Page 11 of Violet

“Hate to break it to you, Pen, but Iamthat movie star.”

She lifts her chin, her gaze sweeping back out to the scene below. “What do you think of our available beauties?”

Something in my gut tightens. “I’m not interested in mating. And if I were, the Omega in question wouldn’t be some boring hothouse thing with no idea of actual life.”

She takes a deep breath. “This is a nice place.”

I get up, after helping myself to a handful of grapes. “So’s the real world, Pen.”

“There are some lovely Omegas. I’m quite taken with the Gardener one. Violet? A surface pleaser, but with substance.” She nods thoughtfully, watching as some kids tear past.

I go to the tent’s opening and scan the park and the picnic. It’s the stuff they like to make movies about—with me in them.

Overdressed girls swan around in groups, mothers crane their necks to see what other mothers are doing, or fuss over their kids. And the guys? They’re just waiting for the fruit to fall and get sampled by them.

I’m sure there’s some who want the real thing, a romantic match. But it’s all fucking bullshit.

The only truth in this whole scenario is Pen’s well-meaning ways, and how pretty much everyone out there is trying to catch a glimpse of the old self-labeled Monarch herself.

She does rule the Council everywhere, but she prefers to stay here, where society is everything.

“I’m not about to go near a Gardener girl.”

“Why not? Even a dance, Stephan? But as far as matches go, you could do worse.”

I turn and face Pen. “I’m not on the market, and I’m not courting.”

“Stephan—”

I stop her with a hard look. “You know that Heath’s my best friend. So any Gardener girl would be from his family, and therefore off my radar completely. Got it? Good.”

One penciled eyebrow rises in a challenge, but she doesn’t say a word. It fucking annoys me just the same.

“Anyway, I’ve got things to do.”

With that, I leave.

The trouble with making a dramatic exit is I really have nothing to do. I don’t want to go and mingle with the boring well-bred. I certainly don’t want to have to sign autographs or make small talk with fans.

Scratch that. No one here is that gauche to ask for an autograph, but I don’t feel like playing nice.

I don’t want a fucking cupcake, and I don’t want to give any mate-hungry Omegas the wrong idea.

Heath’s here, but I spoke to him already, and just from that small exchange it was clear that even his burdens have burdens, this day being one of them, so he’s going to be no fun.

I could go set up my town home, rearrange some things, remove dust covers, drink the booze cabinet dry.

Which is a problem. I know I shouldn’t do the latter, not on my first day.

There are people I have to see, people I don’t want to see who no doubt don’t want to see me, but…I need to do it. So I skulk through the wild maze, one that will take a person out to the other side of the park, and then I can just go to the lower side of town, catch a show, pick up a girl, have some?—

“You look like you don’t want to be here,” comes a young female voice with a note of accusation. I turn.

There’s a girl there, long dark hair, jeans and yellow top. She’s got a bedazzled phone in one hand that matches thecolor of her top, like it’s got chips of yellow diamonds and topaz all over it.

She’s pretty, on the teen cusp between grownup and child. She tilts her head and puts her hand on her hip. “Why?”

“Go away, kid.” I start walking away.

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