Page 25 of In Knots

“No need for that,” he tells me, as he slides into the driver’s seat, pressing his thumb down hard on a button so that my window slams up. “There’s air conditioning.”

“I was just hoping for some fresh air,” I explain. He doesn’t respond, already shooting out of the drive and through the gate onto the avenue. I grip the handle above the door, my stomach lurching. He’s driving at least two times the speed limit as we thunder down the residential streets.

I screw up my eyes. The smell and the speed causing pressure to build inside my skull.

“You scared, little Omega,” he snarls, and I realise he’s like all the others. He wants to make me squirm. He probably gets off on it. I wonder how long I’ll have to spend with him. At what point I can respectably bail from the date without my parents disapproving.

As we near the centre of the city, the traffic becomes denser and he’s forced to slow, although he still attempts to swerve his way in and out of the traffic, several motorists blasting their horns at him.

“Pussies!” he laughs, and I wonder where all that charm went, if it was reserved for my parents.

“Your face,” he says when we finally draw up outside the restaurant, a French fine dining place that has a waiting list of at least a month. “It’s as white as your teeth. You don’t like to live on the wild side?”

“I like to arrive alive when I drive somewhere,” I say through gritted teeth.

“You need to loosen up,” his eyes flick down to my neckline. “I could show you a thing or two to help you with that.”

I open the car door and climb out, unable to stand the oppressive aroma in the car. The night is another warm and balmy one, and it’s a relief to step inside the chilly restaurant. The decor is chique; sharp lines, mooted colours, dim lighting. It’s like it’s been designed to offend absolutely no one.

When we take our seats at the table, he gives me a running commentary of the menu, giving me his opinion on every dish and making it clear he dines here regularly.

I try to remember my mother’s instructions and nod along, even though I’ve already made up my mind what I’m going to eat. I hope the service is speedy. A long dragged-out meal feels like it might be some kind of torture.

After our orders have been taken, he leans back in his chair and resumes what must be his favourite topic of conversation, himself.

The food arrives, mussels for him and clear soup for me. I drag my spoon through the liquid and swill it around and around as he chomps through his food.

“Eat up,” he says. “I hate waste.”

I take a sip, the broth scolding my upper lip. It’s delicious but the ache in my head is almost crippling now.

He talks about all the same stuff he talked about at the Johnson’s dinner, recounting his top-notch degree from the States, the business he plans to set up, and the various sporting activities and holidays he has planned for the year.

“I’m also looking for a house. Something in the Greendale area.” Where both our parents live and all the other rich alpha and omega couples. “Somewhere me and my omega can settle down, bring up kids.”

“You want kids?” I ask him, fiddling with the napkin under the table, stretching the material as taut as I can between my fingers.

“Yes, one or two. School fees cost a small fortune these days.”

“But, you wouldn’t want children right away.”

“Yes, right away.”

“You wouldn’t want to, I don’t know, do other stuff first.”

“I’ll still be able to do other stuff,” he snorts.

“But having children will change your life.”

“Not really.” He meets my eyes. “I’m not into all that hippy-dippy bullshit. I won’t be changing nappies and doing bath times.”

“Why not?”

He snorts. “That’s an omega’s job. Or the nanny’s.” He chuckles to himself.

They clear our plates away and bring out the mains and the alpha tops up my glass of wine even though I’ve not finished the first.

“So what do you like to do for fun, Omega?” There’s a glint of amusement in his eye.

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