Morgan Hunter stands out immediately, wearing a strapless black and white color-blocked dress that shows off a physique so muscular she makes it look like even Christine could stand to spend some extra time in the gym.
Next, I recognize Giovanna from her photo in the patient portal. She’s almost as tall as Christine and on the slender side, with golden eyes that calmly take in everyone around her. Her black hair has a natural blonde streak, and she wears a sharp peplum dress in a soft shade of lilac.
By voice I pick out Avery Quinn, the one Christine chats with the most. She’s the only one not wearing heels, opting instead for oxfords with an oversized silk button-down and slacks. While she’s the shortest of the group, her sharp emerald eyes promise a certain kind of violence. Guess that makes sense for a lawyer.
The last three women I know the least about. Two strike silhouettes comparable to Christine’s, one with rose gold hair in a high ponytail matched with a pearl-colored gown, and the other in an avant-garde layered black dress and black smokey eye that sets off her crimson irises. The third is nearly as muscular as Morgan, and her bodycon dress flaunts her physique while the cherry color gives a flame-like effect alongside her deep orange hair.
“I hope you know better than to hire a West Coast wedding planner,” Morgan says.
Christine chuckles. “Not all of us are as old-fashioned as you.”
“Aw, but weddings are so fun,” offers the pink-haired one.
“Great, I’ll be very excited to attendyours.” Christine takes a sip of her cocktail—another Mai Tai.
“Ouch,” laughs the muscular, orange-haired one.
The shortest one, the lawyer, shrugs. “One less wedding, one less divorce.”
“Besides, who has the time?” scoffs the one in black.
“Oh, right,” Christine says flatly. “Thank yousomuch for tearing yourself away from yourvery busytour. I know I’msuch a burden.”
The other alpha tilts her head. “You are, bitch, andyou’re welcome.”
For once, I’m grateful for Christine’s deflection skills. A wedding was something we talked about, something she offered. It’s not really the type of thing I care about, and it just sort of seems redundant compared to the life bond. It could be fun, I guess. But stuff with my family is finally getting better, and I worry that either inviting them or not inviting them would end poorly. Maybe I can eventually convince Mom to travel. A couple miles, at least—I’m sure as fuck not getting married in my hometown.
The alphas continue chatting, and while I should be offended that they’re talking about me while I’m right here, I’m more than happy to avoid the intensity of their direct attention. Christine messing with me is more than enough, thank you very much.
But then I catch a flash of copper hair and green eyes down on my level: Jamie, Morgan’s omega. He has a glass of winein each hand and offers one of them to me with a nod and a friendly smile.
Christine doesn’t take her eyes off her friends—thoughfrenemiesmight match the vaguely antagonistic vibe better—but she seems to be aware enough of Jamie to nudge me slightly toward him.
We stand just behind our alphas as I accept the glass of wine.
“Really awesome movie,” Jamie says.
“Thanks.” He’s very… smiley. I’m not sure how I feel about that. But he seems genuine. “So… did you always know you were going to alpha up?”
Jamie almost spits out his wine with a laugh as he goes to take a sip. “God, no. But then you forget your suppressantsoneday and…”
“I didn’t even miss a dose,” I say wryly. “I just smelled her and mine stopped working.”
“Damn alphas,” he says with a good-natured sigh.
I feel myself crack a smile. “Damn alphas.”
Jamieand I chat for a while, and Haley comes and joins us. We catch up with Lana for a bit, then Christine and I continue to mingle until we’ve made the rounds.
The same excited buzz runs through the whole party; this movie is special. Really special. And whether it’s because that’s an accurate assessment, or it’s just that all our hands touched this work and we’re damn proud of what we made, I don’t care.
Even if it doesn’t change anybody else’s life… making it changed mine.
I’m listening to Christine’s makeup artist, Lisa, recount her niece’s Electra-themed birthday party when Christine taps me on the shoulder.
She smiles at our little group. “Mind if I borrow Mylo for a second?”
“Sure,” Haley says, and the others nod.
