Page 53 of Royal Omega

“You’re damn right I did,” I shout. “And I would do it again.”

Conrad takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Ok, I’ll admit; it wasn’t my smartest move, saying we were going to go pink and then changing it to black without telling you.”

“Do you think?” Ransom snorts under his breath.

“But the fact remains that we can’t pretend Carissa is an option for us,” he adds.

“And once again, I disagree,” I reply.

“We’re going in circles,” Ransom sighs. “We have to figure this out. We need to come to a consensus before we embarrass ourselves again.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” I snap. “Either you’re with us, Conrad, or you’re not. It’s your choice.”

Something vulnerable flashes in Conrad’s eyes. It’s gone before I can analyze it. When he speaks again, his voice is dangerously quiet. “So you’re saying... what? You’re choosing her over me? You’re going to leave me behind?”

“He didn’t say that, Conrad,” Ransom sighs. “He’s just saying...”

“I’m saying that I want her. I want her, and so does Ransom. And the only thing standing in the way of making her ours is you. And that’s fucking bullshit. Especially since you want her as much as we do.”

Chapter Twenty-three - Carissa

It’s morning, and I’mstill reeling over what happened last night. I’m still not sure if Pack Five has given me a pink or a black rose. I was half expecting Willard or a producer to come by last night to tell me what the resolution was, but no one did.

I shouldn’t care. I really shouldn’t fucking care. I should be focused on writing that article I keep forgetting to work on.

Instead, I can’t stop thinking about Pack Five. I can’t stop thinking about how Henry and Ransom jumped in to defend me. ... And I can’t let go of the fact that Conrad wanted to hurt me badly enough to give me a black fucking rose.

I sigh dramatically as I get dressed for another day of dates. We’ve been asked to dress in comfortable but fashionable clothes, plus a back up outfit that looks exactly the same. One of the requirements when we came here was to have more than one of several of our outfits; something that I found rather surprising and annoying when I was packing for the trip.

I’m wearing a linen dress in cornflower blue — a favorite of mine — with little yellow buttons down the front. I’ve paired the dress with white sneakers that gleam just a little too brightly in the morning sunlight. My back-up clothes are in a canvas bag, slung over my shoulder as I walk out of the mansion and out onto the grounds, where Lily has told me to meet the others.

“There’s a guest house over there,” she told me, gesturing vaguely toward the middle of the giant lawn, where a smaller version of the big mansion sits in the middle of an open, green lawn. “There’s some patio furniture set up out there, too. Sit outside. Don’t try to go into the house. That’s where you’re going to meet everyone. Oh, and go to the bathroom before you leave,” she advises. “Probably won’t be a break for a little while.”

When I reach the guest house, Randy and Cindy are already here, sitting beside each other, dressed in seersucker outfits that seem as if they were designed to match one another. A cameraman stands to the side, his lens aimed to capture all of us in one shot.

Randy snorts at my arrival, shooting daggers in my direction as he murmurs something in Cindy’s ear. She titters, smacking him on the shoulder, and he grins at her.

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