13. Chapter 13

She was expected to give a response, one that would be the deciding factor in all this. But even as a wave of heat rolls up her neck and beads of sweat broke out against her forehead, she was still deadlocked between a rock and a hard place. No matter how many times she dared to hold her breath and force her body to come up with a decision for her, lest her lungs explode, she had nothing. It would have been so easy to just walk out of the mansion, and not look back. To risk being rooted to the ground by her own tormenting emotions, flagging her down should she run . What do you say? Waverly sighs, running a hand through her hair before her head falls into them. Worried. Upset. It’s almost as if every time she looks to the surface, for some unexplainable reason, she continues to get farther and farther away from it. Not only does she need an answer, but it needs to be the right one.

One that wouldn’t be as taxing as everything has become as of late. She felt a wave of heat roll up her neck, and beads of sweat breaking out on her nose. To think that she was actually able to afford the opportunity to pull herself together. Instead, much like everything else that has been thrown her way, she bites her tongue and bears with the inevitable crash.

During times like these, when she’s laying flat on her back and staring helplessly at the ceiling in abject want, she thinks back to the past for guidance. Something she unfortunately has the habit of doing frequently.

Her memories aren’t filled with colorful moments, there’s never anything so inherently powerful about them, but they’re hers and for that they are wonderful in sheer essence alone. As such, it’s easy to fall backwards, suddenly overcome with emotion, before settling in place and letting the memories play before her eyes.

Waverly will be the first to admit that she isn’t as sporty as the four years of being cheerleading captain would suggest. Compared to the rest of her family, she isn’t one for contact sports like football, hockey and soccer. There is something inherently aggressive and brutal about those sports that have never sat well with her, despite being a spectator. Every year, Gust and Curtis throw a giant party at Shorty’s for whatever big sporting event at the moment, complete with beer kegs several feet tall, endless trays of buffalo wings, and enough blue cheese dressing to drown an entire village in; and every year, without fail, Waverly finds herself swept away by the pageantry.

Dressing up and painting her face in the Wynonna’s preferred team out of solidarity to her older sister; finding it cute that despite being in her mid-twenties, Wynonna still enjoyed these events like the child she was. With mustard-smeared cheers, petulant whines whenever her team “plays no defense”, and that worn out Calgary Flames No.9 Lanny McDonald jersey that begs to be burned and put out of its misery, Wynonna Earp is like a kid at the candy store. A dark haired, leather jacket wearing, combat boot toting, wannabe gunslinging badass, letting her inner child come out and cheer whenever a football or soccer player she doesn’t like gets tackled roughly to the ground. Whenever they watch the Stanley Cup and a fight breaks out on the ice and both teams are rushing at each other with fists raised looking to clock someone over the head. To make matters worse, they never had to wait too long to throw a party during the hockey season: for decades now, the rivalry between the Calgary Flames and the Edmonton Oilers have grown into a once a year spectacular, the grudge match being aptly named the “Battle of Alberta.”

An intense rivalry between the two cities that predates organized sports in the region, which explains why Wynonna and Ward, take immense pleasure out of beating any team hailing from the capital. Which is why Waverly had taken it upon herself to ask Wynonna during intermission, after a particularly brutal first period, why everyone took this rivalry so seriously? What the appeal was. To which the alpha replies with a half-assed smirk, slurring every single word out of her mouth: “Because we, babygirl, are human! And humans…enjoy messes, we like train wrecks! And this fucking team is going to turn into one if they don’t sub out that dumbass goalie!”

“Don’t listen to your sister Waverly,” Gus says after overhearing the alpha’s less than tactful explanation. “Not everybody is like that, trust me.”

Wynonna snorts, “Trust me! If no one on this blue planet enjoys drama and fights, then why, oh why, do we have a TV? Internet? It is in our nature to always slow down and look at the car crash when going down the freeway, instead of immediately driving away.”

For all the nonsensical babbling Wynonna likes to do when feeling inspirational, and completely drunk, she does come up with a gem or two. And she’s completely right.

Anyone in Waverly’s position would have left as soon as the first sign was made. After witnessing everything and being told something that undeniably needed to be known and addressed the second the brunette stepped into the mansion with her duffel bag, a normal person would have run for the hills and never looked back. The money be damned. Maybe, right when she stood in the foyer, in that small bit of hallway in front of the living room, in front of the staircase and two second sprint from the door, the money was too tempting to give up. Maybe the prospect of being financially free, like Chrissy, is within reach and she’d be a fool not to close the distance. Or maybe the promise of being financially secure doesn’t matter anymore, the contract has become a literal piece of paper instead of an unremovable weight bearing down on her shoulders, and the only thing that does make any lick of sense, is Nicole. Jesus, Nicole…

It’s a very difficult thing in which to be a caring person, a genuine, empathetic person, instead of being a collection of hard, cynical traits roughened by circumstance and life. A person who truly feels something, something otherworldly, perhaps? Or dare she say it, magical.

