Page 8 of Glitterati Omega

“Um,” Rupert said, glancing away as he scratched at the back of his neck.

“It will be fine,” the alpha said. “Morgan will get him sorted out.”

Rupert frowned. Him?

“Shall we?” the alpha asked, gesturing inside as he pressed the door open wider. Rupert nodded, then blushed and scurried past him when he realized he could have just said yes. He shivered in the air conditioning. “Would you like a drink?”

“Oh, perhaps,” Rupert said as he stared at the banner that readCongratulations, Perce & Jake!

He turned his head as Winston brushed by him. The lawyer gestured to the bar, which wrapped its way around the eastern wall of the dining room.

They wandered through the room, the clatter of silverware against plates and gentle chatter reaching them. Over that, soft strains of smooth jazz were playing.

Winston led him all the way to the opposite end of the dining room, where floor-to-ceiling windows lined the rounded wall, providing an expansive look at the patio—what Alina calledthe pier—and the harbor outside. The sky was almost pitch, the last of the sunset simmering on the horizon. The water was dark too, lights rippling along its surface as the wind raced over it, churning up waves. Only a couple of boats were visible as they sailed lazily by; others were moored, bobbing at their stands.

“Outside?” Winston asked.

Rupert nodded again, then squeaked, “Yes, that would be nice.” His head was on swivel, as though he were in a jungle full of man-eating tigers who might leap out at him at any second.

The patio was almost full as well, and the guests were looking a little blowsy; omegas who’d chosen to wear their hair down were having a decidedly difficult time, as the wind kept throwing it into their faces.

Rupert might have paused to be jealous of their locks, but he himself wasn’t in a much better position; a huge gust of wind blew by as he stepped outside, lifting his skirt, and it was only quick hands that tamed it and kept him from flashing all and sundry.

“Perhaps,” Winston said from somewhere behind him, “we should stay inside?”

Rupert glanced back over his shoulder, surprised to find the alpha had a hand lifted, like he’d been about to grab the wayward red silk that had threatened to expose Rupert. The alpha’s brows jumped when he met Rupert’s gaze.

“Hey!” Morgan cried as they leaned out the door. “Blondie!” They waved, gesturing them back in anyway.

Winston held the door and guided Rupert back inside—he didn’t actually touch Rupert’s arm, but the intent was there.

Rupert felt like he was onfire. He couldn’t dare look at the alpha, so he focused on settling his skirt, looking down at his shoes. When had he scuffed that one?

“You’re over here,” Morgan grumbled, leading them across the dining room, their shoes sinking into the plush carpet.

They walked to a table that had clearly been pulled out of arrangement with the others. Rupert frowned. “What’s this?” he asked. “Am I so offensive that I need to be exiled to St. Helena?”

Morgan huffed. “You’re a little taller than Napoleon,” they muttered.

“Excuse you, I rather thought I was Josephine.”

“Both were awful and would deserve to be exiled,” Winston cut in. “But I’m not sure what Mr. Cullinan has done to be marooned out here, and you along with him?”

“Oh,” Morgan almost whistled, their gaze flicking up to Winston’s, then away again.

Winston shook his head. “This is silly,” he said. “How can you watch Isolde if you’re all the way over here?”

“Winston—”

“I will go talk to him,” Winston said.

“Probably a really bad plan, my dude,” Morgan said but jogged along after him anyway. Rupert glanced left and right, then realized he’d been entirely abandoned, so he darted after them.

He glanced up and realized they were headed right for—

“What the hell,” Percival spat, arching one blond brow at them. “Morgan, I told you to keep him out of my sight.”

Morgan rolled their eyes. “Look, Percy—”