7. Chapter 7

Waverly will always remember this moment, the bewildered and absolutely dumbfounded look on Champ’s face. Eyes wide, shock etched into his boyish features as he comes to a slow realization. Tension starts to take hold and the beta’s shaken form dissolves into one that’s more solid, with both feet planted firmly on the ground, he stands straighter. Stretching his spine to his full height, at a near six-feet-two-inches, the height difference, while it isn’t much compared to Nicole who stands at around five-feet-10-inches, gives Champ an ego boost. So much so, he feels a small twinge of superiority and runs with it. Lips curling into a devious smirk.

“I’m Champ Hardy,” he puffs out his chest as he takes a daring step forward, closing the already miniscule gap between himself and the alpha. “Who the hell are you?”

A moment passes, far too long for Waverly’s comfort before Nicole tilts her head to the side. Brows furrowed as if she were confused by such a question, an almost mocking gesture from the way Champ’s upper lip quivers in response. His beta, while it curls its own lips back into a quiet growl, lowers its body to the ground. Ears flattened, tail tucked between its legs, snapping its teeth in an empty attempt to seem threatening; a glaring contrast that reveals more about him than anything else. Nevertheless, with all of his empty bravado, Champ’s aim to appear bigger than what he truly is, falls flat.

All too reminiscent of high school and all the ill-fated attempts he pulled in order to be viewed by his peers as an equal. For the alpha that ran the school, the culture and social construct within Purgatory High’s walls that lived and died by their discretion, to see him as someone of worth. Elevating his status to the heights of which, he had always wanted, but could never achieve in all their four years of school. Even with managing to secure the most coveted position of wide receiver on the football team, doing so out of sheer luck as one of the few betas to make the cut during tryouts, Champ was still playing catch up. Years later, to this day, Waverly suspects that he still is. Chasing after that sole, unobtainable semblance of peace he so desperately needs to feel complete. So different from the wide-eyed little boy he used to be, sweet and naïve, not caring about what others thought of him. In his place is an adult so disillusioned with the world around him, disregarding everyone with an immense dislike if he couldn’t beat them of join them. Waverly can only for the best of their given situation as he watches him smirk.

She looks to Nicole. Shoulders firm and set; unlike Champ trying to maintain a fortified front and his own beta cowering to the floor and bearing its teeth, the alpha doesn’t move. Instead, she remains impossibly still and regards Champ with barely a dignified glance, looking at him in such a bored manner that ignites a spark of heat to blossom in Waverly’s veins. Her heart starts to race, beating against the walls of her chest like an ominous war drum, deafening as it lurches her and gets caught in her already constricting throat. Nicole, almost comically, tilts her head to the side as if being asked such a question was a baffling absurdity. She opens her mouth and it is there at that moment, that one singular moment in time, she knows—blood rushing through her body rapidly in a never-ending torrent, taking the air out of her lungs and the synapses of her brain shutting off as only one word is allowed to filter through the haze—she knows.

Quietly mouthing out the word as it leaves Nicole’s lips: “Hers.”

Waverly can’t breathe. She watches Champ’s brows furrow skeptically, he can’t believe it, and in turn refuses to. Curling his lip back in a defiant snarl only for it to be a high-pitched yelp when Nicole raises a hand. Defensively, he swivels away from the impending strike, beta forcing him back to create enough distance between himself and the alpha for safety. Nicole, however, only shrugs her should at the action, proceeding to run the hand she raised through her hair; she was never going to hit Champ. Nicole’s alpha stands beside her and snorts, staring down at the beta with contempt as it fully lowers itself, laying flat on the ground in complete submission.

Waverly quietly hopes that Champ gets the message his beta has already given and leaves them alone. To her own surprise, he does. He opens his mouth to say something, one last rebuttal, but Nicole’s cutting glare doesn’t let him. The omega swears that she hears a soft, but menacing growl coming from the alpha. Champ narrows his eyes and veers sharply on his heel to walk away, moving quickly as his beta prefers, but enough to completely be seen scurrying away like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Waverly can only imagine what must be going through his mind. The embarrassment, and the humiliation at being so thoroughly forced into submission by someone much stronger than himself, his own beta betraying him in such a debilitating fashion.

