10. Chapter 10

The alarm on her phone rings, vibrating along the surface of the nightstand and Waverly groans. Reaching over and tapping aimlessly all over the place before finally finding the illustrious red button that bring her a few moments of salvation. She turns over and pulls the comforter further up her body until she’s completely covered by it, sighing softly.

Until she throws it off and her eyes widen, snatching her phone and looking at the time in surprise. Good God, it’s 9:30 A.M.! Fucking hell! A litany of curses and swear words run through her mind in quick succession that would make a foul-mouthed sailor proud. It certainly would make Wynonna proud, practically praising her baby sister for carrying on another Earp Family trait that wasn’t early onset alcoholism.

Jumping out of bed, Waverly immediately rips open her dufflel bag and looks for all the essentials; heading into the bathroom and groaning loudly when she realizes that she still has no clue how to work the knobs as quickly as she should after being here for two days. Once she manages to get the water running she takes a quick shower and washes her hair.

Day three. She’s been here for two days and two nights already, currently on the third day of the contract. Compared to everything she imagined during her sleepless nights counting down to the second she signed her name of the dotted line; the way Chrissy had created this erotic, sex-driven, passion-filled fantasy complete with forbidden taboos that are chains, whips and blindfolds, left her mind spinning uncontrollably. Only to be completely proven wrong and to never trust Chrissy’s exaggerated words ever again.

But to some extent, her best friend wasn’t wrong. There was a lot the beta omitted, including how unbelievably gentle and sweet Nicole is. Looking back on it now, Waverly understands why there were certain pieces of information purposely left up in the air for her to experience herself.

And in the same vein, there are things that not even Chrissy herself knows about that puts Waverly in place she never thought she’d ever be. A family secret that the brunette has only scratched the surface of. Slowly learning the ins and outs of this strange world built solely for the rich and famous.

Hopping out of the shower and ripping her duffel bag open, she rummages through the disorganized mess that was her clothes. The bedroom door cracks open a little bit and in comes Calamity Jane meowing for attention.

The toyger jumps onto the bed and stares at her, blinking slowly and rotating her ears, meowing again.

Waverly shakes her head, “No, CJ, I can’t play right now.”

The striped cat lets out an irritated yawn and then proceeds to stretch her legs out and lick herself between them. Waverly raises a brow incredulously, “Do you really have to do that in front of me all the time?”

Calamity Jane continues, not even bothering to look at the omega.

“Good to know…a klepto and a voyeur, what a combination.”

Calamity Jane picks her head up and meows before returning to making Waverly’s bed her own.

“You could at least show the slightest bit of decency,” Waverly makes a face before realizing how strange it must be that she was actually having a conversation with the cat, believing that every pointed meow, sneeze, and yawn meant something. That the ten-pound cat was actually responding with all the sense of a human.

She imagines that every pet owner must think this way. Their animal companion speaking with them in a language that only the two could ever possibly understand. The added unconditional love mounted on top of never truly being alone sounds incredibly wonderful. Waverly is almost jealous.

Another appreciative look towards the toyger and to her chagrin, the striped cat now makes a mess of the sheets, rubbing her back against them and flurry of orange and black fur goes flying all over. Waverly is explicitly almost jealous.

Finishing up, dressed and ready to tackle the day ahead of her, she heads out of the room. The click of her heels against the linoleum echoing down the hall as the brunette makes her way to the top of the staircase. For a moment, Waverly feels richer, stronger—for all intents and purposes, by God, she feels powerful. Each step down the marble staircase furthers the image that momentarily clouds her mind; that of a royal 18th century queen about to make a grand entrance and address her loyal subjects with all the grace and class of a long ruling monarch.

Matched with a beautifully long white dress, tail billowing behind her majestically, her arrival punctuated by the bows of the court and the nobles who look to her as perfection personified. But, once she reaches the final step, she remembers that her wishful thinking cleverly disguised underneath a mask of hyperactive imagination is a stark contrast to what her reality is.

The impossibly large living room and the menacingly harsh, three straight foot-like endings of the symbol carved into the wall above the fireplace, is a bitter reminder. Part of her still feels like she ought to curtsy whenever she’s in the presence of royalty. Even if she’s only standing in front of an inanimate object, a symbol… A symbol that led an entire country and its foreseeable future under its banner through several pivotal eras in human history, only to be cut short by the French Revolution. The lull in power and influence following the removal of a centuries old system catered to it, ultimately fleeing from its native country to start again here, in Canada.

