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“Yes, Margaret?” I asked, trying to tell her with my eyesnow is not a good time.I had pointed out Lara to her across the hall, so she knew who I was talking to. If not her name, then who she was to me, at least. I didn’t appreciate her wingmanning it, not now.
“It’s almost time,” she said, looking up at me and holding out her hand expectantly.Ah.I passed over the wine glass, and let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding in a huff of air. I rolled my shoulders, preparing for my brief moment on stage.
Turning back to Lara, I saw in her eyes a wariness, a possessiveness that I knew she wouldn’t fully understand. I knew from experience that other omegas tended to find Margaret intimidating, so I quickly turned back to Lara. “This is mysister in law, Margaret Prince.”See? Safe.Lara’s expressiveness endeared me to her–I couldn’t wait to see more of it. Her smile was beautiful, the slight pout she wore now charming, and I wanted to know what she looked like when she was reading a good book, when she solved a tricky puzzle. When she was torn apart with pleasure. When she was just waking up.
Right now, though, I had business to attend to.
“I’m sorry, Lara,” I said, relishing the way her name tasted on my lips. “I have… some business to attend to.” Her smile remained, but a small crease formed between her eyebrows. “Wait for me,” I continued, wanting to smooth that crease with my words, if I couldn’t reach out and do it with my fingers. “There will be a band after the speeches. Save me a dance?”
She nodded, her mouth parted on a promise.
Tonight began the rest of my life.
From the Pages of CityStyle Magazine
[photo: (L-R) Philip Prince, Margaret Prince, John “Jack” Prince, Richard Prince, Charles Prince.]
A new generation of the “Prince Pack”? Both Jack and Charlie Prince graduated from Collingswood University this spring; does the brothers’ attendance at last week’s opera opening mark the family’s return to society after the death of late patriarch John Prince? Though we certainly wouldn’t have guessed it would be second son and notorious bad boy Philip Prince who would settle down first, his choice of a beautiful omega as his blushing–or dare we suggest, could that be a heat flush?–bride is unsurprising given his father’s legacy…
CITYSTYLEMAGAZINE, CITYSNAPS, PAGE 4
Ella
I was left standingin the middle of the dancefloor with a half-full glass of authentic champagne(™), a slightly spinning head, and a whole flock of butterflies in my stomach.
And a name: Charlie.
He was handsome, and charming, and laughed at my awkward attempts at flirting while half in character asLara Stevens, editor who totally belongs at this party,and for some reason, when he looked at me, I couldn’t see anything but him. When he spoke, his voice, though quiet, drowned out all other sound. My body was still burning with his closeness, and I felt the strange sensation that if I closed my eyes andfelthard enough, I could still sense his presence moving through the crowded ballroom.
So if I only had one night to be Lara, I wanted to live it up. Iwouldsave him a dance. He and Lara would waltz or whatever people did here, she would say goodnight, he would offer to walk her to her car, she’d decline (I’d be taking the train across the city to my shitty apartment, and Charlie didn’t need to know that), maybe he would ask for her number, maybe he would bend down for a kiss on the cheek…
He may have been totally wrong for Ella, but for one fairy tale evening, he wasperfectfor Lara.
Even if Charlie had seemed to be interested in the Ella half of me, too.
Even if he had been funny, and unpretentious, and seemed… normal, despite his fancy tux and shiny shoes.
Even if he had asked me to save him a dance, like he hadn’t quite gotten enough of my self-conscious flirtation and clumsy jokes.
I shook my head, looking for somewhere to put my champagne flute: the bubbles were obviously affecting me more than I expected. It must be the authenticity going to my head, I thought, and smiled to myself, thinking about Charlie and his raised eyebrow as he joked around about the exposé podcast series theCityStylecould produce. Episode one: there may not be truffles in your truffle oil. Episode two: is it champagne you’re drinking, or is it just sparking wine?
Then the lights flickered,off, on,and dimmed, leaving only a floodlight focused on the small stage.
And there he was. Charlie.
He began to speak, welcoming the attendees to the event, thanking them all for being there. Telling a joke that drew scattered laughter, a joke I didn’t hear over the rush of blood in my head. Raising his refreshed champagne flute in a toast as he welcomed a tall brunette woman in a suit onto the stage.
And I realized: I should have known.
His sister-in-law.
Margaret Prince.
Handsome, funny, save-me-a-dance Charlie wasCharles Prince.
The perfect tuxedo, dark blue eyes, blond hair, even the charming self-confidence… it all made sense. Only a fool wouldn’t have recognized him right away. He was obviously–stupidly, blatantly–a Prince.
The Princes were local celebrities: their father was a local boy who had married up, some French socialite if I recalled correctly, and then he and his wife had both died, leaving behind four rich, handsome brothers. The family was somewhat infamous, too; there were always whispers about their adherence to what people calledthe old ways. I thought, with the blank kind of clarity brought about by a shock, that I should have looked to see if Margaret (MargaretPrince, hissister-in-law) really did have a mating mark like some people said. It wasn’tillegalto have a mating mark, of course, but it wasn’t…done.It was a sign of submission, ofownership,that, for obvious reasons, most omegas weren’t interested in having permanently scarred into their skin.After all, a wedding ring had the same function,I thought cynically,but it was removable.Another brother was married to the romance novelist Rose Briar, I thought. Was she here mingling tonight? She was an omega, like Margaret, like me. I knew as much because she too was allegedlymatedto her husband, although I suspected perhaps that was a rumor she herself had started to sell more of her books. I had read one, and it was okay. It was romance: a girl and a boy falling in love, pledging to be together forever. It didn’t usually happen that way, in my experience. More like fall in love, get married, get widowed, get remarried to a pretty divorcee, die young, leave behind a daughter with only a step-family and no one of her own.
