turtle neck comes up to my chin. If I look close, I can see the outline of my nape guard beneath the fabric, but no one will be looking for it. It’s most obvious at the back, where the strip of leather widens to the size of my palm to support a thin metal disk that completely covers my nape. The website I ordered it from guaranteed it was bite-resistant and tamper-proof, with a lock at the back only I have the code to.
I might have gone a little overboard when I bought it, but I hadn’t been thinking clearly. I’d been in the panicked Oh-My-God-I’m-An-Omega-And-Need-To-Protect-Myself mindset.
After a double-check that my hair’s fine, I head back toward the blue parlor.
Murmurs drift out with a deeper voice mingled between my mother’s and sister’s high tones. Looks like our guest arrived, and I managed to be late despite my best effort.
I paste a smile on my face as I turn into the room, my eyes moving automatically to the couch opposite my family.
Cool blue eyes meet mine, and I stumble a step as Roman stands.
Panicked, I glance at my mother and sister to gauge their reaction. Did Roman grow tired of me dodging him at the tea shop and decide to come directly to the source? But how would he know I was here today? Though, I never told him I didn’t live at the family home. He’d come here more than once in high school, as had many of our classmates, so he knew where to find me.
My mother lifts her brows inquisitively, and I turn back to Roman, desperate to defuse the situation as quickly as possible. “Roman, what are you doing here?”
His lips part, but my mother cuts in before he can answer. “Don’t be rude to our guest, Warren. Hurry and pour everyone tea so we can settle down to business.”
Lips numb, I turn back to her. “Business?”
She makes an impatient gesture to indicate Katheryn. “Yes, of course. Roman is here to discuss his betrothal to your sister.”
8
As the floor falls out from under me, Roman’s hand on my arm guides me to the couch. I sit heavily, ears ringing with my mother’s words.
Roman’s the man she set up to marry my sister? How is that even possible? Then, cold realization strikes, and I turn to give him an accusing glare. He had to have known about this before the auction, but he hadn’t said anything.
God, how stupid could I be?
His hand lifts toward me, but I scoot back as far as the couch will allow, avoiding his touch. I was just thinking we could be friends. Stupid, stupid me. We’ll soon be more than friends; we’ll be brothers.
“Goodness, Warren, what is wrong with you?” Mother stands to pour the tea herself, passing out the cups. “First this business at the auction, and now you’re being rude to our guest. I do apologize, Roman. I don’t know what has gotten into my son lately.”
Roman. Roman has gotten into her son. Multiple times. In every position imaginable.
I bite back the hysterical laugh that bubbles up my throat and clutch the small teacup I hold to ground myself back in reality. A reality where Roman is going to marry my sister.
Roman takes his cup but immediately stands to set it back on the coffee table. When he settles on the couch once more, he takes the middle cushion, his leg pressing against mine. “Yes, we were just discussing this betrothal business. As I said, there seems to have been a misunderstanding.”
“Is it the addendum?” Mother sits next to Katheryn and puts a hand on her knee. “Surely you can understand the toll childbearing puts on a person, both mentally and physically. An additional monthly allowance is a trifle compared to the joy of parenthood.”
Katheryn nods as she leans back on the sofa. She delicately lifts a hand to her stomach as if already able to imagine the multitude of children she’ll have with Roman.
A sour knot forms in my stomach, and I clutch my teacup tighter, willing myself not to puke. This can’t be happening. I don’t want to be here while they barter over the price of babies.
“I’d hardly call ten-thousand a month per child a trifle.” Roman holds up a hand to stop her protest. “But I’m not going to argue over that.”
A satisfied smile spreads over my mother’s face. “I’m so glad you see our side of things.”
Roman frowns and glances at me. “I’m afraid I have a much larger issue with this proposal.”
“Surely it’s not so large an issue that we can’t work through it. You did come today, after all, which means you’re willing to negotiate.” She lifts her cup, taking a tiny sip, before her nose wrinkles, and she sets it down. “Goodness, Warren, if this is a representation of the tea you sell, it’s no wonder your business was failing.”
