Page 78 of Omega's Faith

I sit beside her, careful not to touch. "Yeah, actually, I do."

She laughs through her tears. "No, you don't. Your omega wanted you. God, the way he looked at you at your wedding—like you hung the moon and broke his heart at the same time."

"He looked at me like I was everything wrong with the world."

"Same thing, sometimes." She wipes her face, mascara smearing. "I used to look at you like that."

We sit in silence while she drinks and talks.

"Remember when we used to dance until sunrise?" she asks. "That club in Barcelona where they played nothing but techno and we invented that ridiculous cocktail?"

"The one with absinthe and champagne?"

"God, we were idiots." She's leaning against me now, heavy with exhaustion and whiskey. "Happy idiots, though."

"Sometimes."

"Better than now."

I think about the last two weeks. Sober, miserable, doing hot yoga at dawn like some sort of wellness cliché. But I’m also... clearer. More aware. Feeling things instead of drowning them.

"Different than now," I correct.

She yawns, curling into my side. "I should go."

"Yeah."

But she's already closing her eyes. Within minutes, she's snoring softly, still in her silk robe, still beautiful and broken.

I cover her with the cashmere throw from the foot of the bed, then grab a cushion and settle on the rattan sofa. It's uncomfortable as hell, the wicker digging into my back, but I've slept in worse places.

I lie there thinking about Jonah and wondering whether he's okay. It takes a long time for sleep to come.

Morning comes too bright through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Saskia's already up, gathering her things, robe properly tied, face washed clean of last night's tears.

"I'm sorry," she says, not meeting my eyes. "That was... inappropriate."

"We've all been there."

"Have we?" She looks at me then, something searching in her expression. "You seem different. More... I don't know. Solid."

"I'm trying."

She crosses to me, cups my face in her hands. "I'm sorry about what I'm about to do."

Before I can ask what she means, she kisses me. I turn my head so she gets my cheek, but she adjusts, lips brushing the corner of my mouth. Not a real kiss, but close enough to look like one.

"Saskia—"

"I know. I'm sorry." She pulls back, straightens her robe, walks to the door.

Opens it.

The morning sun hits her perfectly, backlighting the silk.

That's when I see it. Movement in the bushes outside. The quick shift of shadow that means someone's there, watching.

The click of a camera shutter.