Page 2 of Arranged Wolf's Nanny
The opulence of the place made her dizzy. Persian rugs covered the gleaming tiled floor, pillars craned above her, sweeping high into the ceiling, and an enormous front desk swept out from the far wall. The receptionists behind buzzed around like flies, plastic smiles plastered on their faces as they dealt with the assembled guests.
Rosalia breathed in through her mouth as a wall of alpha scent crashed into her. The hotel had obviously tried to anticipate and mitigate the impending Alliance meetings by placing riotous explosions of roses, lilies, and freesiaseverywhere, but the sickly-scent clogged in her nose and clashed sharply with the musky, woodsy scent of the assembled males.
The assembled males, who had just noticed her entrance, turned to her with blatant interest.
Focus on your footsteps. Don’t make eye contact. Float above it all.
“Paul,” her father bellowed, clasping the arm of an older male, his face splitting into an easy grin. “How are you? It’s been far too long!”
“John,” Paul returned, smirking as he shook her father’s hand. “Of course, I can count on you to also arrive early.”
“Nonsense, we’re right on time,” her father responded. “How is Delilah, have you brought her along?”
“To this shitshow? Not a chance,” Paul replied. “But she is well, thank you for asking.” His eyes flickered past her father, landing on Rosalia, narrowing slightly as he took her in. “Who’s this?”
Her father glanced back, eyebrows furrowing as if he’d already forgotten Rosalia was there. Still, he plastered a doting smile on his face, extending an arm in invitation for Rosalia to step forward. She did so cautiously, lifting a hand for Paul to take. He accepted, his eyes not leaving hers as he bent over it to brush a kiss to her knuckles, the whiskers of his patchy gray beard scraping her skin.
“This is my daughter, Rosalia.”
“A pleasure,” Rosalia said, dipping into a slight curtsy, not missing the sparkle of perverse delight in Paul’s eyes at the old-fashioned gesture. She ignored the stares boring holes into her from every angle.
“The pleasure’s all mine, believe me,” he said, cocking his head. “Where have you been hiding away all these years?”
She opened her mouth to reply with something appropriately self-effacing and mild, but her father jumped in, “My daughter is very dedicated to her pastimes. Piano, oil painting, poetry recital, that sort of thing.”
“Poetry, eh?” Paul smirked. “Don’t suppose you know any Catullus? That’s the only poetry I recall from school. Remember the ones, Johnny?”
Her father cleared his throat. “I can’t say I do.”
“Sure you do, you know what I’m talking about!Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo! Do you know your Latin, girl?”
She scented her father’s sharp spike of anger.
Rosalia smiled faintly at Paul. “If we’re discussing the Roman poets, I always admired the lyricism of Ovid.”
Paul hollered, slapping his knee. “Lyricism, she says! There’s plentylyricalaboutI will sodomize and face-fu—”
“Quite,” her father interrupted, a familiar steeliness entering his tone, one that made Rosalia’s hands clammy and her throat seize up, “but perhaps we should leave such conversations for more…appropriatecompany?”
Paul rolled his eyes, throwing a wink at Rosalia. She supposed he meant it to be charming, but with his sagging jowls and thinning tufts of hair, she rather thought he looked like some sort of demented turkey cocking its head.
“Alright, alright, but you can hardly blame me. She’ll be in for a hell of a lot worse with some of the others. You’ll want to keep an eye on her.”
“Thank you for your kind advice,” her father said, placing a hand on her back. To an onlooker, it must have looked protective. Affectionate, even. All she could think about was the threatening dig of his fingers into her spine.
“I’m serious,” Paul said, glancing around the room. “There are all sorts here. Those Black Claws wouldn’t hesitate to steal her away from under your thumb.”
He gestured towards a group skulking about in the corner, wearing their suits like ill-fitted masks. They were wolves by scent, huge, with predator eyes and barely-restrained violence in every sweep of muscle.
Rosalia didn’t let her unease show. She was, after all, more than used to intimidating alphas who looked at her like a piece of meat. Her pack was full of them. She had wanted to bring Katie, her best and only friend, along on the trip with her, but being in the same room as a hundred aggressive males made her glad Katie was safe at home. Her gentle friend had never been able to brush off the scrutiny like she could.
At least, that’s what she told herself. The cacophony of the room swelled, loud booming laughter rattling her to her core, an echoing, relentless din in her ears.
Her father considered the Black Claws, a small furrow deepening the lines of his forehead. “I’m surprised they’re here, given what happened the last time we held the Eastern Alliance meetings at the Willard. What were the damages in the end?”
“I hear it was close to half a million, not including the hush money they sent to those escort agencies to stop the girls running straight to the press. Well, those of them that were still able to.”
Rosalia let his words wash over her like water, telling herself he was merely commenting on the weather.
