But this is a part of being with them. And I can’t help but see this as a kind of a test. One I really don’t want to fail.
Not that it would change their minds if I did. But that stubborn competitive streak I have is poking its head up.
I have to prove I can do this, that I’m capable of going out in public with the royal pack and not fall apart.
I shake my head. “No. No, it’s fine. I want to see the ballet. I want to stay.”
“You’re sure?” Thayer checks again. “If you’re uncomfortable-”
“I’m good.” I tell him, squeezing his arm in reassurance. “Promise.”
“If that changes you’ll tell us,” Forsythe demands.
I hum my agreement and turn toward the entrance, that seems to be no closer than it was when we exited the limo. “Let’s do this.”
They close in again, this time a little closer, a little more intimate, and while before we had been strolling, taking our time, letting everyone get a good look at the six of us together, now they pick up the pace, sweeping me along in their wake.
“Where’s Isadora tonight?” someone shouts and that has the pack pausing. Forsythe shifts a little closer to me, his hand a strong solid weight on my hip.
He turns his cool gaze to the man who shouted it and says mildly, “Not here, obviously. You should get used to seeing us without Isadora Aureline. It's bound to happen more frequently.”
Court muscles in on my other side. “What he means is we aren’t going to be seen with hereveragain.”
My heart lurches and I blink up at the pack around me, not fully believing what I’m hearing.
But then Forsythe shifts his attention to me and everything about him softens. “Indeed,” he says without looking away from me. “We’ve found our fated mate and no one else will do but her.”
Cameras flash and I’m sure I look ridiculous with my mouth hanging open in shock. “Did you just claim me publicly?” I hiss at them as Forsythe gently nudges me toward the entrance of the theater.
“I did.”
“Wedid,” Thay stresses.
“And you… What about Isadora?”
“Not our problem anymore.” Courtland shrugs.
We step into the atrium and the elegantly dressed people inside all go quiet, tipping their bodies into bows or curtsies of respect for the pack around me before they all straighten. But they don’t go back to what they were doing before we entered, watching as we move through the parting crowd toward the stairs.
I want to ask why they didn’t think to tell me they broke things off with Isadora earlier. Like as soon as they entered the apartment, or in the limo or at any point before right this moment. But I’m worried that the quiet of the room would make my question carry, and then people will know our private business.
No, better to wait until we’re seated.
I’m sure they have one of those fancy private boxes that overlooks the whole damn theater. I’ll press them for information then when we’re alone, when everyone around us isn’t pretending to not be listening in.
Look at you being all logical and grown up about this.
“Shall we find our seats?” The prince murmurs to me, like he knows I’m bursting with questions and is of the same mind that it’s a conversation that needs privacy.
At my nod, his hand finds my lower back and we move. Everyone else does too, parting for us, as we pass through them, guards splitting the crowd in front of us, and following behind. I keep my chin up, a small congenial smile on my face as we go,hoping that no one else can tell that I’m fighting back an anxiety attack.
My pack presses closer as we reach the stairs to the mezzanine. “We have a private box,” Thayer tells me from my other side. “We’ll have some privacy there. Get away from all these curious eyes.”
I smile up at him gratefully, as Forsythe laces my hand into the crook of his elbow to offer me stability as we start our ascension.
“Jalapeno!” I freeze halfway up the stairs. Thayer’s hand flexes against my lower back. The cameras in the lobby flash, capturing the moment. I barely pay them any mind, my attention pulled to the male omega pushing his way through the throng to the base of the stairs, where he’s stopped by a line of guards. “Excuse you,” he says sounding offended. “That’s my jalapeno and I haven’t seen her in ages. Let me through.”
They don’t budge an inch, and Tristan looks up at me with an arched brow. “Are you going to do something about this?”