With him gone, Nicole finally turns around. Her shoulders, tense as they were beneath the tight fabric of her leather jacket, relax. The lingering tension quickly evaporates and like a switch, Nicole uncrosses her arms from in front of her chest and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Sheepishly, she smiles. Honey-golden eyes alight with mischief. “Was I convincing enough?”

Waverly blinks.

Once, then twice… Absolutely speechless and to her side, Chrissy is just as confused despite being able to regain her own composure much faster. And while Waverly slowly comes to terms with what just transpired before her, starring at the alpha in utter disbelief, a rush of air barrels past her. A hulking brute of a man, tall and sturdy, comes into view before them, his dark skin not enough to hide the flush of rage beneath. He stands toe-to-toe With Nicole, but unlike Champ who stood on shaky ground to the best of his ability and stupidity, the man, a beta, stands firm. Chrissy tries for a greeting, signifying the newcomer as a friend, or at least an acquaintance. One that is closely associated with the world she lived in during her time as Nicole’s contracted partner, the world Waverly is now a part of. But the man is unfazed; he goes straight for Nicole.

In response, Nicole turns to Waverly and Chrissy: “Why don’t you girls take a seat in the car?”

Nicole’s tone is harsher, rougher than Waverly’s ever heard it be. The one she had used for Champ wasn’t like this. It is enough to pique Waverly’s interest and want to remain standing with them, but to her dismay, Chrissy agrees with a squeal and a quick thank you; leaving the omega to follow suit and placate Nicole.

Once the doors come down and lock into place, Chrissy makes herself home in the driver’s seat. Appreciatively running her fingertips over the leather steering wheel, wiggling deeper into the woven carbon fibers of the seat; whistling at the heat warming her backside. Chrissy isn’t a car enthusiast like Wynonna and Ward, and to some extent Willa, but she focuses all her attention on the intricacies of the luxury sports car to distract herself and Waverly. However, with all of Chrissy’s praises for the cool air conditioner, the heated seats, gorgeous matte black paint job—“this is so cool, I’ve never been inside of a Lamorghini before,” and “we always took a limo or her Rolls Royce”—Waverly is far more focuses on the argument she sees outside. The dark, tinted glass muffling all noise she hears; reduced to a warbled mess where only a few sentences can be made out.

“Are you out of your mind?” The man barks, “You were way out of line!”

She watches the way the beta furrows his brows, the easiness of the man’s anger and the alpha’s flippant nature towards him, dismissing his words and appeasing him with counters and promises; there is a familiar twinge to their interaction as thought they’ve been here before. The bodyguard, at least Waverly assumes the man to be Nicole’s bodyguard (because what else could he possibly be), breathes a frustrated sigh and crosses his arms over his chest. No pleased.

“Is this a common thing with them?” Waverly turns towards Chrissy who slows her appraisal of the touchscreen car deck in front of them, removing her fingers from it.

“Dolls, uh, Dolls is a bit protective of her,” Chrissy says. “Yeah, he’s her personal bodyguard and I guess on some level it comes from that, but I think they’re really close friends and he just worries about her.”

Waverly raises a brow. “Worried about what?”

“Everything; like to this day, Waves, I’m still in awestruck at how rich she is and how much she’s in the public eye even if it doesn’t seem like it during these contracts.”

Waverly sits back against the heated seat; hands folded together in her lap, she thinks. Did she just put the alpha in jeopardy? Is there someone out there during the almost-altercation with Champ that snapped a photo of them? Will she go on Twitter or Instagram later and see a poor camera phone quality-made video of Champ trying to dominate and Nicole wiping the floor with him without touching a single hair on his head. God, what if Champ goes, figures out who Nicole is and decides to cause a scene later? A quick glance to Chrissy’s solemn face and Waverly can see the regret, the remorse for establishing the narrative they ultimately chose to run with to keep Champ from thinking that he had any chance of getting back together with Waverly. Feelings of guilt start to take hold as she realizes how she should’ve shot Champ down before all this started.