And yet, at the same time, it’s almost as if nothing matters, as though she isn’t a real person and emotions hold no bearing whatsoever. Nothing is tethered to the ground for her to feel stable. Safe.

The bedroom door opens and instead of there being a body on the other side, it’s just a slinky, needy black and orange little beast. Waverly rolls her eyes and smiles. Sitting up, the brunette crosses her legs and pats the space in front of her. CJ hops onto the bed and makes herself home, rolling onto her back for a belly rub. It’s cute. She’s going to miss CJ at the end of the week.

“Hey cutie,” Waverly greets, scratching at the soft fur beneath the cat’s chin. “Slept well?”

The cat purrs, paws in the air to play with the omega’s hands. Tail wagging happily behind he and Waverly smiles, running her fingers through the toyger’s soft fur. Such a sweet little thing, Waverly admittedly feels guilty for playing a role in CJ’s distress yesterday.

“Shame I can’t take you home with me,” She says, scratching at that small space behind CJ’s left ear.

Calamity Jane’s bright green eyes go wide, looking hopeful for a moment before realization glazes over them. Resulting in the cat moving to curl up next to the brunette’s leg. She wonders how things would change once her reason for being is over.

After letting the cat have her moment beside her, napping soundly, Waverly gets out of bed to begin the day. Showering, getting dressed, and brushing her hair in front of the mirror hanging over the dresser.

Heading down the staircase she motions towards the kitchen, it being one of the last few rooms that remains unsullied by being associated with any unpleasant memory. The playroom is slowly falling into this category as well, solely from the revelation of how purposeful it was that she was always meant to be kept in the dark. Until Victor showed her the light—so to speak.

Yet, as she takes the last step and has a hand against the corner of the kitchen’s entrance, she’s pulled in the opposite direction. Omega nudging, and even abjectly pushing, for her down this hallway she’s never been through. Unlike the one positioned towards the west of the mansion, the playroom’s black doors sitting directly at the end of the corridor like some daunting figure, there’s… something else.

Lead to a thick door made of laminated wood, painted in a dark solid pine finish. Tentatively, she knocks. Because she knows Nicole is in there, she knows her omega wouldn’t have pushed her here if the alpha wasn’t, she just doesn’t know in what state she’ll receive the woman in.

“Come in.”

Waverly opens the door and finds Nicole dressed casually in a simple cashmere pullover and blue jeans, behind a large double pedestal desk built with hardwood and veneers, painted in a burnish brown finish with detailed texture and depth. The kind of desk only executives and powerful impact players would own. Working dutifully in front of a laptop with her cellphone nestled into the crook of her neck.

In a different life, an alternate universe where walking into the alpha’s office would be something natural, even more so than what is currently. A universe where their worlds were one in the same, the line in the sand separating them isn’t fortified by all these outside circumstances meant to keep them on two starkly different levels. Where the dividing line between them, is themselves.

“Yeah, uh huh, I know, this isn’t the most ideal situation but—no? Nothing at all? It’s a last-minute thing I understand, but—” Nicole sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay, okay, thank you.”

“Is everything okay, Nicole?” Waverly asks.

“I have an art exhibition tomorrow night, but,” Nicole sighs, “that might end up getting put on hold because I have a few pieces I want to put out but the model I’m using as my subject can’t come today to finish because she has prior engagements.”

“It was Stephanie, wasn’t it?”

“I should have seen this coming, but I hoped for the best—as a backup, I called up the agency I usually use when I need a model, but they don’t have anyone available in such short notice.”

“Oh, well, would it be so bad if you cancelled? Well, not cancel but postpone it?” Waverly asks, trying to offer a next to satisfactory solution. “I don’t know, but maybe you could do without those few pieces? Keep the show going with what you have already should be enough, right?”

The older woman shrugs. “Probably, but everything’s set in stone.”

Waverly gives a reassuring glance, offering sympathy but she knows it won’t be enough.

