Page 13 of Omega's Faith

It's a dick move. I know he'll hate it but some petty part of me wants to see him ruffled.

"No thank you, Alpha."

The formal address again, but this time with an edge. Like despite the vanilla-honey scent trying to draw us together, he'd rather be anywhere else.

Message received, church mouse.

We file out of the Bureau in awkward formation. Diana's already on her phone, terrorizing wedding planners. Ricky falls into step beside me.

"So?" he asks quietly. "How bad?"

I glance back at Jonah walking between his parents, that straight spine and careful control. Even from here, I can smell him. Even from here, I want him.

"I've been matched to a fundamentalist virgin who thinks I'm Satan incarnate,” I say the words spilling out of my mouth. "It went fantastic."

4. Jonah

We're still three blocks away from the restaurant when Dad slows the Honda, peering ahead.

"Is that..." Mom leans forward. "Oh my goodness."

The street in front of the restaurant is clogged with news vans, photographers jostling for position. This is our ‘get to know each other’ family dinner as arranged by Diana Norris who I have learned is the head of Colborne Industries instead of Alex.

As far as I can tell, Alex doesn’t seem to have a job.

"Maybe we should park somewhere else," I suggest, my stomach already churning.

"The valet will handle it," Dad says firmly. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. "Mr Colborne’s assistant called earlier. He said they'd send a car for us but I told him we could drive ourselves."

Of course he did. Dad's pride wouldn't let him accept a chauffeured ride but maybe Alex had a reason for offering.

Or maybe Alex didn’t even know the offer was made. Everything I know about him tells me that he does nothing for himself. Ricky takes care of everything.

What else does Ricky do? Set out his clothes in the morning? Brush Alex’s teeth for him? Wipe his rear?

I’d only be half-surprised if I found out that Ricky did.

We inch closer. The photographers haven't noticed our ordinary Honda yet, too busy checking their equipment andgossiping. The valet spots us first, moving toward our car. That's when the sharks smell blood.

"It's them!"

"The omega!"

"Jonah! Jonah Wells!"

They descend like locusts. Camera flashes explode through the windshield, turning the world white. Mom gasps, shrinking back. Dad's scent spikes with anxiety as he tries to navigate through the crowd.

"Keep your heads down," he mutters, but it's too late.

They surround the car, cameras pressed against windows, voices shouting:

"Jonah! How does it feel to be marrying into billions?"

"What do you say about allegations that the Fellowship a cult?"

"Jonah! Are you pregnant?"

"Jonah! What's your stance on omega rights?"