There is a soft tap against her window and she jumps; not expecting it. She lowers it completely and sees Nicole crouch down against the door. “There’s a get-together tomorrow at Whitewater Country Club, nothing fancy, just a meeting with a colleague of mine. We might be there for a while, you’re free to take advantage of all the facilities the club has to offer, we just need to go shopping because they have a very strict dress code, okay?”

Waverly nods her head, she quickly looks to Chrissy who’s overjoyed at the news with stars in her eyes, there’s no way in the world, the beta wouldn’t let her take advantage of this. A chance to be pampered like some queen with a multitude of servants at her beck and call, Waverly knew this was coming. She just didn’t expect it so soon in the week.

“Sounds great,” she says, much to the alpha’s delight.

“Perfect, now we will be taking the Lambo to 17th Street, Dolls will tow your Jeep back to my place without a single scratch on her,” Nicole promises with an additional salute.

The ride into the city is quiet. Waverly sits, arms wrapped tightly around her backpack, staring out the window as they pull off the interstate. There is something calming about being in a car and driving through the highway at the time of the day, rush hour hasn’t kicked into effect yet, the sun is still high in the cloudless blue sky, on either side of the lanes is a long line of tall evergreens. The windows are half opened, a nice crisp breeze billowing through into the vehicle as the luxury car speeds through. She does take note of some of the other drivers staring at theme whenever they came to a momentary stop; a main in a Honda Civic stares slack jawed with his face pressed against the glass. Eagerly motioning to his fellow passengers to the Lamborghini, all of them proceed to gawk in a way that reminds Waverly of when Wynonna hauled her to the BMO Centre for four years straight for International Auto Show. Where the men in the Honda at least had the common decency to not just drool like overly excited teenagers, Wynonna showed less tact, always trying to swindle her way into getting a test drive with best car shown on display at the event. Having to resort to using, as the alpha would put it, her “assets”, to get what she wanted. Granted, Wynonna managed to at least be able to sit inside of them, a bright yellow Ferrari being her best catch, so it wasn’t all for nothing.

Still, as calming as the ride into the city is, she can’t help this gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach. Beside her Nicole is staring rigidly straight ahead, occasionally tapping her fingers along the steering wheel and rolling her shoulders. Waverly bites her lip. Should she say something? Whether it’d be a question, a simple statement or even start up chit-chat—or anything, really? Is it even her place to do so?

Nicole takes a turn onto 17th Street and Waverly’s brows immediately shoot upwards, eyes widening at the long line of expensive storefronts. Large brand name stores with massive bold print logos; Versace, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada and so many more. The restaurants are pristine, perfect, the omega notices a waiter or tow bringing silver trays of food presented in artistic fashion and pitches of mimosas and bloody marys to a group of customers sitting outside under a sun umbrella in their silk clothing. Seventeenth Street is the rich person’s go-to for clothes shopping, here in Calgary. Waverly knows this because of social media. Instagram. Twitter. Facebook. The countless ads she’s seen on television featuring people with flawless skin and perfect smiles filing in and out of the stores with dozens of bags for the camera. The kind of people that easily flaunt their wealth to millions of their followers to see, like and envy.

She suddenly becomes self-conscious over her discount store backpack and average clothing; this isn’t her world, she doesn’t belong here. That small voice in the back of her head reminding her of it nearly every single day. Its irrational, and maybe even leaning more towards paranoia, but she’s sure that these people around them will know the same.

They stop in front of a Saks Fifth Avenue; a luxury department store with only an estimated 110 stores opened around the world. Catering only to the rich and famous, the incredibly wealthy and influential, Waverly is immediately taken aback at how otherworldly the store is. The storefront appears to be made of alabaster white marble, the building’s exterior walls feature a tile-like design, uniformed and minimalist, the windows themselves are furnished with a gold frame. Within them they showcase mannequins positioned in various poses dressed in the finest clothing imaginable. All beneath a large logo in bold, scripted text wthat shimmers beneath the midday sun; each letter outlined with small lights, Waverly bets the logo and the entirety of the store would look even more impressive at night.

