Page 61 of Omega's Faith

"From you? She'd eat you alive just for practice."

"That's fair. I'll be at the speed bag if they need someone to identify your body."

Diana sits in one of the angular chairs in the member’s lounge looking deeply uncomfortable, like she might catch something from the furniture. She's wearing a cream pantsuit, her silver hair pulled back in its signature chignon. Her assistant hovers nearby, tablet in hand, looking equally out of place.

"You look terrible," she says by way of greeting.

"You look lost. The Four Seasons is three blocks east."

Her mouth tightens. "You haven't been answering my calls."

"I've been busy."

"Doing what?"

“I am supposed to be on my honeymoon you know.”

“I do know and I also know that your husband walked out on you so don’t bullshit me. I’m guessing you’ve spent it drinking.”

"Actually, no. Haven't had a drink in six days."

She blinks, genuinely surprised. "You're serious."

"Completely."

"Sit down, Alex. Please."

The please catches me off guard. Diana doesn't say please. She commands, she mandates, she strongly suggests. Shedoesn't ask.

I sit, still in my sweaty workout clothes. "The press knows," she says. "About your separation."

"That was fast."

"Someone at the Fellowship talked. Apparently, Jonah returning home alone after a week of marriage was noteworthy enough that someone put it in a family newsletter and it went out from there."

"Is he okay?"

"I don't know. I don't have sources inside religious compounds in the middle of nowhere." She pauses. "I came to warn you. They'll be looking for you soon. You need to be prepared with a statement."

I sigh. “Fine. I assume you have something pre-prepared for me.”

“I do.” She reaches into her briefcase and pulls out a piece of paper which she hands to me. I scan it. Apparently, we’re not separated. Jonah has simply gone home to see his family after a short honeymoon.

“I’m not reading this. He’s left. He’s not coming back.”

“It’s in your own best interests, Alexander. The press is going to go mad. Just put them on hold while I work out how to get him back.”

“I’ll make my own statement. You don’t need to manage me.”

She looks at me like I'm particularly slow. "Yes, I do. Because despite what you might think, I actually give a damn about your wellbeing. I've been managing your life for fifteen years—"

"Exactly. Managing it. Controlling it."

"Because you need it." Her voice isn't harsh, just matter-of-fact. "You’re the living definition of the phrase ‘more money than sense’."

"It’s not your job to save me."

"Yes, it is. I owe it to your mother. I've been trying to keepyou functional. With mixed results, admittedly." She sighs, and for the first time, I notice how tired she looks. "The drinking, the partying, the complete lack of direction—did you think I enjoy constantly pulling you back from the edge?"