Page 83 of Glitterati Omega

Fifteen

T

he ten-week mark passed with no blood,nocramping, no pain. Then eleven weeks. Then twelve weeks. And then thirteen weeks, and very slowly, very cautiously, Rupert reconciled himself to the fact he was in his second trimester. And then he let himself hope a little.

Things could still go wrong—very wrong, he knew—but it felt like a spell had been lifted.

That did not solve the issue that he was fourteen weeks pregnant and showing rather obviously. Winston assured him the bump was “very cute,” but that didn’t necessarily mean Rupert felt like anything about him was cute at all, actually, because he was solid enough to start and most omegas didn’t show until they were into their fifth month, especially not with a first pregnancy.

Winston merely assured him he was not most omegas, but that didn’t change the fact Rupert felt that everyone was judging him and he knew precisely what they were thinking. He was feeling better, which meant he’d needed to return to wearing actual clothing, not just flouncing around in his nightgowns, and when he went to Winston’s office to discuss some of the issues around the corporate sales or the house sale in Pretoria or the house they wanted to sell in Johannesburg, he felt like all eyes were glued to him.

He didn’t have much time to think on it, though, because he had a lot to sort through around the estate. He’d made up his mind about what to do with the mines, and he’d only recently thought about how he might talk to Winston about what he wanted to do. It seemed like the house in Cape Town was going to call them back to deal with it, and Rupert had a couple of ideas about that. He’d had another epiphany while he was riffling through his closet to find something that fit still.

He was more energetic, which was nice, even though he ached everywhere, so he was eager to accomplish what he could while he felt well enough. He booked them flights to Johannesburg, with the intent they’d deal with the house there, then go to KwaZulu-Natal.

The day after he did that, he told Winston about what he wanted to do with the house in Cape Town—a shelter for abused omegas, spun off and given a large endowment so that it could operate on a pay-as-you-can model, so that omegas could go somewhere safe without worrying about the cost. If they had a little to contribute, that would help to keep the shelter’s coffers full. And perhaps others would help too, somewhat like the model Winston had outlined for him with the solar farm outside his home village.

For his clothing, he wanted to donate it—a lot of it would be wonderful for younger omegas who had a formal function to attend. Anything that wasn’t strictly formal could be the start of a wardrobe for the shelter, to provide for omegas who had to leave with nothing but the clothes on their backs. He would encourage Elise and some of her designer friends to donate things, especially clothing from their ready-to-wear collections that would have otherwise been bound to be burned or tossed in a landfill. When omegas left the shelter, they could take a couple of outfits with them; that could provide clothing for interviews or for the first days at a new job, and, if it was necessary, consignment would be an option, to provide cash. He only hoped that those who were in a position to donate in the future would consider it.

Winston looked over the plans with great interest, a hand over his mouth, hiding his expression. He hummed gently, nodding here and there. Finally, he crumpled up the paper and declared, “With some tweaks, it will be perfect.”

Rupert’s heart soared; he clapped his hands in delight. “Oh!” he said. “I’m so excited.” He hadn’t expected to be happy about it. At all.

Winston smiled warmly. “Now, some news for you,” he said, pulling out his phone. He put it down on the table and twisted it around.

Rupert peered at the screen, then glanced up at the alpha. “What’s this?”

“A vineyard estate,” Winston said.

“All right.” Rupert looked down. “I thought we were going to spin off the wine company and I’d have minority-majority status as an owner.”

Winston pointed to the top of the screen. “This is in Hill Country,” he said, like that explained anything.

When Rupert just looked at him, he plucked up the phone and scrolled through the listing. “There is a villa on the land, which the current owners were using as a kind of resort-hotel, but I thought perhaps … we could buy it.”

“And live there?” Rupert asked, lifting his brows.

“The general plan,” Winston murmured. Rupert would have sworn he was blushing.

“What about your work?”

Winston shook his head. “I thought … I thought I might leave the firm.”

Rupert lifted his brows. “Leave the firm.”

Winston shrugged. “It’s not like Ineedthe job,” he said. He wouldn’t meet Rupert’s gaze. “I haven’t for a while. The Lunex money is more than enough. I can keep up my licensing and continue practicing, but I could offer pro bono services to people who need them.”

“Mm.” Rupert cast his gaze down at the screen then. “And?”

Winston sighed a little. “And work the land a bit. Grow grapes. Make wine.” He reached over, tilted Rupert’s head up. “Pursue passions—become a vintner, a father, lover of a good omega.”

Rupert snorted, then pulled away. “So you want to just operate the wine company then?”

“Not … really. This could be part of it, perhaps, but a wholly owned subsidiary or something, which we operate. The others can be cooperatives, like we discussed.”

Rupert nodded. He looked up at Winston again. “And the villa? Why so much space? I thought you’d said we didn’t need much more than what you had at your house.”

“Ah … for visitors. Friends. Family.”