And while it is easy to be overwhelmed with the sheer grandeur of the store and the face that within a few minutes she will actually be inside of it, browsing, shopping, like all the other rich customers who frequent it, the omega it pulled towards Nicole who shuts of the engine. In the most uncharacteristic gesture, according to what little Waverly actually knows about the alpha based on the short amount of time they’ve been together, Nicole sighs. Frustrated, annoyed, a long-suffering sound that is unlike the self-assured woman she has portrayed until now. Hands gripping the steering wheel tight, her black leather driving gloves crinkling at the edges.

“Before we go inside, I would just like to say that I’m sorry.”

Waverly blinks. “W-What…?”

“I’m sorry for the way I acted back there, it was incredibly stupid of me and completely unprofessional of myself to into a situation, your situation, of which I have absolutely no idea about. The guy you were with could’ve been a suitor, could’ve been an ex-boyfriend, could’ve been someone you were keen on pursuing yourself—hell, he could’ve just been a friend and I, for lack of a better word, fucked it all up.” Nicole unbuckles her seatbelt, muttering quietly about suddenly feeling trapped. She then leans back against the seat, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m really, really, sorry.”

She continues, “If you want to cancel with contract, I completely understand.”

Waverly looks down at her hands. “Champ is my ex-boyfriend, but he isn’t a suitor, a friend and he is far from someone I intend on getting into a relationship again,” she fiddles with her fingers nervously. “I was just walking Chrissy to the Baker Building when he showed up, until you came we were just trying to get rid of him.”

“And he wasn’t taking the hint?”

Waverly shakes her head. She then picks her head up and looks Nicole, her voice suddenly soft and small. “How did you know where I was?”

At this, the alpha shrugs her shoulders and places a tentative hand to the back of her neck. “I really don’t know. I mean I knew your class was over since your class schedule is listed within the guidelines of the contract, and Jeremy’s been made of aware of it so no plans can be made that would cause conflict with your schooling, beyond that I honestly had no clue where to find you exactly. Call it a hunch?”

“A hunch?” Waverly repeats, “Pretty specific hunch if you ask me.”

“I guess,” Nicole takes off her driving gloves, folds them and then places them inside the breast pocket of her jacket. “I still don’t know how I managed to get to you as quickly as I did, I just felt that you were upset and when I found you… I didn’t think; kind of like I sensed—”

“A disturbance in the force?” Waverly tries with a cheeky little grin. Nicole chuckles.

“As if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.”

They share a laugh, a momentary respite they desperately needed. Over a Star Wars quote no less, but once the moment dies down they return to the awkward silence they shared only seconds ago. Waverly can feel Nicole’s agitation, fingers drumming along to the beat of some unknown tune on her knee. “If you still want to cancel this contract, I completely understand. It is no trouble at all and I am more than willing to pay you for all that you’ve done for me, as well as the rest of the week.”

“But that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“I can’t in good conscious be able to continue with this knowing how poorly I acted, I should’ve kept in control and I didn’t.”

Waverly narrows her eyes, curious, but doesn’t say a word.

“What if we changed things, or at the very least added something extra to keep things more in line?” She suggests.

Nicole thinks. “That… wouldn’t be such a bad idea; I mean if we just committed to the roles—essentially what we have right now, in some ways, is a dominant-submissive relationship—so committing to it fully ought to make everything much easier.”

“With the original contract still being in place.”

“Of course.” The alpha says. “Just know that you are free to stop everything if you don’t want to continue anymore.”

Waverly’s omega nudges her forward to comfort the alpha, to ease the burden weighing on her shoulders that was in no way her own fault. “I still want to continue this, I-I do, it’s just a bit startling to have someone come out of the blue to defend me no less.” Nicole looks at her in disbelief and pushes Waverly to continue. “We barely know each other, and you were so quick to get Champ to leave that I’m still in shock about it. Don’t really know what to say other than thank you.”

