Father is waiting here amongst the finery. He rises when I enter. “Helena. You’ve done us proud.” He speaks without affect. “Omega Finishing School, with honors, as predicted.”
He has never predicted anything else, and thus his pride remains intact.
For now.
“Thank you, Father.” I fold my hands. If only I could turn my brain off and recite whatever script it is that most makeshim happy. Then Zane and I could both be out of here without disappointing anyone.
Mother pours tea with the precision of a chemical engineer. “There’s to be a proper reception in your honor, but your father wanted something private first.”
She meanscontrolled. Private, in this house, is a synonym for “no chance of witnesses.”
Richard fidgets with a sugar spoon, clearly already bored with family ritual. Dorothea kicks her legs and stares at me like she’s searching for evidence of something but is coming up empty.
Father waits for Mom to serve the tea, then sits with his back straight and his hands flat on the table.
“You understand,” he begins, “that as a Starling, your application for Omega Selection Day is a mere formality. But appearances must be maintained. Some of the family’s rivals would love to see a Starling omega choose career over pack.”
He eyes me, searching for a reaction.
I offer none. “Of course, Father.”
“Still set on marketing?” The word tastes foul on his tongue.
I almost laugh. “My degree contains a rather flexible skill set. Good for fundraising, social events, all sorts of things. I’m not sure why you look down on it.”
Mother makes a soft, approving sound. “I’ve already arranged interviews for you, should you choose to work before settling down. No pressure, of course. But many eligible alphas find ambition attractive these days. Don’t they, Richard?”
Richard nods and shrugs in a way that manages to be both enthusiastic and noncommittal. Fitting, because the only thing he’s committed to is the scone in his hands.
Dorothea is undeterred. “Do they really lock you in during heats?” How is this girl always aiming for scandal? She’s clearly spent too much time with Ranier’s packmates.
Mother sets her teacup down hard enough to make the China shiver. “Dorothea!”
“She should know,” Dorothea mutters, but she’s already moved on to picking at the lemon slices.
Father’s gaze lingers on me. “If you ever feel unsafe, the Hawke boy can be recalled. His contract is very flexible.”
‘The Hawke boy.’As if Zane weren’t the reason I survived the last three months without gnawing my own arm off from anxiety. Or like he hadn’t been around for years, basically already a member of this family. As if he weren’t?—
No, that’s not something to think about right now.
“I’ll let you know if I require his services again,” I say, hopefully without betraying any of my thoughts.
“Excellent,” Father concludes. He stands. “Then on to the celebration.”
My jaw slides open. “‘Celebration’?”
Father nods. “For your graduation. Did you think we’d let such a momentous occasion pass without us marking it?”
I’d really rather you had.“Fantastic, Father, thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.”
No one has followed me out here yet. The Starling House gardens are endless. They were planted long ago to grow upward and outward, shielding our family’s legacy from the pedestrian bustle of the city outside. High hedges box in winding flagstones dotted with shell-ivory benches. I used to count the steps it took to reach the far corner, the “secret garden” I claimed as my own.
Now, post-graduation, I just want the space to breathe.
I settle onto a bench, careful to smooth my dress beneath me so I don’t stain the icy-blue silk. The night is warm and the airsticky. I’m already regretting leaving my hair down as tendrils plaster themselves to my neck with a small glisten of sweat. If I focus, I can still hear the faint laughter and music from the ballroom. But here, it’s mostly the trilling of cicadas.
I let myself melt against the bench and finally drop the rigid posture finishing school drilled into me far harder than Mother ever did.
