Page 103 of The Omega's Alpha
“Alpha Mercy Hills,” the President replied, and shook Quin’s hand. “May I present the First Lady? My wife, Evelyn Whitney.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Quin said and shook her hand as well. “And my mate, Holland Mercy Hills.”
“Good evening, Alpha’s Mate,” the President said as he shook my hand. “And congratulations to you both. That was a lovely ceremony. Much shorter than ours.” He cast a glance at his wife, who smiled at him and said, “And whose fault was that? It wasn’tmymother that wanted me to walk in over the course of two songs.”
“No, but you werestunning.” The President grinned. “I must say, those are amazing outfits. Traditional, right?”
“Mostly.” Quin ran a hand down his. “Mine is patterned off an old one that’s been passed down in the family for generations. My brother wore the original when he was mated, but my shoulders are a bit too broad for it and the leather is too fragile now to take much work. A designer friend of Holland’s made his.”
“It was beautiful,” the First Lady put in. “I love the motifs. Very energetic. And your vows—so romantic.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said. “Quin and I actually came over to see if you’d like to come up to the tables with us to get some food. It’s tradition for the newly mated couple to take the first bites, and we thought your men might be less nervous if you didn’t have to fight through the crowd that will come after us.” I felt something solid run into my legs and looked down to find Dorian hanging off me.
“Are we going to eat soon, Holland?”
“Yes we are,” I said and bent down to pick him up. “Dorian, this is President Whitney and his wife, Mrs. Whitney. This is our son, Dorian.”
“How do you do, Dorian?” Whitney held out a hand and gravely shook Dorian’s. I waited with bated breath to see if he’d ask, or say anything, but he’d obviously gotten the information we’d sent over a couple of weeks ago about our little family.
“Hello,” Dorian said shyly.
“Will you do something for me, Dorian?” Whitney asked. “The kids always know where the best food is. Will you show me really good stuff to put on our plates? It looks to me like there’s a lot of food over there and I don’t know what to pick.”
Dorian smiled and nodded, and I felt a little better about the circus our mating had become.
Chapter Eighty-Three
Once everyone had food—Agatha had shown up as soon as she saw them heading for the food tables--Quin led them all over to a small cluster of chairs, somewhat separated from the rest of the seats scattered around the clearing. The traditional Alpha’s and Mate’s chairs, and a couple of nice armchairs that had been part of the last shipment of new furniture brought in and which had been manhandled back out someone’s front door to be the seats for these important human guests. They’d been clustered together to one side, but in easy viewing distance of anyone in the clearing.
He watched with a smile as Dorian let the First Lady hold his plate while he crawled into Holland’s lap, then matter-of-factly took it back and began eating. “Mmm,” he said. “Cheesy potatoes.”
Holland laughed and leaned toward the humans. “They’re obsessed with cheese. I can make them eat almost anything if I put cheese on it.”
“With ours,” Evelyn said, “it was ketchup. On everything.”
Bram came by with a tray loaded with filled glasses and bottles. “Beer and cider and wine. Juice for you,” he said pointedly to Holland, which made Holland squint at him. Bram grinned unrepentantly and passed out the drinks, then disappeared back into the crowd.
“You don’t drink?” Whitney asked, gesturing with his glass of cider.
“I’m pregnant,” Holland said, and calmly ate a meatball.
That put a damper on the conversation, but only for a moment, and the humans rallied gallantly. “That didn’t come in my briefing,” Whitney said in a droll tone. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Quin said and grinned.
“These meatballs are excellent,” Evelyn said.
“They’re a pack favorite,” Holland told her. “I’d offer to get you the recipe, except the woman who makes them refuses to share.”
She laughed. “My mother is like that too. I keep trying to get her to teach me her chocolate chip cookie recipe, but no matter what I do, they’re never as good as hers.”
Suddenly, I wanted chocolate chip cookies and hoped that Patrice had made hers for the meal.
We made small talk until our plates were half empty, and then the real discussion that Quin had been hoping someday to have began.
“So, Alpha, I’m hearing some things that I’m not too happy about,” the President said in opening.
“What things?” Quin asked, keeping his tone mild.
