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“Of course,” I replied. “That’s what they mean when they say ‘to grease the wheels,’ I’m pretty sure: truffle oil.”
“Truffle oil isn’t usually even made with truffles, but for some reason,” he shook his head, doing a little half shrug, “it works great on wheels.”
“Really?” I asked. I had assumed my tots (price:nine dollars) had at least hadsometruffle.
He paused. “I’m working with what you’re giving me, here. I don’t know where this metaphor is going, I’m just doing some ‘yes, and…’ If you really want to know… I mean, I assume it would workpoorlyon wheels, but I’m not a car guy. I could find out?”
“What? No, I mean, is truffle oil not truffles?”
“Oh,” he said, seeming surprised. “Yeah, no. It’s regular oil and they just add flavors in. Dihexomonomine or something like that.”
“So you’re telling me… that I have purchasednine dollar tater totsunder false pretenses?”
“I… am so, so sorry. Yes.” My only half fake heartbreak must have shown on my face, because he reached out as if to take my hand in comfort. “And I’m so sorry that I had to be the one to tell you, uh…” He looked at me, and after a second, I realized he was asking wordlessly for my name.
“El–Lara.” I said. “Lara Stevens.CityStylemagazine. Editor.”
“Sorry–Ellara?”
“Just Lara,” I muttered. His face was very close to mine, since he was half bent to take my hand. His eyes were perfect stormy-ocean blue, and this close, I could feel his breath on me, hot and sweet and smelling like champagne and–alpha. The thought made me shiver, made my legs feel weak for the second time that afternoon. I had been on suppressants since my presentation; I wasn’t typically affected by alphas, not likethis–and what evenwasthis, anyway? Transfixed by blonde lashes surrounding gray-blue irises, my heart in my throat and my body uncomfortably warm and tingling, I reached out and took his hand.
I would not have believed it had I not seen it myself, but as our fingers touched, his eyes widened, his smiling mouth opened slightly, and I knew: he had felt it too. That feeling.
Charlie
She placedher hand in mine, and I felt my jaw go slack. I was sure all the electrons in my atoms had just lurched slightly. My blood pounded in my ears and screamed under my skin, and I felt as if while I was standing still, the world I inhabited had shifted around me. Ithadto be her. This wasit. She wasitfor me. “Charlie,” I managed, just barely.
My name didn’t matter anyway, I was sure she knew who I was. Of course she did: she was the editor of the CityStyle. My father had graced the pages of that hallowed institution many times, and although Lara–Lara!my heart sang,Lara!--was my age, and obviously not old enough to have been editor during his era, I was sure she recognized his offspring, and had known who I was from across the room. The four of us were perhaps not quite as newsworthy as our socialite parents, but we weren’t unknown to the pages of the local lifestyle magazine by any stretch. My older brother’s marriages had been reported breathlessly, full of intrigue and insinuation (“If the bride had avisible mating mark, we’d never mention it!”) and this very gala had been mentioned in last month’s edition. I knew, because I had called and ensured it would be.That’show desperate I was for this launch to go well. If I had known how beautiful the editor was–not to mention that she was my mate–I wouldn’t have avoided the magazine so firmly. I cursed myself for turning down all those interviews after the sale of my start-up: I could have met this woman months ago. We could already be–I forced that train of thought to a screeching halt.
What was important was now: she was smiling, her eyes flitting between mine. My breath was shallow as I tried to keep myself from drowning in her intoxicating scent, and I said, hoping my voice conveyed my earnestness, “I’m so happy to meet you.”
“Me too,” she replied, sounding… odd. Relieved? “I had to cancel other plans to be here, you know, and I had been worried it wouldn’t be worth it.”
“And now?” I asked, and I could feel my heart beating in my chest.
“I think you may have made it worth coming,” she said.
I hadn’t realized when Jack and Philip and Richard said it was easy, being with your fated mate, that they had meantit was this easy.That we would look into each other’s eyes and know, like this, that every touch was like sparklers. That all the awkward flirting would fall away and you would be left, just two people alone in a crowded gala.
Then she blinked, and startled, seeming to realize how close we were. Our faces. Our… lips. I stood straight, quickly, tearing my eyes from hers with effort to look up at the ceiling and recollect myself.
“Definitely worth coming, actually.” She shrugged, as I looked back down at her again, just in time for her unselfconscious movement. It made her silk dress gleam, drawing my attention to her slim body, just for a moment. I’d almost forgotten the rest of her existed, I had been so distracted by her eyes and her pink lips. “I learned an interesting fact about truffle oil.” I looked back up to see her smirking at me.
“You should run an expose in the magazine.”
“Oh, sure,” she laughed, then seemed to consider it more seriously. “Actually, that is exactly the hard-hitting journalism my magazine’s readers are looking for. Preciselythat hard-hitting, and no harder.”
She was funny. At least,Ithought she was, although I supposed that was pretty muchthe whole dealwith true mates. But an ambitious (I assumed, as she was very young for an editor) woman who didn’t take herself too seriously?Noooo.I was done for.
“This champagne? It may not even bechampagne.” It was, but whatever. For the sake of the joke, for the sake of seeing Lara smile again: “It may in fact besparkling wine.” Her jaw dropped in mock horror. “You could do a whole series. Actually… hasCityStyleconsidered starting an investigative podcast?”
“To the contrary, I saw a fresh bottle being popped and the label said champagne, so I have evidence that this is the real thing. Unless, of course, they switched the labels on the bottle, in which case…” Her voice became low and serious. Podcaster voice. “This scandal may take us deep into the halls of power.” She took a small sip, then inspected her half-empty glass thoughtfully. “Not that I can tell the difference.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” I said, leaning in conspiratorially. “I can’t either. My brother is the wine guy of the family.”
“Hasheconsidered starting a podcast? In my experience, most men have,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
I was just opening my mouth to join in with the good-natured teasing of my older brother–one of myveryfavorite activities–when Margaret slipped up beside me. It took me a moment to realize it was her, and only recognized she was waiting for me after a second moment.
