Page 36 of Glitterati Omega

Rupert flushed furiously. “Well!”

Winston turned to look out the window. “It’s not an unpleasant scent. Just overwhelming.” He glanced back at Rupert. “You were broadcasting clearly enough last night—Pearl is not normally like that. She sends her apologies, by the way.”

“Not accepted,” Rupert huffed, sore they’d negotiated forgiveness without him. He paused. “Is that why she was so rude to me?”

“Mm.” Winston pushed away from the window. “So putting you on a plane full of recycled air would not be advisable.”

“No,” Rupert agreed. “So I’ll have to reschedule that appointment.” He thought about needing to tell Charli and grimaced.

Winston seemed pensive after that. They talked, briefly, about dinner, and then the lawyer went to muddle about in the garden. Rupert sat on the back steps, watching him, unsure of what more to do. He’d never been much of a gardener, and Winston didn’t ask him to help. And he wasn’t sure what to say to break the thick silence that had settled over them.

He supposed that being sick was one of those things he’d need to file away and never tell anyone, much like he hadn’t told anyone about the drugs for depression and anxiety, much like he held his tongue about how Thomas had treated him. There were things people wanted to know, and there were things people said they wanted to know but really, really didn’t care to know after all.

At last Winston circled back, clapping dirt off his hands. “I suppose we should call for dinner now,” he said.

“I suppose,” Rupert agreed, peering up at him, wondering if he should press the issue or let it lie. At least Winston was speaking to him now.

Winston’s expression jumped with some emotion—Rupert wasn’t sure which one—but there was an incessant, blaring ring that sounded from the house, startling them both.

“Good heavens,” Rupert muttered, then charged back inside, intent on finding his mobile. He did locate it finally, halfway across the kitchen, where he supposed he’d dropped the damn thing after …

He flushed, then picked up the device. “Hello.”

“Lucille,” Charli snarled in his ear and he almost dropped the phone.

Winston peered at him, perplexed. He gave the lawyer a disconcerted look, then pressed the device firmly to his ear. “Don’t call me that,” he sniffed. He’d always gone by Rupert, always preferred it. He hatedLucillebecause that had been his mother’s name, even if it was his middle name as well.

Charli knew all that; she only used it when she wanted to upset him. Usually because she was upset and wanted to get back at him about something.

“I’m standing at the airport,” Charli said, “and lo and behold, you are nowhere to be found. Now what am I going to do about this charter? Peter needs to be paid for the flight, and we can book him back in, that isn’t a problem. But his co-pilot and the rest of the crewcan’tbe, not on such short notice, so what are you going to do to get yourself to Cape Town for your appointment, hm?”

Rupert hunched his shoulders. “I’m not going,” he spat. He knew he sounded petulant, but it was true. There was no way he could go now, not being in the middle of a heat episode, and he wasn’t going to talk to the surgeon about having all his organs removed while he wasn’t in his right mind. And he wouldn’t dare fathom a pelvic exam, not in this state.

Charli scoffed in disbelief. “Rupert,” she said sternly, “you can’t keep putting this off; you’ve canceledfourtimes now. The longer you delay, the more likely it is the cancer’s going to come back!”

“Oh,” he huffed. “It’s not like she was going to operate tomorrow anyway!”

“She might have,” Charli retorted.

“It was a consultation!” Rupert cried. “Which means consulting! And discussing! Not … not cutting me open and cutting me up!” He plonked down in one of the chairs, feeling more rattled than he liked. Charli had always known how to jar his nerves just so. “That’s an entirely different appointment!”

“One that you’ll need to schedule, so you need to stop putting off the consultation!”

Rupert shook his head. “Just—just leave me alone! Why are you rushing me about this, it’s not like it’s a simple decision—”

“Not dying is a rather simple decision,” Charli hissed, and he hunched his shoulders.

There was silence for a moment. Then Charli said, “Whereareyou? You went out last night and never came home.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I think itismy business,” Charli returned, “given that taking care of you is effectually all the business I have in the world. Now, where are you?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“I’ll ask Moose then—he went out this afternoon. I should have suspected—he packed a suitcase.”

“Oh,” Rupert grumbled, “I should haveknownit was him.” Good old Moose. He’d tried, but he had no idea what it was like to be an omega. But he’d evidently tried to keep this from Charli.