And then, by either a stroke of genius or sheer stupidity, an idea is struck and after quietly deliberating in her mind for a few seconds—completely aware of the possibility of being rejected and the slight heartache she’ll feel from it—she says it anyways. “What if I were your model?”

“I-I’m sorry?” Nicole asks. “Do you know what you’re asking me?”

“Yes, and I know I don’t have experience, but I could step in and help. If you want me to.”

“But after everything that happened yesterday, why would you want to help me?” The older woman makes a face, confused. “I pretty much destroyed every bit of trust I built up with you in the last few days.”

“Technically, it was your father who ruined things.”

“I still played a part in it. I’m not innocent.”

Waverly moves forward and plants herself on the alpha’s lap, open and forthcoming, willing to accept everything as is and move forward. To show that she is comfortable in being a part of this contract and fulfilling it to completion. That there is something she can give back, something more than what she’s already given. Despite that nagging voice in the back of her head saying otherwise.

“You said you’d be honest with me from here on out.”

“Absolutely!”

“That’s all I ask for from this contract, no more lies.” She explains. “As for being your new model, I want to do it. I want to help.”

Nicole nods. “Remember, you can back out at any time you want.”

“Will I have to say the safeword, then?” Nicole smiles at the joke, visibly relaxing and becoming pliant underneath Waverly.

“Do you have any reservations about revisiting the playroom?”

The brunette shakes her head. “I do, believe me I do, it’s just… it’ll be different now. I’ll be more aware of everything.”

“Even more nervous than before?”

Waverly sheepishly nods. “With what you told me, yes! And since I can’t force you to take your medicine, I’m worried that something’s going to happen. Something really bad.”

“Nothing bad will happen, okay?” Nicole says sternly, “I may sound like a broken record, but it’s true: I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Even if I truly wanted to hurt you, I couldn’t. There is nothing within me that would ever allow that.”

Waverly softens, genuinely wanting to believe the alpha and every single word coming out of her mouth. But she can’t help the red flags that continue to wave in the dimly lit portions of her mind, half conscious and half subconscious: that tender spot right in between both planes of cognitive existence. The roof of her tongue feels rough, raw, and her omega snorts. As if she could possibly question the alpha’s promise; to have the sheer audacity to do such a thing. Going as far as to nip at her calf, teeth and all. She won’t hurt you.

Sighing, the brunette accepts her momentary defeat, unable to win against her omega and it’s clear as day bias towards the alpha.

“You know, I still want you to have a good time, here.”

Nicole tentatively wraps a hand around the side of Waverly’s waist, a nervous tremor running through them as if she needs permission to touch her. Be reassured that she can touch the omega, that Waverly won’t break and fall apart. She isn’t as fragile as she used to be.

“Is there a special occasion for the exhibit? Like a benefit, or something.”

Nicole shrugs her shoulders.

“Not most of the time, but sometimes people buy my pieces and when they do I send the proceeds to charity.”

Waverly nods. “Oh okay, how much do your pieces usually sell for? I can imagine that they’d have to be in the thousands.” Nicole makes a face and ushers her to go a little higher. “Hundred thousands?” Higher. She can’t be thinking so small when it comes to the wealthy CEO. “Millions?”

“Yeah,” Nicole says nonchalantly. “I mean, that’s what people offer to pay. There have been a few bidding wars in the past, but nothing major.”

“Do you hold exhibits often? Or only whenever you’ve got enough pieces for one?”

“Only whenever I have enough, it’s much easier that way. But with the company I do occasionally host exhibits with work made by others.”

Nicole’s thumb tenderly rubs circles into Waverly’s skin. Slow and soothing.

“No one will know it’s you in the photos, my style doesn’t tend to make use of faces.” The alpha says.

“Are you sure no one will know?” She asks.

Waverly Earp has never been one to be at the center of attention, she can feel her skin crawl at the thought of having everyone’s eyes watching her. Staring at her. Quietly judging her. Attentive to every single action she makes, like hungry predators ready to make her prey at the first mistake. Knowing how particularly savage these rich, upper class schmucks can be, they’d probably be salivating at the mouth for something to sink their teeth into. Forcing her into the spotlight without need, just to ask questions and observe her reactions while under their relentless scrutinizing gazes. Even with Nicole there to provide protection and shield her from them, she doubts it’ll be enough to save her.

“Unless I want them to, yes.” Nicole says, “But that won’t be a problem.”

They’re officially day officially starts when they get into the Lamborghini and drive into the city. Beside her, Nicole lets her know that they’re going to one of her favorite restaurants in downtown Calgary. “You’ll love it,” the alpha swears, “they serve the best biscotti in the city.”

