Page 54 of Royal Omega

Swallowing my pride, I smile at them, taking a seat across from them. I’m grateful for the umbrella over my head, blocking the intense sunshine. “How are you guys?” I ask, trying to sound cheerful.

“All right,” Randy says coldly. “You?”

“Ok. Do you know anything about what we’re going to do today?”

Randy shakes his head.

“I’m guessing it will be something outdoors, considering the fashion advice.” I cock my head and scan the outfits they’re wearing. Up close, they’re actually remarkably well made. “Stand up, let me see those.”

Cindy scoffs, but gets to her feet. My eyebrows rise as I admire the cut of the suit. It’s seersucker, light blue pinstripes that have been meticulously lined up throughout the suit. The blazer is cropped perfectly for Cindy’s body. It nips at her waist and then flares wide over her hips. The pants are loose and flowing, but cut to flatter her thighs. It’s actually incredible work.

Without thinking, I get up and reach out to touch the material. Each stitch is so carefully placed, I’m truly impressed.

“Who made this for you?” I ask.

“I made it,” Randy says, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“It’s incredible.”

Cindy giggles. “I think it’s heinous. I lost a bet with Julia, and it meant that I had to dress like this one for the day. I’m going to be so humiliated when this airs.”

I frown, my eyes flicking over to Randy, whose expression is as closed as ever. “Well sure, matchy-matchy isn’t usually high fashion. But look at the tailoring on this. Randy, you must have put so much time into it.”

He registers surprise at my complement, but then his expression turns sardonic. “Yeah, well, it’s pretty crowded in the suite, you know. Sometimes you have to find things to do that take you out of the main space... though I guess you don’t really know what that’s like, do you?”

Here’s where being a journalist comes in handy. I’m used to getting to people where they live; figuring out what makes them tick. It’s clear that Randy loves to sew, probably he loves to design. It’s clear that he has aspirations beyond being someone’s pack omega. Is this why he came back on the show? To make his mark? To get his fashion out there?

Remembering what Beatrice said about praise, I make sure to let my face show how impressed I really am. “Well if you ever feel like dressing someone else, I know I would love it. And I have friends who would be all about it too.”

Randy’s cold expression turns to surprise. “Really?”

“Ugh, don’t listen, Randy. She’s just trying to manipulate you,” Cindy says, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not. I mean, it wouldn’t work, would it? You have both made it clear that we’re not friends. But friendship isn’t anything to a good designer. And from what I’m seeing, that’s you, Randy.” I tap my chin thoughtfully. “I could introduce you to the editor of the fashion section of the Herald, too, if that’s interest. I bet she’d love to talk to you.”

Randy’s brow creases in confusion. “Um, thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m here! What did I miss?” Julia says, jogging up breathlessly. “Oh my god, you look hilarious!” She points at Cindy and laughs until tears roll down her cheeks. “Oh it’s so ridiculous, I can’t handle it.”

Randy looks stiff and uncomfortable. I offer him a smile, but he looks away as if he hasn’t seen it. Fair enough. We’re not going to get there overnight.

“Ugh, I had no idea how to dress for this day,” Julia says. She has chosen a pink sun dress with puffy sleeves and strappy wedge sandals.

“Your guess is as good as ours,” I say.

Julia’s smile fades in response to my comment. She looks down her nose at me with a sniff, reminding me that she is decidedly not on Team Carissa.

Beatrice appears a few minutes later in a lovely black cocktail dress and ballet flats. She has small skull-shaped studs in her ears that add a hint of personality to the otherwise classic look.

“What is this?” she asks, pointing toward the guest house.

“A guest house,” Cindy says blandly. “We’re not supposed to go inside.”

Beatrice wrinkles her nose and walks to the French doors, covered with gossamer white curtains that block our view inside. She clasps both door handles in her hands and pulls, rattling the glass in the doors as she tries to open them.

“Pretty sure it’s locked,” Randy says. “Though I’ll admit, I tried the same thing.”

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