Page 3 of Iris
We’re at our designated spot, waiting for the G last names to be announced. They’re on F right now, and there’s just one Omega girl with a last name starting with F.
This is so stupid.
All of it. Stupid.
I can’t believe I’m here.
Dahlia’s playing with the orchestra later, but she’s here in a dark, dark red. Something I’m a little jealous of. I’m in black, but the red that’s so dark it could be dried blood is somethingI’m instantly attracted to. I mean,hello, it’s totally me. And even Mari looks stunning, but her dress is a dark silver gray.
I miss Violet.
But Stephan has decreed, since she threw up this morning, that she needs rest.
She’s pregnant, not contagious.
My gaze lights up when I catch sight of my best friend, Quinn. I almost go over, but a steel trap catches my arm. I glance up at my older brother.
“Fuck no, Iris, you’re not embarrassing us.”
“Let me go, Heath,” I mutter to him. “I’m not?—”
“I get it. You don’t want to be here; neither do I. But you’ve got all your sisters to think about.”
“Isn’t that what we have Stephan for?” Violet’s mate—the marvelously famous movie star, Asher St. James—was supposed to get me out of this shit. Or at least I had hoped.
“No.” He takes a breath, sets his mouth. “We won’t be the family who’s supported by another Alpha. And if we rest solely on Violet’s new connections, our family drops in stature.”
“That makes no sense.” Violet may have chosen “right,” according to society’s standards. Hell, Stephan’s not only rich and a star, but he’s also the Monarch’s nephew. That should be enough for me to skip the Season bullshit all together. I’m cool with being perpetuality single forever, and I have absolutely no problem being the fun aunt to everyone’s kids.
“Welcome to society.” Then he turns to me, raking his gaze over me like he’s trying to catalog all the places I’ve gone wrong.
I want to push more, but decide against it. Good thing too, because…
“Miss Iris Gardener.” My name’s announced.
I swallow hard. Mari squeezes my hand as I pull my shoulders back and whisper, “Up to the chopping block.”
CHAPTER
TWO
Iris
Quinn, my closest friend in the world, gives a silent squeal as I hurry over, hugging her tight.
Her mother separates us, her bright red hair a stark contrast against her tight black gown and matching headdress. “Really? It’s bad enough my children are nothing more than Betas”—she glares at her mate who sinks further back into the shadows—“but I will not let anyone jeopardize our standing this Season because of your uncouth behavior.”
She glares at me.
Like I’m the bad influence. Which, maybe I am.
Besides being a late blooming Beta, Quinn is very much like me. We don’t believe in this backward ritual of Alphas courting Omegas. It’s like a circus, a show. But Quinn would never let her mother know that, and I’m not about to tell her either. The woman is a bulldog.
So I smile and say, “Always nice to talk to you, Mrs. Hyde.”
This isn’t feeling like my debut. It’s feeling more like my funeral.
I guess Rue was right. At least I am dressed for the occasion.