She is far more relaxed, as though a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders. By proxy, Waverly is able to finally lean her body all the way back against the carbon fiber seat, letting the slightly plush padding fully meld itself along the contours of her spine. Able to relax and let her shoulders drop and release the tension that had been building into knots at the base of her neck, the relief in letting the wound spring coiled tightly around her body go with a satisfying snap.

Taking in the scenery as they zoom down the highway, the windows opened at a comfortable height—halfway, letting in enough of a breeze to cool but not enough to completely freeze—the smell of pine and the crisp scent of warm, fading summer breeze, on the cusp of an autumn chill. Eyelids softly drooping until her eyes are closed and the continuous vibrations of the sports car rock her to sleep.

When they reach their destination, Waverly is gently shaken awake and with a yawn she opens her eyes. Having jumped the gun, she assumed they’d be going to some fancy restaurant with an entire block of parking spots annexed specifically to serve as valet parking, each spot home to an expensive luxury car worth more the entire homestead and the land it sits on. Instead, the Lamborghini is parked in an open (public) space in front of a large brick and mortar building, its awning is a delicate shade of red with the words ‘Café Luxemborg’ printed on the side.

Getting out of the car—she won’t ever get used to the idea of car doors opening vertically instead of outward, part of her wondering if this specific feature was ever practical—the restaurant isn’t particularly large. At least from the outside. Sandwiched between a high-end apartment building (complete with a doorman and security guard) and another restaurant brandishing a far harsher red color scheme that resembles a firehouse than anything meant to be pleasing and appetizing.

“Careful not to get a little too starstruck,” Nicole grins, “you might notice a few familiar faces in here.”

“What like celebrities ?” Waverly asks, feeling a little unnerved.

“Uh, sort of?” Nicole shrugs her shoulders as leads the omega inside, “In their field they certainly are. I’m sure you’ve read their works.”

Waverly doesn’t exactly follow, brows furrowing together in confusion until she looks around the café. Definitely a lot larger than what the outside would suggest, walls painted in white, booths a dark brutish red color, the tables themselves are slightly smaller compared to what the brunette is used to at a regular chain restaurant, but the walls are lined with different wines, different whiskeys, different brands of champagne. But the most striking feature of all are the different number of quotes littered along the walls, every square inch is covered in the famous words of a famous literary author. Each section is aptly named after a specific author, from Fitzgerald, to Tolstoy.

“Guess where we’re sitting.” The smugness on the older woman’s face gives it away.

“Shakespeare.”

“Naturally.”

That easygoing smirk on Nicole’s face and the nonchalant shrug of her shoulders has Waverly smiling, a bright blush beginning to color her cheeks as the maître d′ leads grabs a couple of menus and leads them to their table.

A corner booth against the window, thick with padding beneath a red finish, the table itself is covered in a white cloth trimmed with intricate designs along its edges and decorated with a doubled set of utensils (spoons, forks, knives, and napkins folded neatly inside of a twisted wire ring made of gold) while a single rose sits in a glass vase between two plates. Nicole pulls out Waverly’s chair and the brunette accepts with a soft thanks, while Nicole takes the booth. Above her, the wall is fitted with different quotes from a number of his works. Each tile, featuring a quote and a small hand-crafted image pertaining to it.

“You are a lover. Borrow Cupid’s wings and soar with them above a common bound.” Reads the one directly behind the alpha’s head. She recognizes the quote from Romeo and Juliet; specifically Act 1, Scene 4. But the most striking aspect is the picture of a cherub in the corner, pulling back the string on its bow, the heart shaped arrow fixed in a position that points squarely at Nicole.

Shaking her head, she smiles at the maître d’ who wishes them a good breakfast before handing them the menus and leaving. The menu itself features a laminated photo from 1947, black and white, with three women naked in front of the bar and facing away from the camera; coyly looking over their shoulders. It’s a shock, but nothing devastating than the prices that greet her plebeian self on the first page. It’s relatively early in the morning and one would think, that for breakfast, the prices wouldn’t be so expensive. Honestly, who would pay $8 for Grapefruit Brûlée?

Would she get an entire grapefruit? Or just half? While Nicole is busy looking through her own menu, Waverly sneaks a glance at the table beside them.

All three of questions are answered at once.

Quickly looking back to her menu, she gulps, blinking several times in disbelief at the rest of the items as she continues browsing the breakfast page.

