Page 37 of Ronen (Sweet Alps Legacy #1)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ronen

April

“I feel underdressed,” Mason whispered, looking around the hallway of my grandmother’s five-story mansion, and peering into the large great room.

Giving him a once over, I assured him, “You look fine.”

And he did, in his dark jeans, boots, and a pale purple button-up shirt that looked amazing with his dark red hair.

“Just how rich is your family?”

He pushed his hand through his hair, disheveling it. “Because I thought our ranch house was big, but this place is…” he made a gesture to indicate his mind was blown, instead of finishing his sentence.

Reaching up to smooth his hair, I told him, “This house is ostentatious and extra. And you don’t ask people how much money they have. That’s just poor etiquette.”

He leaned down and brushed a quick kiss across my lips .

“Just let me know if you want me to stay home and be a house alpha,” he gave the furnishings in the hallway and the great room another once over, “because I totally will, honey.”

Slow blinking at the never before used endearment from him, I made a face like I smelled something bad.

“Honey? No. We are not doing cutesy little…whatever that was. No.”

Mason pressed his lips together, trying to keep his smile contained. “It’s short for honey badger. You know because you’re a honey badger.”

“That will not become a thing.” Rolling my eyes at him, I tugged at my own pale green shirt. “I’m impressed you said that with a straight face though.”

It was Easter Sunday, and we were dressed in pastels because my grandmother insisted on it. Just like she had insisted I bring Mason in a very demanding text message.

G’ma Mary: RoRo, I expect you to bring that lovely sheriff of yours to Easter dinner.

Me: Who is this and how did you get my number?

G’ma Mary: Very funny. Is your sheriff allergic to anything? What’s his favorite dessert?

Me: First of all, he is not MY sheriff. I’m fairly certain he is employed by the town of Sweet Alps and belongs to all the residents.

G’ma Mary: Well, my intel says he is yours.

Me: Your intel? Okay, Double O Grandma, stop talking to my dad. He’s such a gossip!

G’ma Mary: Of course he is, but he gives me all the best tea, and he is never wrong. Favorite dessert? I’m waiting.

Me: How would I possibly know that? And what if he has to work that day? Sweet Alps is a hotbed of anarchy you know.

G’ma Mary: If I wanted sass and attitude, I would have texted Quinn or Wade.

Me: Feel free to text them. I need to get back to work. Busy, busy. Lots of books to deal with.

G’ma Mary: Ronen Sawyer Sinclair, do not annoy me. I’m making the menu and grocery list and I need to know these things.

Me: What menu? We’ve had the same menu for Easter dinner for as long as I’ve been alive. Thought if you wanted to know something you just asked dad? What does he think?

G’ma Mary: Still waiting.

Me: *sigh* All his livestock are named for desserts so I would imagine he hasn’t met one yet he doesn’t like.

G’ma Mary: I’ll just call the sheriff’s office and ask him myself.

Me: You will not!

G’ma Mary: It’s like it’s your first day in this family. See you Sunday. With your sheriff. Love you!

My fingers scrolled my contacts then typed furiously.

Me: Dad, control your mother!

Dad: *laughing emoji* Sorry, that woman terrifies me. Best to just do whatever she wants.

Which was how we came to be standing in my grandma’s foyer, the sounds of voices and laughter drifting to us from the kitchen and dining room. The house smelling of baked ham, mashed potatoes, and a plethora of other delicious things.

“Can you see my belly?” I asked Mason quietly, fighting the urge to yank my shirt from my pants and leave it untucked.

Everything felt tight today, and the button on my slacks had been a struggle. My belt hid the straining button, but it was digging into the tender skin of my belly.

Mason shook his head. “You look the same as always. I mean, I can tell you’ve put on a couple of pounds, but I’m looking for it. I don’t think anyone else will notice.”

And he was looking. Mason loved looking at me naked, running his hands over my belly, seeing the tiniest little change in my body.

Giving him a shrewd look, I warned, “You don’t know my grandmother.

Legend has it she always knows when the omegas in the family are pregnant.

She told my Uncle Lachlan and Quinn they were pregnant before they even knew it.

She knew Becca was pregnant as soon as she and Rory walked in for family dinner before they announced it. I’m telling you, she’s going to know. ”

Mason placed his hands on my shoulders, rubbing gently. “Would it be so bad if we told them now?”

“I don’t know,” I frowned, trying to put my feelings into words. “I know it’s silly, and I’m being all kinds of superstitious, but I want to wait until I’m further along. Just in case something happens.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Mason whispered, “the baby is perfect. Lily said so. You need to stop worrying.”

