Page 35 of Callum

Vivian walked into the kitchen to see her mother having a panic attack. Before heading to the corner where she’d tucked herself away, Vivian instructed the staff to fill the tables.

“Mom,” she lowered her voice, not wanting to draw attention to them. “Everything looks great out there. The food is perfect. The kids are in the bounce house and having their faces painted, and the other games are going over great.”

Her mother’s gaze rose, but she wouldn’t stop ringing her hands. “Your father didn’t like the flower shapes in the fruit.”

Father. Of course, that’s why she was shaking now. But with so many witnesses, the only thing he could have done was threaten punishment.

Vivian placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder and took several slow, deep breaths, encouraging her to do the same. With their gazes locked, her mother calmed down. By her tenth breath, she was no longer shaking.

“Everything looks beautiful out there. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. The flowers were the right choice. He’ll see,” she promised. Hopefully, it was a promise she could keep.

Just then, the far door of the kitchen flew open, drawing everyone’s attention as Thatcher breezed in with her father hot on his heels.

As her father continued to talk, Thatcher nodded at a few of the staff, and pointed to a few platters being assembled, smiling and waving at the chefs and kitchen helpers.

They made their way around the room. Some people chatted with him for a moment, others looked away and worked a little harder. Next to Vivian, her mother stiffened.

Vivian’s hand tightened in her mother’s grip, as they both quietly watched the two men come closer.

Finally, the formidable pair stopped before them, her father mid-sentence, “Again, I’m so sorry about the floral arrangements on the fruit platters. I should have checked them my–”

He stopped mid-sentence when Thatcher held up his hand. The alpha’s gaze flicked from her to her mother. “Actually, I rather like the flowers,” Thatcher said, surprising them all.

Her father’s shock was obvious. Vivian bit her lip, unsure if this would bode well for them or not.

“They’re feminine, a symbol of fertility. Exactly what the Curusm is all about. Great job, Susan.” His attention shifted as a crooked smile turned up his lips. “Or should I say, fantastic job, Vivian?”

Her eyes widened as her father stammered, “No, no. No, it’s Susan. Vivian just helps her.”

“Do you really believe that, Norm?” Thatcher snorted, his gaze snagging on her father briefly before focusing on her once more. “No, it was Vivian. Since you’ve helped your mother with these events, they’ve blossomed. You have a gift, girl.”

Swallowing her fear, Vivian returned his stare, trying not to stammer as she muttered, “Thank you.”

Tilting his head to the side, Thatcher examined her, his gaze moving down her body before returning to her face. When he reached out and pinched a stand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers, she cursed herself for flinching.

Noticing, the alpha’s grin widened for just a second.

Not good. This is not good.

Gaze still locked on hers, he spoke to her father. “How old is she now?”

“Uh,” her father fumbled for an answer, making Vivian wonder if he didn’t know her age. “Um, she recently turned twenty-three.”

“Twenty?” Surprised, Thatcher looked at his second-in-command, dropping her hair. “And still unmated? Are you planning to run her?”

Vivian held her breath, silently screaming. Please, no. Please no. Please no!

“Uh, I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, she’s getting awfully old. Might want to decide what to do with her sooner rather than later.”

“Of course, Thatcher.”

“She’s still pure, I presume?” His head tilted once more as he let his gaze roam down her figure once again.

She risked a glance at her father. He preened. “Of course she is.”

“Mmm,” Thatcher made a thoughtful noise. “Good job with the platters, sweetie. And I suspect the children’s entertainment was your idea?”

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