The only thing that is even close to be affordable and worth more than eight dollars for half a damn grapefruit is Steel-Cut Oatmeal; with fresh berries, made with water or milk (per customer’s preference), valued at $11. And to her delight, there’s even an image of beside it: small white bowl with a sprinkle of blueberries, raspberries and almonds on top with a light drizzle of honey—Waverly swears it’s true to size.

“Found anything you want?” Nicole asks from behind her menu, now browsing for the sheer fun of it.

Waverly shakes her head, glancing at the priciest entrée on the list the way a masochist purposely seeks out punishment just to feel the crack of a paddle against their skin. Smoked Salmon Benedict, made with smoked salmon, poached eggs, hollandaise, English muffin and served with herbed-potatoes; valued at an astonishing $20.

Their waiter arrives, a very fair-skinned man with soft eyes and thick dark hair, young and boyish looking and probably still in college. His name tag reads: Robin. “Hi, are you two ready to order yet?”

“Almost, Waverly?”

“Oh uh, no, not yet. B-But you can order for yourself if you want?” The omega says, now zooming across the page prepared to order the cheapest thing to save herself from any further embarrassment. But Nicole cuts in with a bright smile.

“We’ll start off with the Banana Pecan Bread, two of the Smoked Salmon Benedict and a bottle of your finest—do you have Prosecco?”

Robin shakes his head, “I’m sorry, but we still have a deep collection of champagne and sparkling wines.”

“Which is the most expensive?”

The beta burns a pretty pink before having to open the small book serving as the café’s wine list to know. After flipping a few pages, he points to a black and gold bottle covered in bronze foil. “The Gut Hermannsberg Riesling Sekt, seventy-four dollars per bottle.”

Waverly feels a burst of intense surprise, disparaging shock. She thought for a second, she might choke on her own saliva.

“Perfect. Thank you, Robin.” Nicole says, closing her menu and handing it over.

“Thank you, Miss,” The waiter echoes, still slightly startled, “We just finished baking another batch of the pecan bread, it’ll be with you shortly.”

Waverly doesn’t notice when Robin takes the menu from her hands, nor does she notice him take the rest of them.

“I could be allergic to fish.” Waverly starts.

“But you’re not, Jeremy would have made note of that in your medical records.”

“It could be a recent thing.”

“Now who’s lying?” Nicole tilts her head to the side. “C’mon, Waves. I saw you. You tend to go for the cheapest thing just, so you don’t feel like a charity case. Instead of going for what you want.”

The brunette huffs defiantly, fiddling with her fingers in her lap beneath the table.

“Yeah, well, maybe I like the cheap stuff. They’re more affordable.”

“Bullshit.” Nicole bites. “No one likes cheap, they just accept it, given the current circumstances that they’re in.” She softens, “You’re telling me that if you had the money, you wouldn’t fly to London, Rome or New York?”

“Nope. I’d put the money towards something useful, like paying off a bill or a loan.” She lies.

“Uh huh, and I’m five feet tall.”

“What’s wrong with being short?”

Nicole chuckles. “Nothing, nothing. I’m just saying that when the opportunity presents itself, you should reach out and grab it. Even if it’s on the top shelf.”

“Hey!”

After two glasses of Riesling Sekt, the arrival of their smoked salmon benedict, which tasted as divine as it was beautifully presented, and an order of profiteroles for dessert—a cream puff, French choux pastry ball, sweet and most filled with the most decadent vanilla ice cream, topped off with a garnish of chocolate sauce, caramel, and a dusting of powdered sugar—that melts in her mouth in a flurry of sweet flavors. And of course, Nicole just had to get her biscotti. She couldn’t do without it.

Once they are full, satisfied with breakfast and Waverly is still raving about the profiteroles long after Robin had come and disposed of their plates, comes time for the check. Immediately, as soon as the check was placed on the table, Nicole takes it, barely spares it a glance before handing over her credit card.

Part of Waverly doesn’t even want to know how much their meal was, but the other part, as strong as it tends to be during times like these, always curious, does.

“Nicole?” She starts, but the alpha already knows.

“One hundred thirty-nine dollars.”

Waverly chokes on her own saliva and then, to add more fuel to the fire, asks: “With tax and tip?”

Nicole looks up from her phone and smiles, finding the brunette’s naivety and softness so irrevocably cute and endearing. “With tax, but without the tip.”

Robin returns and the older woman, flips her wallet open and casually hands over three twenty-dollar bills.

The beta is speechless, pale face going red within seconds as he just stares at the sixty-dollar tip now sitting on the table like mana from God.

