Page 10 of Broken Arranged Mate
“Oren.” Dorian’s voice is hard, almost father-like. “Do you understand?”
“Of course.” I clear my throat, glance again at Ash, who’s also holding onto the back of her chair, looking somewhat faint, like she can’t believe she just offered herself up like that.
I can’t believe it, either.
“Great.” Dorian claps his hands together and addresses the rest of the room. “Then I suppose we’d better shift our focus to wedding planning.”
Chapter 6 - Ash
When my brother puts his mind to something, he can accomplish great things in a very short amount of time.
The warehouse—which, at the start of the week, was dusty, cavernous, and worn from neglect—sparkles with lights, glows golden from the tea candles, and is filled with flowers to the point that Emin has been sneezing from the moment he walked inside. It’s fragrant, homey, and swarming with shifters from both packs, all who regard each other with uncertain eyes.
Located just near the Badlands lines, it’s a compromise between the packs, not asking either Ambersky or Grayhide to go completely into the other’s territory.
My dress is knee-length, the fabric smooth to the touch, but with enough lift under the skirt that it twirls around my knees; sheer sleeves over my arms, a high neckline reaching up to my throat. Kira made it for me, adding the sleeves when I said I’d want just a little more coverage. It’s a pearly white—a taste of the dress I’ll wear.
At my wedding.
I swallow through the thought, still in disbelief that I agreed to this—suggestedthis—during that meeting. Even more than that, I’m still in disbelief that Oren said yes.
He’s made it more than clear that he wants nothing to do with me.
And yet, here he is, standing stiffly next to me at the front of this party, wearing a charcoal gray suit and standing at attention, like he’s a pallbearer preparing to carry a casket, and not a new groom celebrating the upcoming union with his fiancée.
Not for the first time since the council broke into a frenzy, starting to prepare, I have the thought: What in the hells are we doing?
It’s clear Oren hates me. When I walked into the room earlier, he only spared me a glance for half a second before immediately looking at something else. He didn’t even say hello to me, not until Dorian was at my side.
“Oh, honey! It’s so good to see you. Ash Fields—though not for long!”
I blink, realizing I’ve been stuck in my own head, and it takes me a second to register the couple standing in front of me. An older pair of shifters from Ambersky. Friends of Gramps, people who have known me my entire life.
“Ha,” I try, hoping it sounds less like a sarcastic half-attempt at laughter and more genuine, like a bubbling, excited bride. “It’s good to see you, thank you so much for coming.”
“That brother of yours,” the woman says, shaking her head and glancing across the room. “He’s got such a good head on his shoulders. We were just talking about how something like this would help the packs come together—we should have known Dorian would be ahead of us!”
She laughs, and the sound cuts right through my brain, above the slow, dancing sound of the quartet behind her. I grit my teeth, swallow down the indignity, tell myself that it was actually Emin who suggested it, anyway. It’s not a big deal.
“Actually, it was Ash’s idea.”
The three of us startle, turn to look at Oren, who is still standing perfectly straight, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes darting over to us, then specifically to me as he goes on, “She fought for the idea. Dorian was against it.”
“Oh.” The man clears his throat, nods, glances at his wife, almost like he’s asking herWhat do we do now?
It’s not exactly like they’re going to argue with Oren, an alpha leader and the host of this party. So they just nod, smile, congratulate us, and move away, likely whispering between themselves about the interaction.
The moment they’re gone, I say, “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
A mixture of annoyance and amusement moves through me. Of course—Oren doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to. That’s one of the perks of the position.
We continue standing at the front of the room, thanking people for coming and standing close enough together that hopefully people think we like one another. My feet start to hurt in my heels, but Oren never shifts, never wavers from his impeccable posture.
Hours later, dinner is served, and we’re sitting at a little table away from everyone else.
“Kind of a weird setup,” I murmur, watching as the servers move through the room, dishing up the meal and placing it in front of each guest. Dorian and Kira are on the other side of the space, along with anyone else I might want to talk to.