“No need, I was just doing what anyone else would’ve done.” Strangely, those words sound like they couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Still, thank you.”

“Anytime.”

They exit the Lamborghini, Waverly staring in awe as she watches the car door rise into the air instead of outward. And while she could’ve just sat there shell-shocked, she remembers where she is, mentally shakes her head, and puts on a brave face. Despite entering the store with Nicole beside her, she’s sure the regular customers and even the employees can smell a poser from a mile away. Spot the brand names meant for poor people on her clothing and even the worthless value she had to her name just from the way she walked.

The heel of her suede boots click against the freshly waxed linoleum and she pulls the sleeves of her sweater tightly around her middle. More than self-conscious as a security guard regards them with a curt nod. Steel eyes burning into the back of her skull. Only to be followed by some of the looks the other customers were sending their way.

“The club’s dress code is mostly casual attire, anything you would normally wear to a brunch. It just has to be white.” Nicole says as they pass by a rack of off the shoulder tops, each one priced at more than two-hundred dollars.

“Oh okay,” Waverly pauses for a moment to look at a particular top. White in color, scoop neck, cold-shoulder cutout with long sleeves, elasticized cuffs in a pullover style. Relaxed silhouette made from the softest silk material imaginable. She imagines being able to make an outfit with it, coupled with a nice pair of white leggings and some boots. That is until she spots the price tag hanging off one of the cuffs; printed in big bold numbers, $330.99. Add in the tax and the final price would ultimately round upwards to at least, $345.

It’s insane that a top, as pretty as it looks, would cost that much. Costs the same as one of her classes. Nevertheless, she moves away from it hoping to find something at least a bit cheaper. She knows Nicole would be the one to pay for everything on this shopping trip, much like how she did with Chrissy before her. She just can’t, in goodness of her heart, just run wild and grab the most expensive clothes off the rack like some spoiled brat. She can’t take advantage of the alpha’s kindness and, on some level, charity.

“You know, you don’t have to stay in just this section; look around the entire store.”

“You sure, I mean, I don’t really know what to do,” she says. “I-I mean I do know what to do, it’s just I don’t—this isn’t where I usually shop, you know?”

Really. The shops Waverly usually frequents are more for the average consumer. Forever 21, Rue 21, American Eagle, H&M, Wet Seal; the kinds of clothing stores that are more expensive than a discount, mom and pop department store, but affordable. Especially during half-off sales. Stores that are a thousand times more affordable than Saks. A few aisles over, the omega sees a shelf full of croc-embossed leather handbags with a Saint Laurent logo monogramed onto the side in silver, the women flocked around it are chatting and commenting on how cheap the price is. The handbag in question is $2,290.

Nicole tilts her head to the side and makes a non-committal grunt. She whips her head around before making a beeline towards an older woman, with short gray hair and thick rimmed glasses. A pearl necklace hangs around her neck and at first Waverly doesn’t know what she’s doing, until she realizes that the woman is wearing the same black cardigan as the other employees. It’s almost comical at how Nicole practically dwarfs the woman in height.

They’re chatting as if they’re old friends, laughing lightly as they then walk back towards Waverly who stands in the middle of the store like a deer in headlights.

“She’s an absolute sweetheart but is having a bit of trouble trying to find something to wear,” Nicole grins cheekily and the woman nods her head. “Think you can help us out?”

“Of course!” The woman, an omega herself, exclaims with stars in her eyes, turning them towards Waverly and cupping her face, “She is a beautiful girl, very, very beautiful, reminds me of a delicate flower I saw once in America.”

“Waves, Mrs. McClain will help you find whatever you need while I go make a quick phone call.”

Waverly has half a mind to pull Nicole back, to not leave her with this sweet woman, who clearly has no semblance of personal space, but the alpha is gone before she’s able to say anything. Mrs. McClain effortlessly turning the omega around and gently pushing her towards the dressing rooms as they pass through an aisle of dresses. Short, light, brightly colored, perfect for the summer season!