Waverly herself is flabbergasted to see what would amount to a month’s worth of tips all at once. Robin stutters through a thank you, but Nicole shakes her head. Placing a reassuring hand to the man’s shoulder, wanting him to think nothing of it, before stepping away to leave. Pulling Waverly with her.

They return to the Lamborghini, a smug smile crossing the alpha’s lips when they find a group of people taking pictures with the luxury vehicle. Just regular college students with University of Calgary sweatshirts, young adults with lives ahead of them, heads full of dreams and wishes—being close proximity to the half a million-dollar car is like a passing thought made true. The alpha doesn’t mind and stalls for an extra minute, pretending to be busy on her phone but Waverly knows; of all the things the auburn-haired woman could be doing, playing a simple game of Blackjack isn’t all that important.

Once the group of students are gone, busy raving over the car and all the selfies they took with it, Nicole unlocks the car. Waverly having to step back and let the doors rise into the air before she’s able to get in (she totally won’t ever be able to get over that). Settling in, Waverly puts on her seatbelt while Nicole pulls out her driving gloves.

“Do you always do that?” She asks. “Tip that big?”

“Always.” Nicole says. “I’m not cheap, and I can afford to tip big if I’m already spending a lot of money on breakfast. Sixty, seventy, a hundred dollars—really, it’s not a big deal to me.”

Waverly nods her head.

“You know, if you think that was a lot of money, wait until I take you to Agent Provocateur.”

“W-What’s that? Some kind of store?”

“Something like that, but trust me, you’re going to like it.” Nicole smirks and the brunette swallows; what on earth did this woman have planned and why is the omega so sure she’s going to want to run once they arrive?

Lace. Velvet. Silk. Of all the places Waverly assumed Nicole would take, judging from how vague she was acting, a lingerie store was not one of them. Honestly, she immediately thought this was some sort of joke. The closest thing the omega had ever come to wearing, much less buying lingerie, was heading to Victoria’s Secret and getting a pair of lacy underwear that was more decoration than anything remotely sexy. Yet, here they are, standing in front of Agent Provocateur. The storefront itself is completely made of glass held together with aluminum frames around each panel.

The store’s logo sits atop of the walkway cover in big, thick letters. Each one scripted and carefully carved out of stainless steel. The display windows feature mannequins in various positions of standing and sitting, all dressed in lingerie of various intricate styles. In these undoubtedly sexy designs that left little to the imagination—there’s one in the window wearing crotchless panties!

Oh, for god’s sake please tell me we’re going next door to do Nicole’s taxes.

But as much as Waverly hoped and momentarily prayed for it to be, alas, she’s instead pushed towards the lingerie store. Involuntarily forcing herself to keep from dragging her feet, sure that Nicole wouldn’t be above throwing the woman over her shoulder.

The inside is a lot brighter and colorful, but more importantly it’s relatively empty save for the man behind the cash registers. Said man picking his head from the monitor in front and smiles warmly, rounding the corner and with arms wide and an extra bounce in his step he makes a beeline for Nicole. Dressed in a pair of tight leather pants, slip-ons, and a white shirt with mesh sleeves. He seems like a beta, maybe and omega, but Waverly catches the scent of an alpha.

But the most striking feature, is the mating bite displayed proudly on the side of his neck.

“Mon chéri gingersnap!”

At first, Nicole tries to hold up her hands, but is unable to counteract the salesman/familiar friend of hers from wrapping his arms around her into a tight bear hug. Almost lifting her off the floor.

But then he lets go, still smiling: “I haven’t seen you in forever, not since last year’s Oscar party.”

“We saw each other last week at Constance’s fashion show.”

“Honey, I’m gay. I don’t remember anything besides important events and Sarah Jessica Parker’s birthday.”

“Your designs were featured on all the models!”

“I was promised a catfight backstage between Beth and Bobo, but nothing happened, so it slipped my mind.”

Nicole sighs, “Christ, I don’t know how Ambrose puts up with you—and no, I don’t need you to tell me about your honeymoon, again.” She then points to Waverly. “Levi, this is Waverly, she’s my new subject for tomorrow’s exhibition and I need new outfits.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Waverly, I’m Levi Goutsis. And I can assure you, that I’ll make sure you are dressed to absolute perfection.” They shake hands, as delicate as the man looked (far removed from anything revolving around hard labor), are heavy and strong. Surprising Waverly. More so when he places a hand at the small of her back and gently pushes her towards a rack full of bras. Each one sporting a price tag that burns Waverly’s eyes just from glancing at them.