Waverly still can’t believe that she is currently living and breathing in the same air as someone as the heir to a royal dynasty. It still seems like a far-off dream she has yet to wake up from; but alas, here she is, awake and alive. Now on her third day, wearing an expensive ensemble she would had to sell an organ for, waiting for the alpha to take her to some exclusive country club and—wait… Where is Nicole?

The brunette checks the kitchen and has half a mind to check the playroom before deciding against it, it’s way too early to open that Pandora’s Box.

Waverly heads to the bottom of the staircase and calls out for Nicole.

“Nicole?” She tries, her voice somewhere between a shout and a simple yell. Thankfully, the woman in question responds quickly, albeit panicked.

“I’ll be right there Waves!”

Waves? She draws her brows together and stares at the space atop the staircase as if searching for an answer. She isn’t one to abhor nicknames, or to even have a feeling towards them period. Wynonna has taken to coming up with colorful nicknames in her spare time; sweet, endearing, and not the least bit original. Waverly is grateful that Wynonna is the only Earp to take such a task upon herself.

Wynonna calls her ‘Waves’ and it’s become ingrained into her and their father’s vocabulary as it is for them to call her babygirl. The name sounding different with a variety of emotions attached to it in the way that they regard her, forever the baby of the family. When Willa does it, always in a snarky and condescending tone that conveys more than isn’t said, the equivalent of a mentor quietly scolding their protégé.

With Gus and Curtis, Waverly is taken back to when she was a child. The fondness in their voice reserved for that typically of a child of their own, and in many ways, the two betas raised Waverly and sisters. Taking care of them while her father was busy working long hours and their mother was busy gallivanting all across the globe in an effort to ‘find herself’.

But the way Nicole said it, even if it was for a single moment less than two seconds long, just feels strange.

Her omega wags its tail happily and Waverly rolls her eyes. Doesn’t take much to make it happy, apparently.

A series of clicks in rapid succession bound down the staircase and Waverly stands to await the alpha, ready to go immediately. That is until her eyes are greeted to the site of a sultry one shouldered dress, featuring an interesting stylistic choice of chest cut outs connected to metal circle embellishments and a strong asymmetrical hem creating a side slit illusion. A single long sleeve with a concealed side zip closure. Deliciously, all black.

Waverly thinks back to the extremely limited experience she’s had with the finer and more expensive things in life, recalling the deceptively dangerous dress as belonging to a designer by the name of David Koma; the dress being featured in a catalogue Waverly browsed through while waiting in the dean’s office.

Paired with a pair of open toe stiletto heels made of suede and leather lining, a sculptural vamp cut out heightening the dramatic appeal of their devious aesthetic; Francesco Russo. The alpha’s usually messy red hair now slicked back with only several unruly strands refusing to conform, dangling over honey-golden eyes brushed with eyeliner in a sleek, delicate fashion only a master painter could enjoy.

“Ready?” Nicole asks and Waverly has to blink several times before realizing her jaw was on the floor, tongue lolling out in comedic fashion behind it.

Her brain fails to fully register the older woman’s words until enough time passes that she has to nod her head like a bobblehead toy to keep from talking. Unsure that anything coming from her mouth would be anything other than an incoherent babble.

“Perfect!” Nicole makes her way to the front door and Waverly follows, her eyes cast downward in a futile effort to keep from ogling the alpha’s backside. Her omega trailing after them eagerly.

“Uh, Can I ask a question?” The inflection in her voice going up at the end more than she intended.

“You just did.” Nicole smirks.

She blushes a pretty pink, moving past it with as much grace as she can muster. “You said the dress code required everyone to wear white.”

“White for those who aren’t on business,” The auburn-haired woman unlocks the Lamborghini, its doors opening vertically with a quiet hiss.

“Business?”

“Oh yeah, you would think that being CEO meant I’d be able to pick and choose my days off,” they enter the sportscar and the doors come back down, snapping into place easily. “But no, I’m always on the clock. Even when I’m sleeping.”

“Wow, i-it must be tiring, I couldn’t imagine working all the time.”

“Neither could I, but then I turned eighteen and the fate of the company was put in my hands and the rest is history.”

