Page 72 of Glitterati Omega

Rupert lifted his head. “I don’t want to be a side piece,” he said miserably. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a secret spouse?”

Winston tilted his head. “Where on earth did you get that notion?”

Rupert gestured wildly. “All—this!” he cried. “All this running around, ignoring me, not letting me speak to your parents, telling them I don’t … I don’t exist or something!”

The alpha frowned. “Rupert, that’s not—”

“Why wouldn’t you tell them!” he barked, shooting to his feet. “Because you don’t want them to know, because you’re already married, and you—you always just wanted the money and that’s what this ridiculous baby venture is about, and—”

“Sh, sh, sh,” Winston said, putting a hand on his shoulders. He glanced toward the road. “Let’s talk inside.”

“Now we can talk!” Rupert thundered, stumbling as Winston steered him in through the door.

“Are youdrunk?”

“I wish!” He walked to the couch and sat down heavily. He hiccupped, which probably didn’t help his case.

Winston folded his arms. “Rupert, what is this about?”

“It’s about you being a duplicitous bastard and—”

The lawyer shook his head. “I’m not two-timing anyone,” he grumbled, his brow knitting. “I’m hurt that you’d even think that. I’m not married, and I never have been. There is no secret spouse.”

“Then why tell your mothers we broke up? Why …”

Winston sighed heavily, then ran a hand through his hair. “It’s because they don’t like you.”

“What?” Rupert blinked. “They don’t like me? We hardly know each other!” He paused, then said, “I know I didn’t make a good first impression, but …”

Winston shook his head. “It has nothing to do with that,” he murmured. “It has everything to do with what you are. Or, well, who you are.”

The lawyer fixed him with a pointed look. Rupert stared back for a moment. Then, cautiously, he ventured, “Because I’mwhite?”

Winston glanced away. “Not … exactly. There are plenty of poor whites. It’s—it’s your name.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Winston frowned at him. “It’s the money, Rupert. Where it came from. How your ancestors got it—at the expense ofmyancestors.”

“I’m still not following. That happened hundreds of years ago.”

Winston sighed. “Yes, but—”

“So what does it matter now?” Rupert asked, tilting his head. “I like you, and I hope you like me. You seem to anyway, so what does the past have to do with anything?”

“I told you. It’s the money.”

“But that was then, and this is now.”

“And you’restillbenefiting from it, and we are still suffering for it.”

Rupert closed his mouth, swallowing whatever he thought he might say next. He folded his hands in his lap.

Winston collapsed onto the sofa next to him. “Do you understand now? It isn’tyou—it’s who you are, what you have. What you represent.”

Rupert knitted his brows. “ButIhaven’t done anything.”

Winston looked at him—really looked at him, the alpha’s brown gaze sweeping up and down him. “Yes,” he said, “you have. Every day you hang on to a fortune that was built on the backs of my ancestors, on stolen land and stolen lives. Every day, you continue a legacy that denies us—our land, our culture, our language, our wealth.”