Page 6 of Broken Omega

Happy Birthday to my sister from another mister!

Guess what? I get off tour in a few months and I’m not going to add more dates, no matter what my manager says. It’s been way too long since we hung out. I’ll call you soon, BAE. Love and hugs, Zey.

The line of kisses is so long that I can’t count them.

My vision blurs just a little as I stare at the note.

I miss her so much. It’s been years since we did anything but text and email and talk on the phone.

Before she was touring, she used to come over on my birthday when I was back.

My father didn’t like it, but he didn’t try to stop it.

I wanted to be able to go see her on her birthday, but he wouldn’t ask Geraldine if I could have the day off campus out of the goodness of his heart. No, he saw it as an opportunity to exploit my love for my friend. He told me I could see Zelena if I agreed to choose my Alpha mate by the end of the semester.

That proposal crumbled my hopes up into dust.

I tried again the next year, and his proposal was the same.

It got less appealing each year after.

He knocked months off the deal each time, giving me a shorter window to choose a mate by.

I didn’t bother to ask last year, and I won’t mention it tonight at all.

Clearly, he’s getting impatient with me.

I leave the unopened present on my bed, saving it for later. I have a feeling I’ll need something to lift my spirits once my father crushes them with his questions.

I go into the bathroom and wash my hands.

The soap has a strong lavender scent that makes me screw up my nose.

I suspect my father uses it so he can tell if I’ve cleaned up before I come to the table.

The smell lingers as I head down the stairs.

It’s pleasant enough now, I suppose, but it’s hardly one of my favorite things.

This house doesn’t contain anything I’m particularly enamoured with. It never has.

I find my father waiting at the head of the table. My place has been laid out to his left.

The last thing I feel is hungry, but I sit down anyway, allowing one of my father’s staff to pull the chair out for me, and push it in once I’m seated.

We’re served the first course within seconds.

No words are exchanged between us.

I murmur my thanks to our server.

A few bites per course is the right amount. My father is very particular about certain things, and how much a lady should eat at a meal is one of those things. It’s disturbingly misogynistic, I’ll admit, but right now while I’m packed full of nervous energy, I’m glad I’m not expected to finish my meal.

The final course is a rich chocolate dessert that looks divine.

I’m glad my appetite isn’t what it should be, otherwise it would be impossible to put my fork down.

“Well,” my father says, speaking his first words since my birthday dinner began. “Here we are again.”

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