Page 22 of Violet

“The thing with mouths and sound? A form of communication? Yes.” He points to the study door. “In there, now.”

He marches ahead, leaving me no option but to follow. Inside, I close the door carefully behind me. “Yes?”

“What happened?” Heath asks, voice terse. For a moment, I think it’s because of how I’m dressed.

I wasn’t supposed to be out, and I shouldn’t be going to dance classes. They’re too expensive, and Dahlia’s so talented that she needs the money for her piano lessons. Iris disdains lessons in the fine arts—she calls itsubjugation—and Mari isn’t really interested in art classes unless they center on real life and not theory, or something.

And Rue? She really hasn’t shown much of a passion for anything apart from social apps and technology. She can paint a little, play a decent tune on her violin probably wellenough to secure her a chair in an orchestra. She can also sew, cook, and do all the things a nice little Omega can do. Like all of us.

But guilt swamps me as Heath continues to stare. I not only went to a class we can’t really afford, but it was in the Lower Side, and I was dressed like this.

No one saw me. Except the young, handsome man from the boathouse. But who is he going to tell?

Hopefully no one.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I went to a class in the Lower Side. A dance class. Mikel Petrov was teaching and was offering a free introductory lesson, so…I went. It was a once in a lifetime chance. No one saw me.”

“What the hell are you on about, Vi?” He shakes his head. “I was talking about the meeting with the Monarch.”

“Oh. That.”

“That.”

I’ve been avoiding thinking about it, of how I embarrassed myself royally during my interview, and now it all comes tumbling back.

I blink rapidly, swallowing hard to prevent myself from bursting into tears in front of my brother. I don’t even want to be part of this stupid Season. I don’t belong in the limelight.

I close my eyes.

“She asked me to tell her about me, and I…” I snap open my eyes. “I asked her about herself instead.”

“You deflected.”

“You know me, Heath. I know this is important?—”

Heath starts to pace, taking up so much room Iedge back until I’m pressed against the door. He shoots me a hard look. “So you threw it? You deliberately sabotaged the interview?”

“Of course not. I would never.” I stare at him as he gouges at my heart. “Not in a million years, but Heath… I… I just didn’t know what to say. Her questions were unexpected, and I was afraid to say something wrong. I overthought it like I usually do, but I did the best I could.”

He stops pacing and wipes a hand over his face. Most likely in annoyance.

I ramble in my embarrassment. “I complemented her on the Degas sculpture, which I’m pretty sure was real. You know the one, the ballerina who?—”

“Violet.”

My name’s like a crack of a whip, and I jump. “I’m not used to all this attention. But I’m working on it. I’m trying. It’s just…I want to have the best Season for Mom, to make her proud.”

He pauses, his gaze softening as it searches my face. “Vi, you make us all proud.”

It’s not true, but I smile anyway.

Heath walks over to me and touches my shoulder. His dark eyes lock on mine as if he’s trying to look past my mask, past the lies. And out of everyone in the family, he may be the one to find the truth in me. Before Dad died, we were pretty close. And there’s a hint of the old Heath in whom I used to confide in his expression now.

“Vi…” he starts. “Maybe we’ve been expecting too much from you.”

“I want this. I do,” I blurt out. I don’t wantanyone—especially him—worrying about me. He has enough going on. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll figure it out.”

I swallow. He’s so stressed. I know he could have found a girl with a rich father or fat bank account of her own. He could have mated her out of duty to us, brought her here, because Heath would never abandon us.

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