The dressing rooms are abundantly spacious, each wooden doorway leading to an even larger area surrounded by mirrors. The actual dressing room, where Waverly will be changing through a passage way off to the middle behind a raised platform where she assumes she’ll have to stand and model for the older omega. Yep, she thinks to herself, you are definitely not in Forever 21.

“Tell me child, do you have any style in particular?” Mrs. McClain asks as she brings Waverly to the platform, signaling her to turn with her finger.

“Uh, no not really.” Waverly says quietly, “I’m thinking of a dress? Maybe?”

“A dress would be perfect for you; a short one, perhaps?” Mrs. McClain asks with a large grin, “You certainly have the legs for it, off the knee or shorter?”

“Oh, could we try something a bit longer first?” Something short, yeah right. All the dresses she had seen so far were unbearably short, meant for regular nightclubbers and teenagers who like to leave little to the imagination. Not her style, not by a longshot.

“As you wish, dear. Now stay put, I’ll be right back—only white correct?” She nods and the older woman, hopefully takes heed, and leaves Waverly alone in the large room. Almost cavernous, she swears there’s an echo, if she was daring enough to prove it.

To keep herself occupied, she decides to call Wynonna and see how the family’s held up in her absence. Or maybe just to check if the homestead was still standing.

Wynonna picks up on the second ring and Waverly is more than relieved to hear her sister’s voice, even if it is slightly slurs. A quick glance to look at the time and she shakes her head, “Really, Wynonna? It isn’t even one o’ clock in the afternoon and you’re already drinking.”

“Excuse you, babygirl, but I’m just having a late brunch. The devil incarnate—you were supposed to hear it asshole—tried her hand at making Bloody Mary and I think, a Harvey Wallbanger.” Waverly rolls her eyes. “We’re trying to come up with a signature drink to serve at the bar and—yes, we, I’m the goddamn Guinea pig here!”

“Don’t listen to a goddamn thing Willa says, it’s nothing but lies.” She doubts that but decides to take Wynonna at her word for it, it’s not like if they continued at this rate, she’d remember anything.

“Just remember not to get too drunk, you know Daddy doesn’t like it when you’re out of it while he’s not around.”

“I know, I know, but I’m taking care of myself, eating my weight in Wheat Thins to keep from going overboard.” Not the smartest thing to do, but she’s too far from them to actually reprimand them and doing so over the phone doesn’t have the same effect. “Anyways, how’s the nerd convention Waves?”

“It’s called Comic Con, Wyn, I’ve told you guys this hundreds of times and it’s going great, thanks for asking.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all the same shit. Mind getting me that red and yellow helmet, damn what’s it called?” There’s an audible snap of fingers then, “Iron Man. Mind getting me Iron Man’s helmet?”

“Uh, I’m not sure if I can,” Waverly replies.

“Just try please? Oh and Willa wants Titan’s glove.”

“You mean, Thanos’ glove.”

“Yeah that, although I feel like she just wants to hit me with it.”

“That wouldn’t be surprising,” Waverly laughs, just as Mrs. McClain returns with three dresses. “Wynonna, I’ve got to go, talk later?”

“Hopefully I’m still alive later.”

“You will be, bye.”

“Bye babygirl.”

The first dress Waverly tries on is a bright cotton fit-and-flare dress with unique gathering for extra texture along the waist line. A relatively short v-neck, short sleeves, bake yoke styled pullover with a viscose lining. Flaring out loosely from the hips, the hem of the dress sitting just at the middle of thigh. Turning around in a circle on the platform, each side being viewed from the mirrors leaving nothing unseen. From the Carven brand, perfect for a stylish, casual day out.

“What do you think, dear?” Mrs. McClain asks, hopeful.

“Not exactly me,” Waverly bites her bottom lip, not wanting to sound like a brat she quickly adds, “but I do like the look of it.”

“I understand, fear not we have two more dresses to try out and if not, we won’t leave here until you fall in love with something.”

