Page 110 of Glitterati Omega

Twenty

R

upert frowned at his reflection, thenput his hands on his belly. “I look like a giant, sparkly gumball,” he grumbled, to which Charli lifted her brows.

“I thought you looked a bit like an omega who’s twenty-eight weeks gone with twins, but perhaps I need my eyes checked.”

Rupert glowered at her, twisting about as best he could. “You know what I mean,” he murmured. The gown was a cotton-candy pink, shot through with a delicate silver sparkle. It was meant to be flattering to the expectant omega’s figure, but the way everything draped and hung on him, he looked like he’d pulled a bag over his head to hide how very round he was.

It was better than some of the things Elise had suggested to him—cut-outs and transparent fabrics. He shuddered at the mere thought. Perhaps some omegas liked to show off, but Rupert could firmly say he wasn’t one of them.

“I thought you looked like cotton candy,” Winston commented without lifting his gaze from his phone. He’d been ready to go for over an hour, and Perce was apparently blowing a gasket over a member of his wedding party having the audacity to be late. Winston had been texting him one-word answers, which would doubtless mean that the bride was in some kind of mood on his wedding day.

Rupert wasn’t sure if he thought it was hilarious or if he was terrified of what Perce was going to do when he found out Rupert was behind the delay. But there was no rushing him these days. Going to the doctor’s was a task. Waddling down the stairs was a task. Even getting in and out of the shower was a touch-and-go operation, and there was zero question about the bathtub after last week’s incident. (Winston had helped him up; he’d slipped; baths were now forbidden until he delivered, because he didn’t fancy taking another tumble.)

That he had to use the facilities every twenty minutes or so wasn’t helping him. He couldn’t stand very long without needing a break for his aching back and his feet. Locomotion was a lumbering affair. And there were other obstacles: he’d started crying when he’d dropped the lipstick under the vanity and had to wait for Winston to fish it out, because he couldn’t get down to the floor to get it back out (if he’d tried, he’d probably still be on the floor). That had meant he had to redo his eyeliner and his mascara.

They’d just finished wrestling Rupert into his shoes—flats, despite the fact it made the dress trail more. He couldn’t trust himself in heels these days, and his feet were swollen enough.

“Are you quite ready?” Winston asked, glancing up. He looked impeccable in the clean, crisp lines of his navy blue suit, a spray of white flowers contrasting with the suit and his melanin-rich skin alike.

“Yes,” Rupert agreed. “I think I am ready at last.”

Winston stood up, pocketing his phone. “A worthwhile wait,” he said. He was taller than usual; he had heels, Rupert didn’t. It was … strange.

“How upset is you-know-who?”

Winston snorted. “Who cares?”

Rupert frowned. “You can’t ruin your friend’s wedding day and be flip about it, Winnie.”

Winston hummed, like he was considering that. Then he smiled. “I think I had good reason,” he decided finally, and Rupert rolled his eyes.

If they were much later getting to the hotel, it wasn’t Rupert’s fault; Winston seemed content to dawdle as well. “Where were you?” Morgan snarl-whispered at them when they finally arrived in the suite where the wedding party had been instructed to gather, although their gaze was firmly pinned on Winston.

He lifted a hand, then looked at Rupert. “I am in very high demand,” he said.

Morgan sighed heavily as they looked away. “All right,” they murmured, bobbing their head. “Cool. Just so you know, he’s likely going to murder you on sight, but whatever.”

They turned back, pressing their plum-painted lips together. Then, finally, Morgan seemed to notice Rupert. “What are you doing here?”

Rupert gestured to Winston. “You honestly expected me to trust him to make his own way here? And what was I supposed to do?”

“Go to the wedding venue,” Morgan ground out. They glanced over their shoulder. “He’s pissed enough.”

Winston shook his head. “Rupert will go before the pictures. There’s no reason he can’t be in here.”

“Well, other than Perce is likely going to murder him on the spot.”

“I thought he was going to murder me,” Winston mused.

Morgan opened their mouth to say something more, but the suite’s bathroom door crashed open, and the subject of their conversation himself marched into the room, demanding, “Morgan, help me with this damned thing, I can’t fucking get it zipped up—”

Perce paused, hands still behind his back, desperately reaching for the zip on the back of the dress he was wearing. He stared at them. Rupert had to press his lips firmly together to keep from laughing. Perce turned scarlet, grinding his teeth together. “What the hell are you laughing at?!” he snapped.

Rupert waved a hand. “Nothing, nothing!”

“What the hell are you even doing in here!”