Ryker pulls me against his side, and fuck, the relief that floods through me is pathetic. This is the first time he's touched me in a while, and my Omega hindbrain is practically purring with satisfaction even though I know it's all for show.
"Hello, lover," he purrs, loud enough for the cameras to pick up. "I thought we might go out for a little dinner, hmm?"
I don't say anything, too busy trying to soak up every second of contact. His arm around my waist feels like a lifeline, even though I know it's just another performance. After days of touch starvation, even fake affection feels like a gift. But the happiness dies the moment Ryker turns to Xavier with a cold, dismissive smile.
"You're excused for the evening, Xavier. I've got it from here."
Ryker guides me to some kind of sleek sports car, my heart feeling like it’s been ripped out of its chest to stay at Xavier’s side. Everything in me screams that this is wrong, that I’m leavingmyAlpha to go spend time with a stranger. I slide into the passenger seat anyway, the leather cool against my overheated skin, my eyes following Ryker as he rounds the front to get behind the wheel.
He really is a beautiful Alpha, with the same deep bronze skin as his brother, the same hazel eyes, the same short, dark hair cropped to his head. The difference is in how he carries himself. All business and rigid and distant. If he would just hold my hand and run his fingers through my hair like Xavier used to…
Stop comparing them, Angel,I berate myself before shaking my head. The engine purrs to life with that expensive growl that rich guys love as we pull away from the chaos of cameras and fans. Finally, some quiet. Some space to breathe.
I look over at Ryker's hand resting casually on the center console, and without thinking, I reach for it. Maybe it's the pre-heat hormones, maybe it's just desperate loneliness, but I need some kind of connection. Some reassurance that this is my new normal.
He pulls his hand away before I can make contact.
My lip turns up in a quiet snarl as I clutch the bouquet closer to my chest, trying to use the flowers to hide the way my face scrunches up. I blink hard, willing the tears back. I can’t cry in public, not even in Ryker's car, where the paparazzi might catch a glimpse through the tinted windows. Every waking moment with Ryker is all about our image, never anything real.
"I thought we could hit that new eatery on North Street," Ryker says, completely oblivious to my internal breakdown. "Let the fans grab some pictures, and then I'll drop you off at the penthouse."
Of course. More performance, more playing pretend for strangers who think they know our love story. "Yeah, whatever's fine."
"Don't pout," he says, catching sight of my expression in his peripheral vision. "It doesn't look good on you."
The casual cruelty of it makes something snap inside me. "I'm not sure why you agreed to be my mate if you don't want to spend time with me."
His grip tightens on the steering wheel, his jaw ticking with annoyance. "Where is this coming from, Angel? Is my brother putting ideas in your head? I should get you a different guard, one that's a little morehands-off."
The threat sends ice through my veins. Xavier's the only good thing left in my life, the only person who still sees me as Angel instead of Angel-Boy the brand. "I haven't touched him since we were scent-matched, Ryker."
His growl fills the small space of the car, commanding in a way that should make my Omega instincts sing, but instead just makes me feel small. "To you, my name isAlpha."
A disparaged sigh falls from my lips as I stuff my face into the flowers, letting their cloying sweetness mask the frustrated whine building in my throat. That irritated feeling under my skin is growing stronger, spreading like fire through my nervous system. And then there’s that familiar feeling of slick gathering around my hole, my body preparing for what's coming, whether I want it or not.
Fuck. This is not the time or place for my biology to betray me.
I've never spent a heat with Ryker. Hell, we've barely spent a night together in the two months since this whole charade started. I have no idea what he'd do if I actually went into heat in front of him—if he'd help or just dump me at my penthouse and disappear for a week.
"I don't want to stay out long," I mumble into the roses. "I'm tired."
"You will stay out however long I demand of you. That's how this relationship goes. You read the rules and signed off on them. None of this should be a surprise." He spares me a harsh glance before turning his gaze back to the road. “I don’t know what kind of agreement you had with my brother, and I really don’t fucking care. Freedom doesn’t exist in this relationship. You aremyOmega, and you will follow the rules.”
Rules, my ass. I only signed that shit because I was forced to, because my entire livelihood was on the line, because I didn’t think there would be any consequences. I never thought I’d fall in love with Xavier or that the rules would be stretched toinclude what I could and couldn’t do in public with my own mate.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat as another wave of heat rolls through me, making my skin prickle with sensitivity. The mesh shirt that felt loose before now clings to my chest, a flush creeping up my neck that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
"Alpha," I try, hating how the word tastes on my tongue but desperate enough to use it if it'll get me what I need. "I'm not feeling well. Maybe we could just do a quick photo op and—"
"You're fine," he cuts me off without even looking at me. "Stop being dramatic."
I fall silent and press my forehead against the cool window, watching the city blur past. The glass feels good against my overheated skin, a small relief from the fire building under my surface. Not soon enough, we pull into the parking lot of some trendy bistro with floor-to-ceiling windows—perfect for the paparazzi shots Ryker's so obsessed with. He helps me out of the car with practiced charm, his hand finding mine with the kind of casual intimacy that looks perfect from a distance.
I try not to react to the contact, try not to let my desperate Omega brain read too much into it. It's just for show. It's always just for show.
I manage a quirky smile as we walk toward the restaurant, slipping into my Angel-Boy persona with ease. The photographers lurking across the street go wild when I wave at them, wiggling my elegant fingers in the evening air, camera flashes lighting up the night.
Ryker says whatever bullshit he needs to so that we get placed at the perfect booth, right next to those windows, because nothing about this dinner is accidental. The public was getting a little worried about our relationship, rumors swelling that it might be the end. So, Ryker does what he always does—showup, make a big deal about being the perfect Alpha, and then he disappears.
