Page 37 of The Don’s Omega

That’s a big fucking problem.

I stand at the edge of the dance floor nursing a bourbon. Elio is talking to a group of women Mama wanted to introduce him to. He looks sexy and charming as he laughs with them. My dick stirs just watching him perform for them. I hate how much I want him. It’s unsettling how much I crave him. I can’t wait to get him in my bed tonight. Just thinking about it makes me breathless. I’m hoping once I claim him, my need will calm down.

After my little tantrum, I need to get my head back in the game. We’re about to have our first official dance as husbands. The band has the song cued, and it’s time for Elio and me to show the world we’re a solid couple. This entire wedding is designed to show that I’m a settled, stable alpha who will soon have an heir on the way. And I almost blew all of this up because I got jealous about a damn text.

Jesus.

I’m still embarrassed. I handled it badly. I know that. I saw it in Noemi’s face when she marched over to me, her cheeks flushed and her voice shaking with an anger she rarely shows. Mama was disappointed in me too. She took my arm and hissed in Italian, What are you doing? Grow up and act like a man, not a child. Even Carlo looked concerned. He got that careful, worried look he gets when he’s calculating whether he needs to do something to save me from myself.

I was petty. I flirted with Sandro because I wanted Elio to feel what I felt, which is juvenile and beneath me. Sandro was only too happy to play along. He leaned into me thrilled to have my attention. I flirted with him because I wanted Elio to see that other omegas want me. I behaved like I was a teenager and there’s no way around that.

And even though Elio did nothing wrong, he apologized to me.

He risked my rejection by putting his arms around me in the middle of the reception. He chose peace over pride. He fixed something he didn’t break because the stakes were more important than his feelings. I respect that he was the bigger man. I’m ashamed he had to be the bigger man.

The band leader catches my eye and gives me a nod. They’re ready to play our first dance. I toss back the bourbon, set the glass down, and cross the room to where Elio is standing with Mama and her friends. Up close, I can see how tired he is. Beautiful, but exhausted. Even so, I find him incredibly attractive. His tux fits every angle of his body perfectly. His honey-blond hair catches the light from the chandeliers, but if you look closely, there are shadows under his green eyes. This day has been long and difficult for him. Something inside me softens and I want to comfort him.

I give him one of my warmest smiles. “It’s time for our first dance as husbands, amore mio.”

His eyes flicker at the endearment, but he takes my hand. “I’ll try not to step on your toes too much.”

Mama and the other women laugh.

I lead him onto the dance floor as the band begins L’emozione non ha voce. Of all the details of this wedding, the song was the only one that mattered to me. The song is about emotion too deep to be given a voice. While I’ve never been in love, I’ve always imagined that if it ever happened, it would be something words would only diminish.

The guests turn to watch us dance. Cameras flash. I put my hand on Elio’s waist, and he’s rigid at first. He’s not used to so many people being nosy about his every move. He’ll need to get used to that now that he’s my omega. Everyone will always be watching.

He stumbles over his feet. “Fuck, sorry,” he whispers.

“Relax,” I murmur, pulling him closer. “They’re watching, but they don’t matter. Only we matter.”

He glances up at me, his face unreadable.

“Did you know I chose this song for our first dance?” I say. I’m not sure why I volunteer that. Maybe I’m secretly trying to tell him something about myself. Warning him not to expect words of love from me. As if he’d expect that. I’ve made him feel about as important as a folding chair. He knows this is just a business deal.

“Did you?” He lifts his brows in surprise.

“Yes.” I smirk. “The one thing I contributed to the wedding.”

He meets my gaze. “What does this song mean? I don’t speak Italian.”

“I’ll tell you if you relax a little.”

He laughs gruffly, but his body eases against mine. He exhales, and his hand on my shoulder relaxes, fingers spreading, settling into the fabric of my tux jacket. I tighten my arm around his waist and draw him close enough that I can feel the heat of his body through the layers of fabric between us. My dick stirs as his scent fills my head. That warm, sugary omega scent that’s already become familiar to me. My hand slides lower on his waist and I feel his breath catch.

“This is as relaxed as I can be with all these people watching,” he says. “What does this song mean?”

“The song says emotions have no voice. Another way to put it might be words aren’t enough to define love. Something like that.”

“That’s a surprisingly romantic pick coming from you.”

I frown down at him. “You don’t think I can be romantic?”

“I don’t think it’s your default setting, no.”

I laugh. “Fair enough. It’s not.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “Have you ever been in love?”