“Isn’t eighteen a little young?” Waverly looks out the window. At eighteen the omega had just finished her second semester of college and was busy tutoring others to fill up her extracurriculars and make a little money on the side. She was still a child then in some ways; never in a million years would she ever be able to run a company at that age. She’d probably run it into the ground. Then again, she remembers what Victor said about Nicole’s older brother.

The beta was, according to the older alpha, ruining the company on a business level because of his messy love life. One that was partly created because of Victor pushing him into a relationship he wanted no part of, preferring to fall in love with a high school teacher than go along with his father’s scheme. Waverly imagines that all the responsibility of running the company had been thrusted upon Nicole without remorse; forced to take over and grow several years older in a short amount of time.

“Eighteen is young, and my mother was against me taking the role of CEO when I was barely getting settled into life being a college student, but my father and grandfather made the excuse that they took over around my age and did well for themselves and the family as a whole.”

Really? The omega can’t believe what she’s hearing. Hands balling into tight fists in her lap, eyes tracing over the amorphous shapes of clouds in the blue sky to distract herself. Nails biting into her palms as she finishes what appears to be a fluffy cloud in the shape of a rabbit, moving on towards one that resembles a star. It seems the Haught Family, at least the alphas in charge that is, are hellbent on being successful. Even if they must sacrifice the wellbeing of their own children in the process.

They arrive at the wrought-iron gates, Nicole showing identification and the security guard gives her a curt nod before they are let out. The Lamborghini picks up speed and heads out onto the highway for a brief period. Instead of heading towards Calgary, they make their way towards the opposite direction. The road is lined with tall evergreen trees, the snow tops of the nearby Palliser Range on the horizon. Instantly piquing the omega’s interest as to where this high-end country club could possibly be.

She steals a quick glance at Nicole; eyes running over her sleeveless, left arm, the beautiful snow-white skin marked with black ink. Tilting her head, she wonders the reasoning behind the alpha’s choice in getting tattoos. With how prevalent her family is at wanting to keep to a strict regimen in all aspects of their lives, how she was able to get them done. Probably did so during a particularly rebellious phase.

Nicole catches her staring and smiles.

“During my first year in college, Perry—you’ll meet him at the club, great guy—and I dared each other to get tattoos. Of course, we were drunk and high, his dorm room smelled like a seedy dive bar for three days and the RA wrote us up for it. But once we sobered up, we were still feeling competitive, so we decided to head on down to some tattoo parlor. Both of us were determined to see this through and not chicken out.”

“We browsed through a catalogue of styles and designs, Perry immediately took a liking to an image of the Yonghe Temple in China surrounded by a flurry of cherry blossoms. I still needed to think what I wanted through, so he went ahead. He chose to have it done on his chest, right on the left pec. God, did he tear up though. He held my hand and I thought he was going to break it with how hard his grip was.”

“What of the tattoo artist? What did he think?”

“The man, an omega, small one too, covered in so many tattoos it was impossible to tell where they began and ended, oh he wanted to laugh his ass off but hated to stay focused. He did chuckle though.” Nicole herself grins at the memory.

“Thinking back on it, it really was a beautiful tattoo.”

“ Was? He got the tattoo removed?”

Waverly takes note of the pregnant pause that follows, a little too long for it to not be the result of something serious. “Perry got into an accident that ruined most of it.”

The omega doesn’t press on it. “And yours?”

“As you already know, I’ve got three tattoos. The one I got at the shop with Perry are the phases of the moon.” The alpha flexes her bicep and Waverly rolls her eyes. “I chose them because of what each one signifies: new beginnings, intention, decision making, refinement, action, gratitude, forgiveness, and finally, surrender. Can’t ask for a better reminder to be a humble and decent human being than that.”

“What do the armbands mean?”

“The armbands were done a year later after my grandfather died. In Samoan, the word ‘tattoo’ means ‘open wound’; in a tribe the warriors would honor their dead with an armband as remembrance, a permanent reminder of mourning over the loss of someone dear to them.”

“Your grandfather must appreciate the sentiment.”

“That, or he’s probably rolling over in his grave.” Nicole shrugs her shoulders. “He never liked tattoos, he thought of them as horrendous eyesores only criminals and plebeians would like. He hated my triskelion.”

“The tattoo on your back?”

