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Mother strides back into the room, saving me the headache of trying to untangle my emotions where Roman’s concerned.
Her cold gaze lands on me. “Dr. Holt will be here soon. You should prepare for the exam in your room.”
“Sure, no problem.” I stand and head for the door. “But after that, I need to leave. I have work in the morning.”
“You’ll meet with me first,” she says sharply. “We have much to discuss about your future if this turns out to be true. It changes our options.”
I can practically see the finance sheets unrolling through her mind, running analysis on the net profit of families like Herold’s, who have the wealth to become part of the upper-class but lack the pedigree background to make that final step without marriage.
Jaw clenched against the words I want to say to her, I leave the room and head upstairs.
My room on the second floor hasn’t changed since I left for university and never came back. It still holds the posters of sports teams I’d been into, and books on herbs, spices, and flavor profiles tucked under my bed like a dirty secret. Growing up, I’d been expected to be a socialite like my mother and sister, providing to the community through philanthropy over actual work.
Why work when we were ridiculously wealthy?
Now, my ‘silly hobby’ makes me the only one in this family not only willing, but actually capable, of living without our wealth. Too bad my plans hadn’t quite taken off. Roman was right when he said I got my start from my parents, that I still relied on them. No bank would have given me a loan to open a tea shop right out of university without any prior experience.
I’d taken the easier route and accepted the money from my family, and now that was biting me in the ass. Both figuratively and literally, if Mother has her way and sells me off.
I walk over to the small display case that houses the few trophies I won in school. Most are second-place or runner-up, but there were a few times mine and Roman’s interests diverged, where I managed some first-place prizes. Like in cooking class. I touch the blue ribbon. I’d won that one for my jumbo snicker-doodle cookies, the same recipe I sell in the shop.
A light tap comes from the open door, and I turn to find Dr. Holt standing in the opening, a medical bag in one hand. Mother hovers behind him, but I close the door in her face before she can sit in on the exam. There’s only so far she can push, and seeing me naked is a hard no for me.
“Good afternoon, Warren.” Dr. Holt sets his bag on the desk against one wall. “So, your mother tells me you think you’re an Omega?”
“I know I am. I’ve already been to see a doctor to have it confirmed.” Showing him the suppressants, I punch in the code for my nape guard by feel and unlatch it.
Dr. Hold sets my prescription aside and his cool, dry fingers move my turtle neck aside. “This is how old?”
“A week.” I focus on the floor. “It’s the first.”
“It’s healing well, and the impression is clear. Your Alpha shows a good level of self-restraint.” He steps back. “It was consensual?”
“As much as anything during a Heat is consensual.” I gesture to his bag. “Do you really need to perform an exam?”
He pulls out a stethoscope. “I’d like to check your heart and lungs, take your temperature… Did you use condoms?”
My cheeks heat as I shake my head. I’m not a prude, but I’ve been seeing Dr. Holt since I was in diapers. “I already had a pregnancy test. It came back negative.”
The gentle smile he gives me forms deep wrinkles around his eyes. “We should take another blood test in a week, just to be sure. Sometimes you can get a false negative when it’s this early.” He fits the stethoscope around his neck. “But as for a full exam, no, we don’t need one. The Mark on your neck is proof enough. If it were an Alpha biting another Alpha, or even a Beta, the Mark wouldn’t be healing so fast. It’s already sinking beneath your skin.”
My hand lifts to touch my nape. I’d been surprised how quickly the scab washed off, and my skin feels smooth to the touch, now. I haven’t been brave enough to look at it in the mirror, though. Looking makes it real, and I’ve been trying hard to pretend what happened between Roman and me was a fever dream. Otherwise, I find myself rolling over in the middle of the night, reaching for someone who isn’t there.
“Did your other doctor talk to you about the precautions you’ll need to take now?” Dr. Holt asks as he checks my heartbeat. When I nod, he moves to press the stethoscope to my back. “Deep breaths.”
Dr. Holt completes his exam and takes a vial of blood for testing, and we make an appointment for me to drop into his office next week for another pregnancy test.
When I walk him out of my bedroom, I find my mother still waiting in the hall, as if she feared I’d escape before she had a chance to sink her hooks back into me.
Dr. Holt hands her a summary report as he passes, along with a bottle of what I assume are tranquilizers. Come eight o’clock tonight, she’ll be passed out and won’t wake up for anything until morning.
When I try to follow the doctor to the stairs, Mother latches onto my arm, steering me to her private study instead.
She closes the door and strides to her credenza, where she picks up a stack of printouts. So, she hadn’t been hovering outside my door the whole time. No, she’d been busily printing out future marriage candidates.
“I don’t know how this happened, but it seems fate is looking out for our family. Your status as an Omega significantly broadens our options for your future spouse.” The corners of her lips tighten. “But don’t get your hopes up about Roman. His family name is too good to expect them to refill our bank accounts by marrying him. We can find someone better, in need of the Heardst name and desperate for a male Omega.”
The calculating way she discusses my future, as if I have no say in it, makes my stomach roll.
