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Come on, Verity. You’ve got this.
Ugh, I’ve resorted to giving myself mental pep talks now to even get out the door.
At this rate, it’ll be a long night.
“Need a hand?” a husky voice asks, startling me so hard a squeak bursts from my throat. The noise garners Rosey’s attention, and she notices the alpha at the same time I get a whiff of tantalizing warm spices. I’d recognize Andrik from his scent anywhere. Mainly because his, Jedrik’s, and Emmett’s are all I can think about. They’re also the only ones that slip through the dampeners, wrapping me in a warm hug I can’t seem to escape… not that I want to at this point.
Rosey clucks her tongue. “Andrik, you know alphas aren’t allowed back here. You should be preparing for the elimination.” The young stylist pauses, tilting her head to assess him. “How’d you even get past the cameras, anyway?”
He mimes sealing his lips and tossing away the key. “I’ll never give up my secrets.”
God, he’s as bad as Jedrik. Although nicer and way less broody.
She rolls her eyes. “Well, since you’re already here, maybe you’ll put a little extra pep in the omega’s step. She’s stalling pretty hard.” She throws her hands up like she’s exasperated with me, but there’s a twinkle in her eye. It’s pretty hard not to like Rosey. She seems to get me, even with the disconnect between us. She’s all for this life. Meanwhile, I’m still wondering when it’ll sink in that my life won’t mystically change.
Heat licks up my spine as Andrik levels his gaze on me, his deep blue eyes full of concern. He waits for Rosey to disappear again, and she does, but not before shooting me a conspiratorial wink. Normally, I’d give his navy suit an appreciative once over. I’d admire the way it grips his thick biceps and complements his eyes, but my hands tremble with nerves. I have to be the only reluctant omega in history. What’s wrong with me?
He notices my demeanor change instantly, and his face softens. “What’s wrong, Precious?”
I have to glance away from him at the use of that dang nickname, so I don’t burst into tears. Nor do I want to burden him with my irrational thoughts and fears. But he places a finger under my chin and brings my focus back to him. His skin is scalding against mine, warming me as much as his spicy scent. The expression on his face as I stare into his eyes has me tempted to spill my thoughts.
Instead, I give him a half-truth. “I’m nervous about the elimination. That’s all.”
He frowns, like he senses there’s more I’m not saying. He motions for me to turn around, so I do, cupping the fabric to my chest to conceal my breasts. His fingers find the smooth skin of my spine, trailing the barest of touches down my back as he reaches for my zipper. My pears plume, mixing with his nutmeg and cinnamon, invading my nostrils as he moves my hair out of the way so he doesn’t accidentally zip it in the dress.
“Are you nervous about your interview?” I choke out to distract myself from the heat his touch ignites.
For once, the men will be the ones in the hot seat, answering society’s juiciest questions about themselves before the final vote… and the elimination. Once again, the nerves sink in and Andrik distracts me by placing the gentlest of kisses against the bare skin of my left shoulder. “Maybe a little,” he admits, surprising me.
“What if you—“ I blurt and clamp my mouth shut, not daring to speak the words out loud in case that makes it come true.
I don’t have to though, because Andrik picks up on my meaning. “What if we’re voted off?” he asks, and I shoot him a look that screams, don’t jinx it! He seems completely unbothered, though, and gives me a tiny smile. “Have faith in me, Precious. My twin may be a hothead, but I want to be here. I’m in this for the long haul, and I’ll be damned if I let us get sent home.”
“You sound so confident it makes me want to believe you, but it’s not up to me, Andrik. I think that’s what’s killing me.”
“What’s killing me is the sight of you in this dress, and not being able to touch you the way I want,” he rasps. “Don’t worry about us, okay? We’ve got this.”
His statement has me glancing at my attire for the evening. The gown is a stunning shade of dark purple with a plunging neckline, and the fabric flows down my curves, pooling in a circular shape at my feet. The straps are sort of strange and leave one side bare while leaving a strip of flesh showing across my collarbone like it was made for my exact measurement. I’ve no doubt Rosey altered it as such.
“Andrik, I—“ I start and then stop, unsure of exactly what I want to say. I let out a sigh. “Good luck tonight.”
He grins. “Luck will have nothing to do with it, Verity. If the possibility of keeping you in my arms forever means winning over society, then I’ll damn well do exactly that,” he states before waltzing to the other side of the room.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching him closely.
He rummages through a few baskets Rosey has on a table full of odds and ends, a contemplative look on his face. Eventually, he plucks a scrap of fabric off the worktable that’s the same shade as my dress. He yanks the generic pocket square out and neatly deposits the matching one in its place. He straightens the fabric until it’s perfect and gives me a dashing grin that has my insides turning to goo. “There we go. That definitely won’t go unnoticed.”
I open my mouth and close it a few times, gaping at him. Okay, maybe I underestimated him a bit. Rosey made a comment earlier about how it’s a shame most of the suits are recycled every season because they don’t stand out. Andrik just changed the game entirely. I grin at him. “No, it certainly won’t.”
In a blink, he’s standing in front of me again. “See? I’m not above playing a little dirty to get what I want. And what I want… is you.” Hook. Line. Sinker. Fuck, I’m a goner and he seems to know it too. “Come on, let’s get you to the set before they send out reinforcements to look for you.”
Chapter 19
Verity
The immense ballroom, converted into a film studio, surrounds me. The side I’m on holds a small stage set up for interviews, while the other side is designed for filming the elimination. Of course, they spring an interview on me at the last minute. Probably as a way to catch me off guard, giving me no time to prepare. They said it wouldn’t be “a day in the life of an omega on Heat Paradise” without one. I wait for the crew to get everything ready, as my interview is before the men. I’m across from Mrs. Violet in a very uncomfortable chair that matches hers, though if her back hurts like mine, she doesn’t show it. I’m almost envious of the grace she exudes.
Nerves flutter through me, and I fidget with my hands for the third time in the past minute. Mark reaches for his camera and hefts it to his shoulder when Karen strides up to him with determined steps. They seem to share some heated words, and I wish more than anything I could hear them. Someone else’s drama sounds nice right about now. I’m sick of constantly being the center of attention.
