Page 92 of The Don’s Omega

“We can play as often as you like. I’m here at the club almost every day.”

“You sure you want to keep playing with me?” I grimace.

“Of course. I had fun.” She smiles at me. “Trust me, I don’t bother calling people I don’t like. I have trouble faking niceness.”

I laugh. “I prefer that to fake people.”

“Then you’re in luck. Renato says I’m too brutally honest. I think he’s too sensitive.” She slips her arm through mine. “Now, let’s go drink. We’ve earned cocktails, and I want to show off that Marcello Foschini’s young husband is my new BFF.”

We head to the veranda that runs the length of the club’s western face. It’s shaded by a long awning, and it looks out over the lawns toward the water. Giulia steers me to a cluster of chairs and a table already half-occupied. When the people sitting there look up, I brace myself. Last time I was here, there were a lot of snooty people. I’m pleasantly surprised when they all smile at me.

“I’m Pasquale,” a thin male omega says, holding out his hand. He’s draped sideways in his chair like he’s been poured there. “I’m surprised you came to the club without Marcello. From what Bianca Russo said he wouldn’t let you out of his sight last time.”

My face heats. “It was my first time at the club. I kind of made him promise not to abandon me.”

“Good call. You especially don’t want to be left alone with Bianca. She’s a barracuda.” Pasquale runs his fingers through his dark hair. “Or is it a bitch?”

“Be careful, Pasquale. The walls have ears,” Giulia says, dropping into a seat and pulling me down beside her.

“So?” Pasquale shrugs. “I’m not saying anything I wouldn’t say to her face.”

“Enough about Bianca. It’s my turn to be introduced.” The woman next to Pasquale leans across to shake my hand. She’s older, sixties maybe, with enormous sunglasses pushed up into silver hair and rings on every finger. “I’m Costanza,” she says.

“Nice to meet you,” I respond.

“You’re very pretty.” Costanza looks me up and down. “Good heavens, between your genetics and Marcello’s, your babies will be like little Greek gods and goddesses. It’s not fair.”

My face gets even hotter and I have no idea what to say to that.

A chubby-faced, anxious-looking male omega leans forward. “I’m Tullio. Don’t shake my hand. I think I’m coming down with something. It could be the bird flu. My throat’s been a little scratchy since this morning.” He makes a harsh, cawing sound in the back of his throat. Something between a crow and a faulty garbage disposal. “Do I look flushed to you, Elio? Be honest.”

“Well, I… er…” I mumble.

“You look fine, Tullio.” Giulia rolls her eyes. “You don’t have the bird flu.”

“It’s probably allergies.” Costanza says. “Everything in the world is blooming right now.”

“I hope so.” Tullio presses the back of his hand to his forehead. “I feel like I have a fever.” He turns to Pasquale. “Do I feel hot to you?”

Pasquale laughs. “I’m not touching you. For all I know you have the plague.”

“Don’t say that,” Tullio wails. “Last time you said that I ended up with walking pneumonia for three weeks.”

“You had a head cold,” Pasquale says patiently.

Tullio stands abruptly. “I’m going to go get a green juice at the juice bar.” He hurries off.

Pasquale scowls. “He didn’t even ask if I wanted a smoothie.”

While the group is quirky, at least they don’t have that malicious undercurrent Bianca had. They’re pampered and self-absorbed, but I don’t think any of them resent me. They certainly don’t seem interested in brainwashing me against Marcello, the way he thought Bianca might do.

Drinks arrive even though I never said what I wanted. But that’s fine. The drink I’m handed is something Costanza ordered for the group. It’s a very refreshing concoction of gin and pineapple juice and a few other things I can’t remember. But it’s ice cold and delicious. I drink the beverage faster than I should because I’m thirsty from the tennis.

“So how is married life?” Pasquale asks, not lifting his head from the chair back. “Is Marcello terrifying at home too? I’ve always wanted to know what he’s like when he’s not around us.”

“He’s different around his family and me.” I hesitate.

“Meaning what?” Costanza asks.