“Oh yeah, it’s the first one I ever got. I was only sixteen when I got it done. Grandpa Silas yelled and hollered until he was blue in the face when he saw it for the first time—as per his own words, he said that I was a disgrace for purposely getting not just a tattoo, but one that completely bastardized the family’s symbol with spirals. He then went on a tirade because what I had done was the perfect example as to why ‘the family is in the state that it is, how the company and the Great Almighty Haught Dynasty was doomed to burn to the ground’.”

“And your parents, what did they say? Because it sounds like your grandfather really needed a reality check, no offense to him.” Waverly then quickly adds, “May he rest in peace.”

“They kept quiet and let him rant. I didn’t make it any better when I decided to drag La Marseillaise through the mud and pretty much condemned the good ol’ French tricolor and their Goddess of Liberty to burn to the ground along with us.”

Waverly blinks, brows shooting up to her hairline. “You’re joking.”

Nicole shakes her head. “He then started talking in French and my father pretty much had to calm him down before he worked himself into a heart attack.”

“Please tell me that he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t, the man smoke and drank like an animal, so if he did end up having a heart attack that day, I wasn’t going to shoulder all the blame.”

“You must’ve been every parent’s nightmare as a teenager.”

Nicole winks. “That was the plan.”

When they first arrive at Whitewater Country Club, Waverly is equally swept off her feet as she is floored by the sheer magnitude of the entire area it encompasses. Met first with a large sign with club’s name printed on the front in big capital letters with the ‘W’ slightly slanted and curved, next to a heraldic shield painted in gold, royal blue and scarlet. Nicole pulls the sportscar up the entryway, stopping in front of the security gates. Much like Remus Pointe, the security guard asks for the alpha’s name and identification, cross checking on their computer through a long list of members before everything is checks out and they’re let through. The only difference is the guard, dressed in a simple black and white suit like some sort of secret service agent, acknowledges Waverly as a human being. Telling them both to have a good day.

Located north of Calgary, a good forty minutes away from Edmonton to the west, the club sits on 200 acres of vibrant green fields. The club itself is a spectacular marvel of quiet sophistication and class. The parking lot itself is home to dozens of cars, each one just as expensive, if not more than Nicole’s own Lamborghini; all of them priceless compared to the omega’s own cherry red jeep. Their parking space alone is situated between an obscenely bright orange Ferrari F60 America, and a majestic blue and white Mansory Vivere Bugatti Veyron.

Nicole offers her arm and Waverly takes it. The alpha then leads her what the omega can only assume to be the country club’s main building.

The main building features a graceful layout with beautiful hardwood flooring, soaring ceilings and classical original moldings. The first level is home to a palatial entrance gallery which leads to the first of several restaurants the club has to offer—simply named, The Grille, is a casual dining restaurant offering breakfast, lunch and dinner buffets robustly filled with everything from healthy options such as a salad bar to more decadent indulgences like freshly made mousse cake and different flavored sorbets. From there one can enjoy the view from the picturesque windows overlooking the golf course’s driving range. There’s a poster by arched entrance next to the maître d′ that reads: ‘Sunday Brunch!’ And below it, remember to bring the kids on by for ‘Family Night!’

Further down there is a directory showcasing a map of the country club; resembling the ever-expanding reach of tree branches punctuated on each stem with facilities functioning as flowers and leaves. Five more restaurants, tennis courts, the golf course serving as its own national park, tennis courts, swimming pools (the prized 12,000 square foot lagoon-styled heated swimming pool at its center), four fitness centers hosting more than 53 weekly classes, three bars, four newly renovated card rooms, seven parking lots, a library, spas, salons, and a variety of social events scheduled all throughout the year. And that’s not even counting the numerous rentable villas dotted all around the property.

She overhears a beta with long blonde hair and blue eyes talking to a much older man with gray hair, squealing over the amenities of the villa they just rented. A master bedroom with an accompanying sitting room and fireplace, an original 1930’s marbled and mirrored full bathroom and a dressing room with an additional adjacent full bath, offering the highest level of service and security possible.

“People rent villas here, like to stay?” Waverly asks with a slight tug on the older woman’s arm.

Nicole nods. “Oh yeah, most people tend to rent them for a couple of hours or at least a day or two. The longest a person can rent a villa is seven days. For security reasons. After all, the club requires order and control to stand.”

Waverly tilts her head. “Order and control?”

