Page 105 of Glitterati Omega

“Charli told me you got that paperwork finished—thank you.”

Rupert eased himself into a chair at the opposite end of the table, purposefully avoiding the alpha’s gaze. He rubbed at his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “Yes, well. It needed to be done.”

“Yes,” Winston agreed. “I thought we should celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?” Rupert didn’t feel much like celebrating anything. He wanted to go hide in his room for the next three months and then maybe a while after that, until he had his body back.

Could he evengethis body “back”? Stretch marks probably weren’t going to go away, and he hadn’t been particularly delicate to start.

“Well,” Winston said, “there’s the house.”

“We can celebrate that later,” Rupert grumbled. Maybe when they’d moved in. Maybe when he felt less like an overinflated balloon.

“All right.” Winston raised his brows, then cut into chicken parmigiana. “There is, of course, the news you texted me this morning.”

Rupert huffed. He definitely didn’t feel like celebrating that had he had not one but two fetuses stuffed inside him.

Winston paused, clearly choosing his next words carefully. “I thought we might celebrate you,” he said finally.

“Hm? Why?” Rupert crunched his nose.

“Itisyour birthday, is it not?”

Rupert stared at him. “Oh. I’d forgotten about that.” He’d never celebrated much; his father didn’t make much of a fuss, never had. And his mother had committed suicide the day before he turned eight, so it had never felt like much of a time to celebrate anything, least of all himself.

Winston’s gaze was warmer than the flickering candles. “Not a fan?”

Rupert sighed. “Not particularly, no,” he murmured. He unfurled from his hunched over position, picking up his own silverware. “I’m not feeling up for much.”

“That’s fine,” the alpha assured him. “I didn’t think you would.”

Rupert glared down at his meal, stabbing at the ravioli, watching its stuffing ooze out of it. He shoved a forkful in his mouth to keep himself from saying anything.

It was fucking delicious, and he hated that, because he was going to eat all of it and then feel guilty. Like he should have had more restraint, more control.

“I thought, perhaps, you’d like a nice evening in. Perhaps you could take a bath—”

Rupert snorted. “I can’t get in and out of the tub on my own,” he grumbled. Oh, good, now he was getting angry about it. He stabbed at more pasta.

“I can help,” Winston said. “Or maybe you’d prefer a foot massage?”

Rupert glanced at him. “That does sound nice,” he murmured.

Winston smiled. “And perhaps I could, ahem, massage some other parts of you?” He lifted his brows.

Rupert stared at him. “Why would youwantto?” he snapped. He threw down his napkin and struggled to his feet. Heavens, that would have been more imposing if he could have moved a little faster.

Winston looked surprised by his outburst. “Because I love you?”

Rupert shook his head. He tried to fight the tears, but they came anyway. “You—you don’t have to pretend to find me attractive like this,” he cried, misery swallowing him up. “I know I look wretched, what alpha could possibly be attracted to—to—”

He waved a hand at himself furiously.

“I’m not pretending,” Winston retorted. “I am attracted to you.”

“Don’t lie!” Rupert snapped, glaring at the alpha as he took hold of Rupert’s wrists. “What could possibly be attractive about a pudgy, bloated omega who’s so round he can’t find anything that fits and his tits are spilling everywhere and—and—”

Winston shook his head, his expression relaxing into one of surprise and pain. “Everything,” he said simply and folded Rupert in against him. “Everythingabout you is attractive to me, you goose. I liked you before, I like you now. I’ve no reason to complain at all.”