Unlike Mrs. McClain at Saks, Levi is another breed of forward. The first item the alpha pulls from the rack, is a provocative wired plunge bra crafted with black straps sweeping and crossing the cups, decorated with rows of miniature sparkling Swarovski gems and lined with sheer tulle for an invisible base and finally finishing up with a black satin bow and a small cluster of chains between the cups. It’s an absolutely gorgeous bra, but not really the omega’s style.

(There would be absolutely nothing covering her breasts save for a few flimsy straps.)

“How about this?” He asks, “Rubi Plunge Underwired Bra, perfect for that sexy domme look.”

“Uh, maybe we can try something different?” Maybe something that doesn’t cost $745.

Levi nods, putting the bra back and quietly singing “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” slightly off-key, high-pitched, and with a little dance, which is really a shimmy of the shoulders before he’s pulling out another bra from the rack.

“Now this is from our Davinah Collection, which is nothing short of spectacular.” He says holding out in front of him an indulgently glamorous, meticulously crafted black plunge bra featuring underwired cups with a small, silk-covered padded cup overlaid with beautiful silk lace. Said lace sweeps below and above the cups to form a high apex, long-line shape, with a curved outline and delicate eyelash trim, bejeweled in tiny sparkling crystals. Topped off with a high-collared, detachable strap that fastens at the nap of her neck and sweeps down to the center, accented by a silken black bow; the ‘caged’ appearance conjuring plenty of allure with an exciting bondage-inspired aesthetic.

She’s instantly stunned by the pricey $845 tag. “I-It, uh, it looks nice.”

“Nice?” Levi exclaims, he then turns to Nicole behind them. “Oh, I love her. Can I keep her?”

“Focus Levi,” Nicole says.

He rolls his eyes, grinning playfully, “So possessive.”

“I think this one would work best if we completed the set,” He leads Waverly across the store towards the—oh hell fucking no, you can’t be serious—the knickers section. The brunette’s face burns white hot and she feels faint, but Levi takes her there anyway.

“Now, now, don’t fret, I said I was going to make you feel sexy and I will. Levi Goutsis is no liar.”

“Except that time, you lied to Ambrose about blowing close to a thousand dollars sit in a skybox at a concert.” Nicole laughs.

“It was Celine Dion, you asshole. She’s an icon!” Levi barks his less than justifiable reason and Nicole smiles smugly, clearly having won. He then turns back to Waverly, prolonging their momentary feud. “Don’t listen to her, after all, what’s Celine Dion compared to, oh, I don’t know, Fiona Apple!”

“Oh, what the fuck ever, man.”

“Swear to god, I bet you watched ‘Criminal’ on repeat for hours, you moody bitch.”

“Unbelievable.”

They start to bicker over popstars from the nineties, while Levi continues to search through the drawers until he finds what he’s looking for; casually handing over a pair of black briefs made from silk lace with layers at both hips trimmed with a delicate black trim, topped off with tiny crystals and a black bow at the center front; ultimately creating a dramatic cutaway and continuing the bondage-inspired, caged-effect. Mainly drawing attention to the waist and hips. Worth $675.

But he doesn’t stop there; pulling the omega with him towards a section underneath a backlit sign meant for suspenders, corsets and basques. He then grabs a black, skirted suspender with a scalloped-edge hemline and a cage-style silhouette made from bold elasticated black satin-bound straps and flashes of rose gold tone hardware. The sparkly Swarovski crystals go without saying at this point. $675, as well.

“What do you think?” He asks, feeling proud that he’s knocked his goal out of the park. “Perfect, right?”

Waverly looks down at the items held out over her body; yes, the lingerie is beyond sexy and at $2000 in total, it should measure up and even surpass the amount of money it’s worth. But still, she can’t see it. Can’t believe that she’s even remotely alluring despite all the crystals and lace. She understands why people’s brain turn to mush at the first instance of satin, lacy underwear. It’s sexy, immediately ticking off everyone’s ‘what turns me on’ boxes. Lingerie is everybody’s thing. She’s guilty of becoming a mindless, drooling mess for a quick second when browsing Victoria’s Secret’s spring catalog. But it’s not the same.

She just can’t bring herself to be comfortable wearing something that showcases her body in such a revealing way. Not when she’s never been comfortable in her own skin, always dreaming and wishing on shooting stars for that extra bit of confidence that everyone else has but is seemingly missing from her own DNA.