The alpha ushers the brunette to The Grille where the maître d′ seats them next to the window. The woman’s pearly white smile splits her face in half with a sort of faux politeness that leaves Waverly to deduce that no matter the setting, the working class is still a lot more miserable than the customers they serve. All in all, she commends the woman for trying her best to get through the usual corporate lines before their waiter arrives with their glasses of water. The maître d’ leaves and their waiter takes over, the smile on this one is far from tired and despondent.

Instead, it is slighted by the snobbish glances she cuts Waverly’s way while gazing longingly at Nicole. The woman whose name reads as ‘Jane’ on the nametag all but hands the omega her menu in a patronizing manner reserved for peasants and unworthy commoners. “Shall I start you off with something to drink?”

“Yes, I’ll have a Blood Orange Screwdriver.” To which the waiter responds with a resounding excellent, before they both turn to Waverly.

Quickly, the brunette looks through her menu for the drinks section. Only to flabbergasted at the prices. To think she once that $12 for a drink was highway robbery, but $35? Either these drinks are made from the finest purest waters untouched by man, or they are undoubtedly the cure for cancer. Nevertheless, Waverly picks on when she’s been caught staring at her menu for too long.

“I’ll have a Blueberry Mint Julep.”

The woman only nods her head and takes their menus away. It’s clear that the woman holds some sort of dislike towards Waverly, and that’s okay. She doesn’t like her either.

Nicole checks her phone for a second, texting from the way her thumbs move against the screen before placing it back down on the table. “Order and control. That’s how country clubs are run. Everyone pays a membership, follow the rules set by the club and in return we are afforded a place to relax and do a little networking.”

Waverly nods. “Sounds great. Do you come here often?”

“Usually for work,” and then, “I had my wedding here.”

The omega all but chokes on her own saliva. Covering her mouth with as much class as grace as she can possibly muster to not seem so out of place within the presence of Whitewater’s prestigious patrons. Although she’s sure she failed in that regard. Jane the Waiter returns just in time to see this and hands the pair their drinks, placing Waverly’s on the table with a snarky grin as if she knew all along the omega didn’t belong here.

“Would you both like to start off with some croissants and a cheese platter from one of our collections?”

“Sure,” Nicole takes a sip from her glass, the blood orange color as bright as her own hair. “Waverly, darling, why don’t you pick for us?”

Jane looks shell-shocked, jaw tightening as if she couldn’t believe that she’d have to now speak to someone lesser than herself. The smile on her face stretches, faker than before. And Waverly is beyond overjoyed for it.

“Well, Jane , I’d like to know of the different collections you have.”

If the woman could, she’d spit in Waverly’s face or turn on her heel and leave. A quick glance towards Nicole on the other side of the table reveals that the alpha wouldn’t let the snooty woman do either.

“We have the house favorite, Beehive Cheese and Creminelli Salami Collection, complete with pan forte crostini crackers and piquant Pepperlane blood orange preserves. We also a collection of cheeses from Europe; Farmhouse Waxed Cheddar from Britain, Taleggio from Italy and Manchego from Spain, and last but not least,” Jane turns to Nicole, soft and sultry, “Cremeux de Citeaux all the way from France.”

Good God, Waverly wants to laugh at how the woman could butcher the French language so brutally. More so when Nicole furrows her brows in confusion.

“So, what will it be?” Jane challenges.

Waverly shrugs and leans back against her chair. “I don’t know… Je suppose que nous aurons Cremeux de Citeaux, à moins que mon chéri ici, préfère autre chose?”

Jane the Waiter’s eyes widen into large saucers, any more and the omega is sure they’ll pop out of their sockets. And while Waverly wants to laugh, easily settling for a giggle so as to not seem like much of a bitch, she swallows the urge and rests her shoulders back. A small smile on her lips.

“Oh I’m sorry, you don’t speak French, do you?” She gives her a quick once over in a way that would certainly make Willa proud. “Not well, at least.”

The woman’s face goes red with embarrassment and all she can do is respond with a shake of her head. Where’s the uptight snooty behavior from before? Nowhere to be found now that she had been shoved off her high horse.

“We’ll have the last one, thank you.” Waverly finishes and the woman simply nods her face.