My hand came to lay gently across my belly, a gesture I had caught myself doing more and more, and I needed to try to curb the urge today.

Becca was always doing it, and I knew it would be a dead giveaway.

And I knew Mason was chomping at the bit to tell his parents about us, and the baby, but was going along with me to make me happy.

“I know my family,” I told him, smiling softly when his hand covered mine and he caressed my belly.

“They’ll have all kinds of questions. Where are we going to live?

Are we going to find out the sex of the baby?

When are we getting claimed, or married, or both.

” Sighing, I rubbed my forehead. “I’m really not up for dealing with them today.

I would have skipped this holiday completely, but I would have never heard the end of it.

Besides, I don’t want to disappoint Grandma and Nana. ”

He chuckled, taking my hand, and I pulled him towards the din of noise.

“I’m sure they aren’t that bad, but we’ll wait until you’re ready.

Just…we are going to tell them, right?” His voice took on a slightly panicked edge.

“You’re not going to make me call them from the hospital or anything after we’ve had the baby? ”

I tilted my head, pretending to think about it. “Undecided. Maybe? I hadn’t thought of that, but I like your style, sir.”

Mason shook his head, “No, no. We are not doing that.”

“Just like we will not be calling me honey.” I said the last word with enough disgust to get my point across but made sure I was grinning when I said it, so he knew I wasn’t that upset by it.

But really, we weren’t going to make a habit of calling me that.

We entered my grandmother’s immaculate, sparkling white kitchen. The French doors leading to the back yard were open, letting in the sunshine and the slightly chilly mid-April breeze, while allowing some of the heat from the ovens and stove that were working overtime out.

“Goddess, it’s hot in here,” I declared, waving my hand in front of my face.

“Ronen, sweetheart, you’re here!” My grandmother, Mary, beamed from where she was stirring something in a saucepan. “Sammi! Where is that girl? Always underfoot, wanting to stir something, until I actually need her to stir the gravy.”

“I’m right here,” my cousin, Sammi, sidled up and took control of the gravy. “Chill, lady.”

A low, rumbling clearing of the throat from her dad, my Uncle Finn, who was draining the potatoes, had her blushing. “Sorry, G’ma.”

“Mason,” Grandma Mary wiped her hands on a dishtowel, her cheeks rosy from the heat of the kitchen, “may I call you Mason?”

She leaned on her cane as she made her way slowly over to us.

“Please, yes,” Mason nodded, his hand reaching out to grasp mine tightly in his .

“I’m Mary Sinclair, the cause of all this,” she waved her hand around at the many occupants of the kitchen, “mayhem. Welcome to my home. We’re so glad you could join us.”

It was cute how she was acting like she’d given us a choice in the matter.

Grandma Mary clasped his hand in hers, before turning to me and wrapping me in one of her warm hugs.

Hands down, she gave the best hugs, always had.

She held onto me for a few seconds longer than normal, then cupped my cheek when she pulled away, staring into my eyes with a gentle look, her lips turned up in a secretive smile.

Yep, she for sure knew I was pregnant.

Tilting my face into her hand, I pleaded with my eyes for her not to say anything. She patted my cheek softly, then gave me a wink.

Mason looked around at all the many, many eyes staring at us, the kitchen nearly silent now, except for the sounds of things bubbling on the stove.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

Giving my family an annoyed look, I snapped, “All of you act right and stop staring! This is not the first time we’ve had company.”

“But,” my cousin Rory grinned, her long chestnut hair swaying as she bounced on the balls of her feet, “it’s the first time you’ve brought company. Of course, we’re going to stare.”

Becca waddled into the room, one hand on her very pregnant belly.

“Do not harass your cousin,” she ordered, her dark brown eyes laughing .

She made her way to the refrigerator and filled a glass with ice water. “Goddess, it’s too hot in here for this pregnant lady. Back to the dining room I go.”

She gave us a smile and a tilt of her glass as she shuffled past us. “Wait until you see what Grandma and Nana have planned, Ro.”

Well, that was ominous, because when it came to my grandmothers, they could have just about any sort of nonsense up their sleeves.

“Mason, this is my Uncle Finn, cousin Sammi, and my uncle Wade,” I pointed to each of my family members conjugated in the kitchen and introduced them. There were a handful missing, but Mason already knew several of them.

Matty, the traitor, had decided to use his time off for Spring Break to fly to Paris and visit our cousins, Patrick and Remy.