“I-It looks great. Really, it does… but I, I just don’t—”

“Levi, isn’t there a thong a part of this collection?”

Waverly squeaks, she yelps like a small dog that got its tail accidentally stepped on. But it’s drowned out by the happy squeal Levi lets out.

“Yes, there is!” He claps his hands together, smiling brightly at Waverly. “Oh, honey, you are going to love it! I have saved many marriages with the right thong or two.”

“He prides himself on being a ‘love doctor,’ of sorts,” Nicole chimes in.

“Counseling helps couples reconcile their differences, lingerie helps them fall in love again.”

Nicole rolls her eyes and takes out her phone from her back pocket, turning around to head outside. Probably to talk on the phone with a business associate, Jeremy, or maybe even… her wife.

After spending, now, four days with the alpha, this is the one and only time that Waverly has come to even fully register the woman’s absence. The weight of it hanging over Nicole and herself like a phantom that still lingers along the edges of one’s peripheral vision; out of sight, out of mind, but never truly gone. And that’s good! More than good, it’s perfect! Beyond perfect because despite everything that has happened so far, and everything that will happen during the rest of today and tomorrow, they couldn’t forget Shae.

As Nicole’s wife, she’s unforgettable!

To be fair, Waverly is sure that the reason as to why the beta hadn’t mentioned at all throughout the week was done out of respect; she couldn’t imagine being a topic of conversation between the woman she’s married to and the one being paid to sleep with her—but that’s neither here nor there, and frankly, a can of worms the brunette doesn’t want to open. Nevertheless, cursed by her own inquisitive nature, she dares to tease the lid open.

“Hey Levi, how long have you known Nicole and Shae?” The omega asks.

“I met Nicole in college, but I’ve known Shae for a long time.” He replies, “Since high school in fact.”

“Oh okay. And, um, have they always been…good?” Waverly tries, but she can’t keep a steady face. And Levi knows, thankfully he doesn’t take offence to her wanting and trying to know more about them. That it comes from a place of concern and genuine curiosity.

Levi pauses; his Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. “Despite the money, the family history and the expectation to follow in their parents’ footsteps, they’re just like the average married couple. Sure, they have their ups and downs, they argue and then they makeup.”

Waverly nods, shifting awkwardly from one for to the other as Levi continues grabbing different sets of bras and panties and holding them over the brunette’s form, assessing whether they’d fit her or not.

“I don’t support all their decisions, but I respect them enough to not stand in the way of them.” He explains, before hauling everything he’s found to the back of the store towards the cash register, setting everything down on the counter. “You know, maybe it’s just the romantic in me since I’m married to my mate, but I think they just need to weather the storm before getting to the end.”

The omega watches him scan every item, the monitor lighting up with different numbers. “What do you mean?”

“Shae and I knew my husband Ambrose in high school, and while we weren’t exactly enemies, we weren’t friends either. It wasn’t until we enrolled into the same Chemistry class at Toronto, that we started getting closer. Then fate made us lab partners for the entire year.” He can’t help the smile that graces his lips.

“Must’ve been a magical moment, wasn’t it?” But Levi shakes his head.

“You would think, considering how everything turned out, but we hated each other.” The alpha laughs. “I hated his work ethic, God, for such a smart man he was so lazy, still is. Whereas Ambrose thought I was too much of a hard ass and needed to relax.”

“So, what made you guys realize that you were destined to be together forever?”

“Kids.”

“Oh, so Ambrose got pregnant?”

“Not exactly,” Levi finishes ringing up the purchases and starts placing them into a thick white bag. “He’s a beta.”

Waverly furrows her brows, “Did you guys start talking about having children?”

The alpha shakes his head again, a large loving grin crosses his lips. “We saw them. It’s weird to say, even after all these years, shit, I thought I was hallucinating! But I was all by myself, on my way home waiting for the train and there she was: my little girl. Granted, she appeared to me as a teenager, but I knew. I fucking knew she was mine.”

“Your daughter, came to you like a ghost and that’s how you knew that you and Ambrose were mates?”

He nods. “I’m of the belief that there are bonds, so strong, that glimpses of the future can manifest themselves in order to ensure the pair stays the path so that one day, they’d become a reality. What better way to do this than in the form of children wanting to be born?”

Her palms start to sweat, she can’t breathe, and heart is beating rapidly against her chest. Waverly feels faint.

“I think they need time before realizing it,” he then puts a finger to his lips. “But don’t tell Nicole I said that, she can’t stand the idea of being mated to someone and I would hate to cause problems for them.”