“I guess that’ll teach her—”

“Wow…” Is all Nicole says; hand in mid-air holding her glass. She is just as dumbfounded by Waverly’s actions as the waiter, only difference is Nicole’s cheeks blush a pretty pink and she stares impressed. The corner of lip twitching into a smirk.

Waverly bites her lip. Before she knows it, she starts to babble incoherent words that sound more like a mess of an apology before she takes a sip from her glass and lets the alcohol bring back down. Once she’s finally recollected herself, she gulps and starts again.

“I-I am so, so sorry. I’m not, I’m not like that believe me.” She apologizes, and Nicole shakes her head.

“Trust me, I’m a little surprised but you’ll fit in well with everyone here.”

“Are you sure, I don’t want to give you the impression that I’m some sort of heathen.”

“I am absolutely sure, Waverly. To tell you the truth, I was a little worried bringing you here; the average age of members here is forty-five, and whenever these old fools smell fresh blood in the water they tend to get a little hungry—had to bat a few them away from Chrissy when I brought her here.”

“She mentioned that,” Waverly says, quickly giving a pleasant smile when a new waiter arrives with their croissants and cheese platter. “A senator offered to be her sugar daddy, apparently.”

“Ah, well that was Senator Dalphond from Quebec; a harmless man who honestly would’ve just enjoyed her company.”

“Company? As in sex?”

“Far from it to be in fact, most of the older people here are several times divorced and really lonely. They just want companionship, someone to talk to who isn’t trying to basically network at all hours of the day.”

Waverly takes a bite out of her croissant, soft and fresh from the oven with a slice of the salami casalingo and just a dab of the deep crimson marmalade. Her tastebuds exploding into a series of flavors, sweet and spicy on her tongue.

“I won’t lie to you, there is a large portion of members who use the club and it’s villas as their own personal getaways. Extra marital affairs are common here and there some who are known to frequent the use of… escorts, to put it mildly.”

Waverly nods, even though in some basic fashion, what they’re doing is no different.

“But when were you going to tell me you were so fluent with French?” Nicole asks with a smile. “Do you have family there?”

The omega shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m mean I would love to visit France one day and see Notre Dame and Versailles, but I’m completely Canadian.”

“So, you took classes, then?”

“I, I did take some classes online, in my spare time for fun. I’ve always found the language to be sort of romantic. You can say anything in French and it always sounds unbelievably beautiful compared to when it’s said in English.”

She continues. “Words like bleu, courir, and doux —”

“ Rester.”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Stay. As in something simple as the word ‘stay’ sounds so much better in in French than in English, but uh—” suddenly Nicole’s phone rings “—I have to take this, be right back.”

Nicole gets up, grabbing her phone quickly and exits the restaurant. Leaving Waverly to blink and question, did she really just witness a frazzled and flustered Nicole? A moment she never thought she’d ever see, not when the alpha had spent most of their week together composed. Being so calm, cool and collected, keeping her composure in a way Waverly can only ever hope to one day be able to do the same. Unlike the frustration with her father, going as far as to throw a champagne glass, this is far different. Nowhere near that level of intensity.

In fact, Waverly wonders. Was there something to be mentioned about the way Nicole said ‘rester’? Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her or it could’ve been the lighting casting a film over the alpha’s eyes, resembling a dreamy lovestruck look.

She shakes her head. Scoffing at the idea that Nicole could possibly have any sort of feelings towards her. Looking around, it makes sense. The entire restaurant filled with patrons dressed in the finest clothes marked with expensive brand names, the meals, even the cheese platter sitting on the table before her is rich and practically worth more than anything the brunette can possibly hope to own. Waverly’s tried her hand at buying some imported cheese once, intent on cooking something that evening with the finest quality of ingredients she could find in the city. And she does. At the expense of being able to buy herself lunch for the next few days.

Hell, Nicole said it herself: she got married here.

Probably dressed in a ravishing black dress, much like the one she’s wearing now, happily smiling and waiting beside the altar with the priest or minister, while Shae walks down the aisle in a long white dress, face covered with a veil. Holding a bouquet of possibly the rarest flowers imaginable because they were both born into powerful and influential families, the ceremony being held in front of a congregation full of friends, family and colleagues with just as much pull as themselves. It’s a joyous affair from the moment Mendelssohn’s March starts, to the end when they finally say ‘I do’ and rice is thrown up into the air and a flock of doves are set free overhead.

