Page 70 of In Deep
“Zane wants this one,” Soph says. “He’s told me to buy it for you even if you refuse.”
“What the alpha wants …” The assistant bows his head dramatically.
“I choose my own dresses,” I say, staring at each of them in turn. “I make my own decisions.”
“So, you don’t want this one?” The assistant throws me a perturbed look.
“No,” I admit, “I do want this one.” The man is right. It makes my eyes pop, and I don’t look like me. I look like someone in a magazine. Someone who could actually date Zane Amir or Duncan Bruce or Ollie Reese-Hamilton.
“Fabulous.” The assistant claps his hands.
“We’ll need shoes and earrings,” Sophia tells him.
“Soph!” I protest.
But she gives me a stern look. “You need the complete outfit, Rosie. Trust me, Zane isn’t going to complain.”
I peer down at the smooth material of my dress. I’ve never owned anything like it. My stomach spins in excitement.
Maybe if I look the part, like someone who belongs to a pack like theirs, Seb will change his mind.
Chapter 22
We enter the drinks party through a gate in the old bricked wall. The Principal’s private gardens are a sanctuary of blossoms and flowers lit up by hanging lanterns and strings of fairy lights in the branches. Serving staff circulate with trays of canapes and glasses of wine. Groups of people stand chatting in the half light.
It seems like a different world. One from a movie or glossy magazine and not one where someone like me belongs at all. But Sophia links her arm through mine and drags me into the garden, making a beeline for our head professor.
“It’s always good to cosy up to the person in charge,” she whispers into my ear, and I admire her confidence. Professor Whei, with his thick glasses and spiky eyebrows, has always terrified me because he scans lectures for unsuspecting victims on which to launch deadly questions. It’s he who determines my fate on this course.
I also feel exposed in the dress. It covers everything it needs to, falling away to my knees, but my shoulders are bare and the material skims over my form like water. It makes me feel vulnerable.
Sophia engages Dr Whei in conversation about next term’s topic and I stand beside her feeling uncomfortable, like a child who’s dressed up in her mum’s clothes for the evening. The heels are higher than I’d normally wear and my toes ache. The zip of the dress pinches the skin at my back.
I shift my weight from one foot to another and nod and smile at the appropriate moments in the conversation.
Then I feel it.
I feel it before I smell it.
Eyes on me. A hot gaze.
And then that heavy, dominant treacle scent, so potent I can almost feel it slither down my throat.
My skin grows warm from the heat, my pulse races, and I turn my head searching for the source. But I can’t see him.
I take a sip of my cool white wine and try to concentrate on what Sophia is saying. The words are nonsense in my head, though, and the sensation of being observed only intensifies.
I scan the garden again, peering into each shadow.
I find him this time, his great frame unmistakable in a corner near the house.
But I’m wrong. He’s not watching me. He’s not looking at me at all.
I shake my head a little and Professor Whei excuses himself before walking inside.
“Anyone else here you know?” Sophia asks me, eyes scanning the party.
“Erm … Seb’s here.”
