Page 57 of The Alpha's Fake Mate
Was this the same boy who’d nuzzled me and said “Don’t go” last night?
“It’s past breakfast,” he said. “What are you still doing in here?”
“Reading,” I replied, holding up my tablet. My dishes from breakfast had long since been cleared, but I had a fresh pot of coffee.
“Oh.”
He got some food and came to sit in his usual space at the head of the table. His scent washed over me, soapy clean with a hint of flowers. All Omegas smelled good to all Alphas, but some had that special extra something that could not be defined that made an Alpha take a second look.
Holland had that for me from day one.
“Is there a plan for today?” Holland asked, using his knife to butter some cold toast.
“Other than our appointment at four, no.”
“Hmm. What if I don’t want to go today?”
“What?”
“What I if I don’t want to know the results?”
I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to know. But as I thought about it, the next second I did understand.
“We can cancel.”
To be reminded over and over of what Bosk did to him had to be a level of Hell all to itself. I wanted to be there for him. I wanted to be his friend. But I didn’t know if he’d let me. Not without a bottle of wine in him first, and then, well, that wasn’t real. That wasn’t Holland being his true self.
“Do you want me to cancel the appointment, then?” I asked when he didn’t reply.
He chewed, staring at his plate, then took another bite of his eggs. Without looking up, he finally said, “I guess not.”
His hair took on the shadowy tones of the room and the darkening light outside from an overcast day. Deep shades of black on black strands scattered across his forehead and right cheek.
Yesterday had been clear, but today a storm brewed. Weather reports said it was coming from the west.
Stormy. His hair looked stormy.
“Did Snowball sleep with you all night?” I asked, changing the subject.
“I guess. He was on my bed when I got up.”
“He likes you.”
He did not reply.
When Holland finished eating, he stood. “I’m going to find that pool of yours. I’d like to sit out for a while.”
A pool patio was technically where we’d first met.
“There are blankets in the hall closet by the patio entrance if you get cold,” I called just as he turned out the door.
I heard his footsteps retreat. It was as if I’d had a conversation with a ghost.
I wanted to check on him all afternoon but held myself back. He never came to the dining room for a late lunch, but by three-thirty, as I descended the staircase toward the front door, I saw him waiting in the foyer with Alston hovering nervously nearby, trying not to look at him.
A light rain pattered against the sides of the house.
Holland had no coat. I went to a front closet where I kept coats and scarves and pulled out one of my jackets and brought it to him.