The closest Waverly would ever get to having an extravagant wedding is dressing up nicely and heading down to the courthouse to marry her soon to be wife or husband.

A bit pessimistic, but the circumstances of her life have taught her to be realistic. Optimism and dreams are only for those with enough money and luck.

Nicole then returns to their table with three men in tow.

The first is Jeremy, the only one of the three that she knows. Wearing an incredibly dapper ensemble featuring khaki pants, a buttoned up white shirt with the sleeves rolled back around his elbows, beneath a white sweater vest pristine and perfect and not a single wrinkle in sight, topped off with a pair of unassuming slip-ons. And the pièce de résistance, if the bright red, almost scarlet colored bow tie on his collar. Jeremy smiles at her with an awkward wave and she imagines him to be the type who had his nose stuck in books during high school, striving to get good grades and forgoing any sort of social interaction.

He probably didn’t have much friends growing up, always the target for some idiot jock’s jokes and constantly being shoved into lockers. Waverly bites the inside of her cheek.

The second man is of Asian-descent, a beta, and the familiarity in the gait of his walk beside Nicole leads Waverly to believe that they are friends. Naturally, this must be Perry. His hair is slicked back and the material of his floral shirt, while silky, isn’t the of same high-class quality as many of the other members she seen around the club, blouses against his well-toned frame. The same can be said for the jeans he wears while the only thing on his person that is even remotely worth a second, bewildering glance are the expensive multi-colored checkerboard shoes on his feet.

The third man looks just as out of place. Unlike everyone else, he wears a simple dark blue plaid button down and a wife beater peeking from beneath it. The blue jeans are worn, seeing some better days and his work boots are no better. The entire outfit alone is enough to have several patrons in the restaurant peer their nose down at him, barely able to regard him with a dignified glance deserving of a human being. But the man doesn’t care, it doesn’t even phase him. The kind of confidence pertaining to a politician, a lawyer, or a determined realtor. His pale blue eyes shine bright as he smiles beneath that thick mustache of his.

Going as far as to tip his cowboy hat in greeting.

“Waverly, I’d like you to meet Perry Crofte, owner of both the Spring Rabbit on 17th Avenue and the Crofte Gallery over on 11th.” Perry smiles and they shake hands, his grip is strong but soft and delicate. The hands of artist. She catches a whiff of Japanese cherry blossoms.

“And this is Doc Holliday, my personal financier and accountant.” Not exactly the line of work she imagined, but they shake hands as well. He’s stronger, heavy handed and calloused, all the same his hands are impeccably soft, and the omega is well in the assumption that the man had to be ranch hand sometime in his life.

But just as Doc’s occupation, and even his own name strikes up momentary confusion and shock, it’s the scent she smells beneath his cologne. Earthy, akin to coffee grounds, wood and pine. Doc Holliday is an omega.

And Waverly curses herself for falling into that mindset of assuming all omegas to be small and lithe.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” she greets and both men smile warmly.

“The pleasure is all ours, Miss Waverly,” Doc says before turning toward the alpha with a sly grin, “And Nicole’s as well I can imagine.”

Perry chuckles, Jeremy widens his eyes and Nicole huffs. Falling in line with the rest of them, the brunette forces a smile of her own. The gears in her mind start to turn with embarrassment.

Just how many more people knew of this contract? On her end it was just herself and Chrissy and really Chrissy only served as her referral. But on the alpha’s side it’s five people and on that same note, only four who are really in favor, or at least hold no ill will against it.

Victor being the only one who apparently can’t stand it. Or at least outwardly voices his opinion.

“We should get going, you know how irritable Bobo and Bulshar get when they are kept waiting.” Doc says with a knowing look. To which the alpha sighs.

“Alright. Hopefully it doesn’t take too long, I don’t want to spend an hour listening to Bobo monologuing.” Nicole then turns to Jeremy. “You wouldn’t mind staying with Waverly, just for a little while?”

“If that’s okay with her?” Jeremy asks and Waverly, without a second thought, nods her head.

“Good.” Nicole grins, almost relieved in a way, before promising to be back soon.

Waverly spends the rest of the morning and early afternoon with Jeremy. The omega, once they had gotten over the awkward small talk phase, is incredibly easy to talk to. Discovering that they have many things in common, a mutual like of history being one even though they both disagree on the merits of interacting with uncontacted people. Even as they take a quiet stroll around the club, Jeremy regaling her with amazing stories and narrowly missing a golf ball to the head—of which the bumbling idiot who swung it was some old man who apparently couldn’t be faulted due to his poor eyesight, not that anyone cares enough to keep him from playing the sport—the omega enjoys herself.

