Page 52 of Glitterati Omega

“My mother,” Winston said.

“I’d gathered,” Rupert replied.

“She’s upset—she didn’t think to put her headdress on, so she’s embarrassed you saw her without it.”

“Oh,” Rupert said, frowning. “Is that a big deal?”

“It’s disrespectful for a married omega.”

Rupert landed a hand on his head. “I’m not wearing anything. Is that rude?”

Winston looked bemused. “You’re not married.”

“Iwas. I technically still am.”

The alpha considered. “Wearing a headdress is a sign of respect for one’s spouse. Do you respect your ex-husband?”

“Absolutely not,” Rupert sniffed.

“Then it’s fine,” Winston concluded.

They were prevented from further talk by a voice all but singing, “Brother Winston!”

“Hello, Sandy,” Winston called back, and a mischievous-looking youth peered into the room, their eyes flashing brighter than their smile.

“Mama Thandiwe said you come with A Friend.” The youth, presumably Sandy, grinned.

Winston lifted his brows. “Yes,” he agreed, then gestured to Rupert.

Sandy’s gaze shifted, and they evaluated Rupert critically, their eyes clouding with every second they lingered on him. Rupert supposed they were … disappointed?

Then the mischief was back, and Sandy giggled. “This will be fun,” they said, then bounded out of the room.

Winston sighed. He caught Rupert’s curious gaze. His cheeks seemed to stain even darker. “Well,” he huffed.

“Sandile! Go help your brother make room for the food.”

“Aw, Mama …”

The steely-haired woman marched back into the room carrying a large, black pot. She glowered at Winston. “Get that junk off the table.”

“Yes, Mama Thandiwe,” Winston said. He started collecting the sewing kit almost instantly.

Thandiwe turned her gaze on Rupert. “And you. You can help.”

“All right,” Rupert replied, then gazed at the table. “What should I do?”

She huffed in irritation, and Sandy shoved some books into his arms. “Move these,” they said.

Rupert glanced around. “Where?” he asked finally.

“The floor will do,” Winston said, pointing to an already-crowded corner of the room, which was piled with tins and pots and a couple of buckets that might have had other books in them.

Rupert hefted them, then collapsed onto the bench, clutching at his side. He huffed a little.

“What are you doing!” Thandiwe cried as the books toppled everywhere.

“Oh,” Winston said, “are you hurt?”