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“Not you, I mean,” I stammered, shaking my head. “What I meant to say is: the stuff you see in CityStyle.”
“You’re engaged to Natalie Marke?” She said, raising her eyebrows now.
“What? No–wait, when did they saythat?”
“Week before the gala, on the events calendar,” she said, smirking. “Wrote that one myself. Putting that J-School degree to good use, of course.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
That would be the story for the grandkids: I fell in love with the reporter who wrote that I was engaged–and to Natalie, of all people–then at the gala that brought us together, she gave me a fake name and ghosted. But wait–I couldn’t get distracted, or there might notbeany grandkids.
“Seriously, though, I mean, not the engagement stuff, but… the other stuff.”
She didn’t look confused any more. She looked… curious?
“You mean…” she started, and I saw her eyes flicker to my neck. I nodded. “You mean the pack stuff.” I nodded again.
“You probably have questions; I respect that. Just–” The clicking of stiletto heels on slate and a muffled burst of laughter were audible from outside. Margaret and Rose. “I wanted to give you a heads up before anyone does anything, uh, weird, and we can talk about it later.” The last came out in a rush, even as the door swung open.
Family Dinner was here.
Ella
I didn’t knowwhat to think of Charlie’s–what,confession?–butit didn’t matter, because I didn’t have thetimeto think about it, either. There was a sudden commotion at the door, and the rest of the family began spilling into the foyer. I recognized the first as Margaret; although she had traded her gown for a chic, deep red wrap dress, her hair and makeup were the same: red lips, black eyeliner, glossy black hair, not a strand out of place. She was wearing heels–tall ones, stilettos that I would have bet money had red soles to match her lipstick, her dress–with a grace I had never managed. I had thought raven-haired Margaret to be the epitome of elegance and poise at the gala, but tonight it was the girl beside her, their two arms linked together like schoolgirls, that almost made me draw breath. Tall, which was rare for the omega I knew she must be, and with the almost-awkward angles of a model, she would have made anyone–anyone but Margaret,I amended–look dull comparatively. Her eyes were wide and expressive, glancing up for a “Hey, Charlie,” for a second before returning to Margaret’s impassive face, continuing her chatter. He cleared his throat, and she looked up again, and noticed me.
“Oh!” she said, and her face lit up in a bright grin. “Oh!” she said again, clutching Margaret’s arm. Her nails were short and neat where her fingers indented Margaret’s pale skin.
“Rose, Margaret,” Charlie said, stepping closer to me, “this is–”
“Elizabeth Booker,” Margaret cut in. “So nice to see you again.” Her face was unreadable, and I tried to keep the smile on my face as I panicked. She knew my name–myrealname–but she also knew I had been at the gala, obviously. I hadn’t thought this through; I would only end up looking foolish tonight.
“Ella, please,” I said, and she smiled. “It’s nice to see you, too, Margaret,” I half-lied.
“I’m glad you could make it,” she said.
“I’m gladCharliecould make it,” said the tall girl, who Charlie had called Rose. She leaned in toward me conspiratorially, speaking in a stage whisper. “He missed last week, and that isstrictly forbidden.”
“Rose, please, don’t–” Charlie sighed, but he was interrupted once more, this time, by Philip, who was carrying several heavy bags of groceries.
“Don’t tease Charlie, Rose,” he chided, “That’s my job. Hey, Ella, nice to see you out of the office.”
“Nice to see you, too, Philip,” I said, knowing as I did so that I was repeating myself, but not having anything more interesting to say. Actually–“Can I help you with those groceries?” I asked. With any luck I could escape to the kitchen with them, and spare myself any more introductions, at least for a few minutes.
“No, thanks though,” he said, and brushed past us toward the kitchen.More Princes it is.There were two more–Charlie had three brothers, I remembered from my research–entering the foyer, their cheerful greetings bouncing off the high, molded ceiling. One had a blonde woman on his arm: the third and final wife, I deduced.Mate, rather, and fuck, I had forgotten to look at Margaret’s neck again. And–fuckfuck–that woman who had leaned in to whine about Charlie wasRosefuckingBriar. She had been wearing a turtleneck. My eyes moved unbidden to this woman’s neckline, but her cascading hair was obscuring any tell-tale scars. I snapped my attention to her face: pretty and serious, with green eyes fixed lovingly on her date. At least she hadn’t noticed my ogling.
“You know Philip from the magazine,” Charlie was saying. “This is Jack, my oldest brother, and his fiancée Asterid.” They said hello, and I awkwardly shook hands with both of them. “And this,” he said, nodding at the last brother, “Is my other brother Richard.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ella,” Richard said, a smile on the handsome features the four brothers shared: the same dark blond hair and blue eyes and straight brows as Charlie, and yet…
As the party tramped through the ornately decorated foyer towards the expansive kitchen, I looked to Charlie. They weren’tjustalike, the four brothers. Charlie’s hair was a touch longer, maybe a bit wavier, his eyes a slightly different shade of blue than Jack’s, which were different than Richard’s, or Philip’s. Charlie was, perhaps, a bit bulkier, more muscled and less lean the other men.
And Charlie wasmine.
Something had settled in me as the rest of Charlie’s family had wandered into his house, bringing their groceries and their chatter and their perfumes, sweet and musky and, I realized, unmuted by scent-blockers, into the home that was so big for just one person, alone.
“Well,” Charlie said. “That’s everyone.”