Naturally, she is still wary of ordering things and taking advantage of the many activities Whitewater has to offer. Even if Jeremy assures her that anything she decides to order from the bar or any of the nearby restaurants won’t so much as make a dent in Nicole’s bank account, she buckles down. Staying firm and refusing to so much as ask for a glass of water.

Currently, Jeremy is busy telling Waverly of the time he managed to convince Nicole, Shae, Dolls and Perry into going on a hunt for the elusive creature known as Bigfoot. He is immediately met skepticism; as much as the brunette believes in the possibility, that yes, there are paranormal and supernatural things in the world can’t be explained readily with logic and science. But the fact that alpha, as level headed as she seems, apparently took part in this hunt is a bit hard to swallow.

They come across the park in the center of the club and take a seat on a bench in front of a fountain. “I’m a city boy, born and raised in South Manitoba, I didn’t belong in the suburbs, much less the woods! But I’ve always had an interest in cryptozoology and I’ve always wanted to go on a hunt for one of them. I figure Bigfoot would the much safer option.”

“Safer option? Compared to what? Waverly asks, curious.

“Uh, the Jersey Devil for one. Anything involving demons or demonic stuff, I’m staying far away from.”

Jeremy continues. “Plus, there was no way I was going to get Nicole away from the office long enough for a trip to New Jersey. So, looking for Bigfoot was the next best thing. Like, I went ahead and bought state-of-the-art cameras and recording equipment. Hell, Dolls even took note of how many lunch breaks I had to work through just to have enough to buy a drone.”

“And did you guys go out to the mountains like you wanted?”

The omega is ecstatic eyes lighting up like a child on Christmas morning. “We went up to Mount Alberta within the week. On out first day we hiked up a long trail, I help Shae and Perry set up camp while Dolls and Nicole ran off to go rock climbing.”

“And I’m a city boy, remember? As much as I love them both, I’m wasn’t about to go chasing after them. I almost twisted my ankle walking to the campsite, thankfully I had Shae to hold on to. Though, she pretty much dragged me by the ears while Perry kept going over his map.” Jeremy is sheepish and to hear what sounds to be an absolute shitshow of a time, its endearing to hear him tell the story.

How normal it paints all these people, so different from the rich versions of them she’s already met and grown accustomed to. Especially Nicole. It’s sweet to hear about the older woman taking a week off to help her friend/assistant scour the mountains for some imaginary creature. All because he wanted to and didn’t want to do so alone.

“So, did you guys ever catch a glimpse of bigfoot?”

Jeremy sighs and shakes his head, “Sadly, no. Although we did have a run in with a bear.”

“Christ, a bear?”

“Hey now, it wasn’t my fault, they went to get some water at the nearby river because Dolls drank it all and Nicole forgot to pack an extra canteen. Shae wanted me to get down and dirty with the rest of them so we all went. We stayed a little longer than necessary because Nicole just had to snap a few shots of the salmon jumping out of the water—tore her a new asshole, I did, when this giant one jumped and smacked me in the face—but just when we’re ready to go, in comes this massive grizzly bear on the other side of the river.”

“Seriously?” And he nods as though he himself couldn’t believe it.

“Oh yeah, immediately we all start backing up slowly. Except Nicole and Perry.”

“For God’s sake.”

“That’s what I said! He’s dumbstruck and she’s laying on the ground snapping the bear’s damn picture!”

At this Waverly starts to giggle, Jeremy joins in and before they both know it, they are overcome with laughter. The beta tries to continue the story, but is unable to, tears brimming at the corner of his eyes while he keels over the edge of the bench, holding his stomach. Waverly is busy wiping the tears away from her own eyes trying to calm down. The omega doesn’t know what on earth has come over her, but the feeling of it, the lighthearted minute of momentary happiness fills her chest until she’s ready to burst.

It’s been so long since she’s laughed like this.

Lately life has been a rollercoaster of new experiences and emotions and laughter isn’t exactly something that factors into everything. If at all, anything.

It’s nice being able to take a step back from how hectic her life has been and just laugh like she’s still a normal person again.