Page 58 of Royal Omega

Chapter Twenty-five - Carissa

“Hello, Mother, whatthe hell are you doing here?” I hiss.

My mother looks down at her perfectly manicured nails in a shade of pink that she herself brought back into style just last year. “Isn’t it obvious, darling? I’m judging the competition today. Isn’t it glorious? I was going to say no, after all, it is rather gauche, don’t you think, judging a competition when one’s own daughter is participating, but they promised me that I could choose the winner I wanted, and well, that seemed like a good opportunity to come and help you out.”

I glance over at Conrad. His face is beet red, his hands clenched at his sides in anger. Holy shit, this is going to be really really bad.

“Help me out?” I whisper, shaking my head. “In what world could this possibly be helping me out?”

“Well there’s no need to be so dramatic, dear,” my mother sighs. “After all, I’m your mother and I’m a celebrity. Of course I was a good get for the show. And all I have to do is walk around and see what kind of assembly system you have all set up, and tell you which one is best.”

She peers into the booth, noting the spilled lemonade and the fast-melting cups of ice. “What systemareyou employing, by the way? I can’t say this looks like much.”

“We haven’t gotten organized yet,” Henry says, stepping forward. He holds out his hand to shake my mother’s, and she lays hers in his as if she’s the fucking Queen of England and she expects him to kiss it. He gives it an awkward shake and then drops it. “I’m Henry, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Henry Lassic, is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I looked you up. Your family is impressive. What, may I ask, are you doing here?”

Henry hesitates.

“He doesn’t have to answer that, Mom,” I say through gritted teeth. “None of them have to answer any of your questions.”

“Nonsense, of course they do. I’m your mother, shouldn’t I approve of your pack?”

Conrad steps forward, his eyes cold and glinting. “He’s here because I asked him to come.”

“Conrad. It’s good to see you again,” my mother says coldly. The ice in her voice is cold enough to make time stand still.

Suddenly, my brain puts all the puzzle pieces together. In a rush, everything that happened all those years ago starts to make sense. Conrad’s version, my version; they have one common connecting thread: my mother never liked Conrad. She always thought he was beneath me. I was so worried she would say no to my marriage because she had been so vocal about it.

For the first time, I’m realizing she never had any intention of letting us marry. It’s so obvious now that I’m really thinking about it. So fucking obvious that I feel sick for missing it before.

“You look good,” she adds, sneering at Conrad. “Though it’s clear you’ve failed at procuring a suitable mate. I can’t say I’m surprised, though from what I hear, you did manage to make something decent of yourself despite... everything.”

I turn to look at Conrad, who is so red in the face that I’m worried he might explode. But just as he’s about to talk, Henry puts a hand on his shoulder. Conrad turns to look at him in surprise. When Henry shakes his head, Conrad’s eyes go dark again. He nods slowly, and closes his mouth, stepping back into the shadows of the booth.

“Nothing to say for yourself? I can’t say I’m surprised by that either,” my mother sniffs.

“Don’t you dare talk to him like that,” I snarl.

My mother’s face goes slack with surprise. “Why darling, I —”

“You’re the reason for all of this, aren’t you?”

My mother turns and stares into the camera lens. Her cheeks flush slightly before she huffs, “It’s clear you have some work you need to do here. I’ll see you later.”

And with that, she turns and storms away, leaving me in the booth with very awkward air around us.

Almost immediately, Lily hurries back over, looking frazzled. “Sorry about that, Beatrice got stung by a bee, turns out she’s allergic, the whole thing swelled up, EMTs had to come, blah blah blah, they’re taking her to the hospital.”

“Oh my god, is she ok?” I ask.

“She’s fine,” Lily says, waving her hand dismissively. “Good tv, but nothing to worry about. Anyway, the van couldn’t come back, but we got your clothes.” She holds up my canvas bag. “So you’re going to need to change in the production van over there.” She points at a large van with a sliding door.

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