Page 29 of Unbonded
“We tend to have registry services in Belgium.”
I blink and just manage to avoid wrinkling my nose. I might be a little jaded about bonding in general, but I can still look back at my own ceremony with nostalgia. We didn’t have a lot of money to spend, but we were bonded in the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, then held an elegant reception in an artist friend’s loft in Midtown. “Well, the castaway collection was a resort line, but with a focus on simple pleasures and carefree indulgence. There were bonding dresses, but also caftans and sarongs, with lots of embellished silk crepe, satins, and chiffons.”
“Embellishments?” Corbus’ bottom lip sticks out in the faintest hint of a pout. “Did you consider that Paragon carries a superb line of saltwater pearls?”
I study him in silence, trying to pin down the look on his face. Is he…miffedthat we didn’t come to him for our sequins and diamantes?
“Um, I don’t think the budget stretched to your pearls.” He arches his brows at me, and I look at Grace for help. “Didn’t the princess of Thailand wear them in her bonding tiara?”
“She’s got you there, Corbus.” Grace is watching us like we’re the highest form of entertainment. “But maybe you can collaborate on Sweet Eternity’s next bonding line.” Grace holds out her left hand, displaying a stunning pink diamond ring. “Do you prefer diamonds like this, or…”
“She likes opals,” Corbus says abruptly, and Grace widens her eyes at me. I’m not sure what we’re silently discussing, but the next moment the doors slide open, and she ushers us into a boardroom on their executive floor. A classically handsome alpha is seated at the gleaming mahogany table, and as he looks up from his tablet, I take in his lightly tanned skin, auburn curls, and bright sea-blue eyes. He’s wearing a pinstripe jacket in mintwith plum trousers, and I gulp as I realize this client visit is withRichard Rosehimself.
I feel slightly light-headed as we take our seats, and while Corbus is still shooting me sideways glances, Grace seems to take pity on me. Maybe she was just as star-struck when she first met her mate, although the way he gazes at her in adoration is enough to make my chest tighten with envy. “Sweetheart, Kate works with Florence Maura. She was just telling me all about their castaway collection.”
“Really?” He sits up straighter, now pinning me with those electric eyes. “Are you interested in a position here?”
“It’s unfortunate for you,” Corbus interjects with a hint of frost in his voice, “but Kate has just agreed to work for Paragon.”
“Not exclusively, though,” I amend, because this is my career fantasy, and I’m going to enjoy every moment of it. “I mean, I’ll still be working with Florence on the weekends.”
“Well, perhaps you can join our collaboration. We can always do with an innovative eye.” While I try to absorb that compliment, Richard nods in Corbus’ direction. “Has he told you aboutLumières?”
I shake my head, and he proceeds to outline their upcoming spotlight collection, which is a range of luxury accessories with a focus on silk, cashmere, and wearable gems. They’re for patrons of the opera and art gallery openings, along with some funkier, less expensive items for the fashion-forward to wear to clubs and concerts. “For those who like to be center stage,” he explains.
I turn to Corbus. “I’m guessing Dash is involved in this?”
“He’s definitely one of our muses,” Grace says, beaming at me. “Who wouldn’t be inspired by the way he dances?”
“Kate is Dash’sliefje,” Corbus surprises me by saying. “His significant other, if you will.”
I can’t help smiling at the acknowledgement – even if it’s a little premature – but Richard looks at him curiously. “But I thought you and Bram were courting him. How does that work?”
I’d relish Corbus’ reply if Richard’s gaze didn’t dip towards my throat. It’s a reflex to slap my hand over the scar, and a wave of cold sweat breaks over my skin as I feel my damaged scent gland.Crap. In the haze of getting ready this morning, I forgot to cover it with a Band-Aid, leaving it exposed for the entire world to see. Including the heart of the House of Omega, who is now looking at me with concern in her eyes instead of admiration. “Um. Excuse me, please. I just need to…”
I keep my hand over my throat as I lurch to my feet, banging my hip on the table edge as I head blindly for the door. I hear the others rise behind me, but I don’t slow down until I’m in the hallway. I look around wildly until I spot the discreet sign for the restroom. I keep my head down until I’m inside, huffing out a relieved breath to find it empty. But one glance at my red face in the mirror and I have to grip the counter to stop myself from collapsing.
I’m usually so conscious of my unbonding scar, so why did I have to choosetodayof all days to forget about its existence? I know the reason, of course. I was living out my designer dream, high on memories of Dash and Corbus’ scent. And then Grace was so friendly, and Richard talked to me like a peer…
And Corbus said I had the perfect throat for a complete set of jewelry.
He was probably thinking of a big, fat choker.
I groan as I remember their startled faces as I lurched up from the table.God, why couldn’t I just laugh it off?Instead, I had to act like a freaked-out intern on her first day. Where was my prized professionalism when I needed it? If bitches like Mrs. Olsen can shame me in front of a dozen gossipy omegas, then I should be able to take a brief, curious glance at my throat…
“Are you okay?”
I let out an undignified gasp as Grace appears behind me, her eyes shining with concern. “Oh, yeah. Of course. I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you’re not. This is a safe space, Kate, I promise.”
She touches my arm, and my defenses crumble like wet cardboard. “I’m just so embarrassed. I shouldn’t have panicked like that. It’s just that I usually cover my scar up with a Band-Aid, but Dash distracted me this morning …”
I bite my lip, remembering exactly how he changed up my routine, and Grace gives a loud snort. “Oh, you don’t need to tell me about distracting omegas. Max prides himself on making me at least an hour late for every appointment.”
My shoulders relax a little as she leans against the edge of the counter and gives a soft sigh. “Richard feels terrible, by the way. He’s got a good mask, but that’s because he’s struggled with anosmia most of his life.”
I blink at her. “He lost his sense of smell?”