“Great.” Oh, dear God…

The second is a bell sleeved dress with ladder lace trimming, v-neck as well as a pullover, elbow-length sleeves, made entirely of polyester and spandex. Tight-fitting, Waverly can barely seem to breathe within it as the material pushes everything into a constrictive hold. It’s white, but unlike the first one, there is some gold gently lining the bottom hem of the dress, the sleeves, around her waist and just beneath her breasts to form a v-shape. The dress is beautiful and while it does sit just an inch or two higher on her thighs than the first, she’s in awe of it. But not enough to fully settle for it.

“Messina Bell Sleeve Dress from LIKELY,” Mrs. McClain says, “We can complete the look with a pair of sandals from Stuart Weitzman, very chic.”

“I like it, but it doesn’t really—”

“Say no more, I’ll fetch you our final dress, this one will certain turn heads,” the older omega shoos her away to the changing area. So sure that Waverly will fall in love with the final dress, as if she purposely saved it for last.

Waverly changes out the Bell Sleeve Dress, arms wrapped around her middle as she stands in the small changing room in her bra and underwear; feeling more than a little naked. Her only solace is the quiet as she hears Mrs. McClain softly hum to herself an old song, she’s never heard before.

“I tell you sweetheart, it always warms my heart when couples come into the store.”

What? Did she really think that Nicole and herself were a couple? They are on two opposite sides of the spectrum, rich and poor, how on earth would she have come to that conclusion? Nevertheless, enough silence has gone by and Waverly has to respond. “Really?”

She couldn’t crush the poor woman, not when she’s been so helpful and sweet.

“Oh yes, you’d be surprised at how little you see that here,” Mrs. McClain says, albeit sadly, “Usually it’s just these older married couples that act like there isn’t a single spark left in their relationship or these young teenagers just looking for the most expensive thing to buy off their parents’ credit cards.”

Mrs. McClain comes toward the back and hands her the new dress. “It’s like romance is dead, and I may be an old woman who doesn’t understand today’s youth, but there used to be something to courtship and wooing.” While Waverly pulls the dress over her head, the older woman continues. “I remember when my husband Walter and I first met, he was such a gentleman.”

“Did everything he could possibly do to stand out from all the other suitors, he wasn’t the biggest nor was he the strongest, but he understood me better than the rest,” Waverly stops and listens, a smile gracing her lips.

“He sounds perfect.”

“In a way he is, with all his faults,” Mrs. McClain sighs. “I knew from the moment he stood at my doorstep, hair combed back, wilting flowers and all, that he was the one. My mate.”

Waverly’s knees threaten to buckle, legs on the verge of giving out on her, until she opens the wooden door to the changing room and is greeted with Mrs. McClain’s smiling face. The older omega gently ushering her back to the display area full of mirrors and onto the platform. Zipping up the back of her dress.

The dress is cut from a lightweight fabric, featuring cold shoulders with slightly ruffled sleeves. Pristine and white, wrap front with tie closure, leaving a long slit up the left side. Leaving her left leg, bare and out for the world to see while the dress in its entirety pools around her feet on the floor. A tight fit around her waist, but ultimately light and flowy, giving the sense that she could twirl around in a circle and not feel restricted. Could do so like a princess.

“I give to you, the Acme Dress by Privacy Please, an absolute godsend of a dress, perfect for any occasion and…” Mrs. McClain’s voice trails off as Waverly finishes her turn on the platform, hand to her chest. “Bellissimo, mio caro!”

“Absolutely beautiful, sweetheart, this dress is the one. Don’t you think?”

Waverly opens her mouth to reply, but there’s a knock on the dressing room door. “Waverly?”

“Hold that thought dear,” Mrs. McClain smiles, skipping to the door. She comes back with Nicole hunched over, covering the alpha’s eyes with her hands. “Okay, three, two, one…”

Mrs. McClain removes her hands and Nicole opens her eyes. Waverly’s heart starts to race, Nicole stands there not uttering a single word.

“I think she’s speechless, sweetheart.”