Page 16 of Glitterati Omega

Four

R

upert woke up at four with pain surgingthrough his middle. He groped for the pills on his nightstand, downed some of them, then tossed and turned for an hour before he finally drifted back into a drug-induced slumber. He slept until eleven, when Charli, his housekeeper, stomped into the bedroom and flung open the curtains, letting sunlight stab him in the eyes. He groaned, then buried his head under the pillows.

Charli yanked the covers off him. “Don’t you have a flight to catch?” she asked brusquely, and Rupert rolled over to squint at her.

“Fuck,” he said, then reached for his phone. “The flight. I’ll have to reschedule it.”

“Again?” Charli sounded exasperated. “Why on earth—”

Rupert shook his head and logged in to his account. “Something came up,” he murmured, not daring to look up at her, because if he did, he’d spill everything.

Charli had been with him since he was a child. She hadn’t been his nanny—she’d been hired on as the chief of staff for his mother, then stayed on after his mother had passed away. Rupert had been eight when that happened.

Charli was pushing seventy now, he was sure. She’d never married and never had children of her own, but she’d looked after him, especially when it became clear his father wanted nothing to do with him. His father was more interested in chasing snatch; his constant affairs had been the final straw for his wife. Rupert was a bit surprised his father had never remarried; he suspected he had half-siblings, but he’d been the only person named in his father’s will.

His inheriting the estate was perhaps the only good thing to come out of the last two years, although it had complicated the divorce from Thomas—Thomas felt he was entitled to a share, because they’d been technically married when Rupert inherited. Rupert and his lawyers disagreed; the divorce proceedings had already been underway when William Cullinan passed away. And besides, Rupert’s assets had always been well-protected under a prenuptial agreement—one they’d signed at Thomas’s insistence, to protecthisestate.

Rupert wished he could say he’d been laughing all the way to the bank, but the money was cold comfort—a compensation payment. Could money fix his relationship with his now-dead father or change the fact he was, in effect, an orphan in this world? Could money buy back Thomas’s love or change the flow of time so that there was a different outcome—where Thomas didn’t cheat on him, where he didn’t have cancer?

No.

Money could buy him cars or houses, trips and fancy wines. It could buy him better healthcare, but it couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t get sick again. It could maybe prolong his fertility, but it couldn’t guarantee him a child, and it certainly didn’t cure his depression, his anxiety, his fear he was destined to live out his miserable existence alone.

Money could buy him things—many things—but it couldn’t make anyone love him. In fact, it often made it worse; most people only tolerated him because they thought he was an omega-shaped checkbook.

“You have that appointment Monday,” Charli said. She had a deep frown on her face, which amplified the lines around her mouth, her lips painted with a cheap lipstick from the drugstore in a color calledsugarplum—her favorite. Rupert had tried buying her others, but she always went back to that shade, that brand. He’d long since given up, gifting it to her for her birthday every year. It made her happy.

Rupert’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. “Yes,” he agreed. About the last thing he wanted to do was go talk to the surgeon about getting his remaining ovary and his uterus ripped out.

Charli folded her arms, her eyes piercing right through him. “You’re not gonna put that off again, are you?”

He skirted her gaze, hunching his shoulders defensively. She sighed. “You’ve put it off long enough. You know what the doctor said about the cancer coming back, and next time I don’t think it will be half so pleasant.”

“I know what she said,” Rupert sniped back. “I was there; I don’t need you to tell me.”

She frowned at him as he slithered out of bed. He intended to parade by her to the bathroom, but she grabbed him by the wrist and slapped a hand to his forehead. “You’re feeling all right?” she asked, quirking a silvery brow. “You seem warm.”

“Fine,” he replied.

She looked at him skeptically, then released him. He changed course and headed into the walk-in closet, then flicked on the light.

The closet was filled, mostly, with his mother’s wardrobe. This had been her private residence, away from his father—a secret. Father had never known she’d owned it. Rupert had inherited it when she died; it had been paid for by her insurance, and his trust fund had been set up to continue paying the taxes on it, for years. He’d only been here once or twice since she’d passed, and he’d never cleaned anything out.

Only one small rack in the middle of the closet had been cleared out so he could store the (relatively small) wardrobe he’d brought with him. He frowned at the selection.

“I need something for a white tie,” he said, turning back to Charli, whose brows jumped.

“Really,” she drawled.

He nodded. “Um—Morgan … had a thing.” He waved his hand, hoping to dismiss the subject.

“Mm,” Charli said. Her gaze said she didn’t believe him in the slightest.

“Be a dear?” Rupert asked, fluttering his lashes. “I’d … I’d like to look nice tonight. It’s been so long since I’ve been out, anywhere, and it was lovely last night, so when Morgan asked …”

He felt like an ass when he did it, but he ran a hand through his short, blond locks, knowing Charli’s gaze tracked the motion. For her, his short cut—as stylish as it may have been—was a reminder of his illness. He didn’t think she’d really believed he was sick until his hair had fallen out; she’d certainly cried harder than he had when it had happened. He’d always had lovely blond ringlets, and Charli had never let him cut it, because his mother had loved his curls so much. There hadn’t been any choice when he was sick; he was lucky it had come back as nicely as it had, although it was much straighter, thinner, and finer now.