Page 46 of Glitterati Omega

Nine

R

upert was a basket case in the days before Winston’s visit. One minute, he was terribly nervous about seeing the alpha again; the next, he was delighted, his head filled with the kind of nonsense that teenagers liked to daydream about. He thought about what they might do, what Winston might say—wouldn’t it be romantic to have a candlelit dinner in the cigar room, overlooking the ocean?

Oh, but he was probably being silly. He was driving Moose and Charli up the wall with his constant flip-flopping—one minute he wanted arrangements for a candlelit dinner; the next, he was trying to set the table himself. What about music? First, his playlist included piano sonatas, and then he thought maybe Winston liked upbeat jazz or more local rhythms.

“Stop fretting,” Moose grunted at him on the morning of the twenty-second, probably irritated that he’d been sent for three different sets of sheets for different spare bedrooms, because Rupert couldn’t make up his mind about which one would suit Winston best.

“Well, it’s just,” Rupert started, wringing his hands.

Moose shook his head and plonked the sheets down on the bed in the south room. It had the best light, but then Rupert wasn’t sure if Winston would spend much time in the room at all. He hoped not.

“He’s here to seeyou,” Moose said sagely, his mustache twitching. “He’s not going to give a damn about the sheets.”

“You think?”

Moose nodded. “He’s an alpha,” he said at last.

“Oh, don’t say it,” Rupert muttered, folding his arms.

“You know it’s the truth.”

Rupert glared at the wall. That didn’t mean he had to like that the only reason Winston might care about the sheets would be if Rupert were rolled in them. “I just want him to be comfortable.”

“He’s going to be very comfortable,” Moose said reassuringly. “It’s not like we’re putting him up in a cave.”

Rupert sighed. “I’m sorry. I just …”

“It’s understandable,” Moose said as he brushed past Rupert into the hall. “You have many things on your mind …”

That was as close as any of them came to talking about the surgery. Charli was far less sympathetic with him. Rupert couldn’t tell if she was more irritated with his indecisiveness or the fact that Winston was coming to stay for a few days before and after the procedure.

The only bright spot in his days was talking to Winston. They chatted frequently and talked on the phone every couple of days, mostly about nothing at all, occasionally planning this or that. They thought about a couple of excursions, if Rupert felt well enough—Winston had never been in Cape Town for more than a couple of days. And, if Rupert was feeling up to it, Winston suggested that he could travel east with him.

Rupert wasn’t sure about that; Winston had hinted he was going to see family, and the very thought of that made Rupert nervous. Maybe he’d be too sore.

In between that, they debated what to have for dinner the first night, since Winston would be getting in late. Charli was going to wring Rupert’s neck if he changed his mind one more time.

She laughed at him the morning of the twenty-third, when he submitted what he thought was his final menu. She peered at the note on her phone, then turned the screen around and made a show of deleting it. “You,” she said, “aren’t having anything like that for dinner.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

She shook her head. “Pet, you’re having major surgery tomorrow. Did you check the instructions? You’re not allowed to eat anything but clear liquids. No solid food.”

“Oh,” Rupert said, feeling a bit floored.

Charli hummed. Then she looked him up and down. “Don’t get too active with your alpha, hm?”

Rupert flushed, his shoulders hunching. “I’m not—we weren’t—”

Charli lifted a brow and he forced himself to look away, cheeks still burning with embarrassment.

Winston arrived at something to seven, when the sun had almost disappeared beneath the waves of the ocean. Rupert had been waiting on the steps for the last half-hour, unable to distract himself. Charli had been busy in the kitchen; Rupert wasn’t enthused about his own supper options, but Winston was allowed to eat, and Rupert thought the alpha might like something more substantial than chicken broth.

He glanced up when he saw the car nosing up the driveway. He wanted to play it cool, but he’d never been that omega. He slid his phone in his pocket and waved, enthusiastically, then started down the steps when the vehicle stopped. He almost wrenched his ankle on his way down, one of his heels catching on a chip in the stone and nearly sending him head over heels, and he supposed he’d be going to the hospital for another reason.

“Careful now,” Winston chided as he stepped out of the car. He glanced at Moose, then shook his head, shooing the other man away from his luggage. Rupert righted himself, then picked his way down the remaining steps. He had to work to keep himself from bouncing, from throwing himself at the alpha.