Page 52 of Violet

I watch as she chops vegetables.

“I need to speak to you about something.” The words feel bitter as they fall from my tongue. “I decided to take your advice and look for a mate this Season. I’m going to be courting.”

“Ah, ulterior motive then,” she says and stops her chopping to look at me fully. “Courting an Omega this time, I hope.”

Anger flares in my chest, but I push it down. “Yes. An Omega.”

“Alicia?”

“Who?”

“The blonde one you shacked up with on one of your first nights here.”

A shock runs through me. How did she know?

“No, not her. Violet.”

Her brows lift. “Violet Gardener? My Luxe?”

I hate giving her this, but I nod.

She’s still holding the knife, and she points it at me. “What are you up to, Stephan?”

“Up to?” I say. “I came here to tell you I think I found someone. That you were right.”

“I saw you dancing with her at the ball. But is it serious?”

“It is for me. And she seems to enjoy my company. I’ve already talked to her brother.”

She studies me. “The Luxe stands above all others. She’ll have the pick of the lot this Season. You’ll have some serious competition.”

“I don’t mind a little competition,” I reply.

“You can’t sully her.”

“What do you think I am?” When she opens her mouth to respond, I say, “Don’t answer that. But this isn’t a joke. I’m doing this the right way. Violet is…well, she’s nothing like I’ve ever expected or knew I wanted.”

“Wow, Stephan. You seem really taken by this Omega. She’s bewitched you.”

“You could say that.”

She smiles. “I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses and listened to me.”

Perfect. She bought it. Relief floods through me.

“Maybe we’ll have a mating ceremony before the end of the summer after all,” she says with a wide grin. Then she turns and starts chopping her vegetables again.

“Thank you, Monarch.”

“Please, Stephan. Call me Sophine. You know you can.” She looks at me from over her shoulder. “Lunch?”

But I’m already halfway out the door.

It’s a whirlwind week of walks, lunches, and trips to galleries, all with Violet Gardener, all chaperoned by one of her sisters or her mother, of course. But we have to show our faces to make our charade seem real. Although the tagalongs make it hard for me to talk to the princess—really talk to her—besides the normal formalities.

It’s annoying, especially since I can’t touch her, which I’m finding damn near impossible as days go on. So I settle for what I can get. An accidental brush of our arms, or a quick swipe of her hair behind her ear when her sister isn’t looking, and then I take my fill of Violet in my dreams, which have only grown more erotic and realistic. I find myself having to jerk off multiple times a night just to get some relief, but it’s never enough.

My body is craving the real thing.

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