Page 127 of Traded

I haven’t had a response by the time I reach the penthouse. Flicking on a few lamps, I make my way into the kitchen and slide onto a stool, placing Boone’s gift bag in front of me.

“Don’t look,” I mutter to myself eventually.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

Omega see present, omega open present.I don’t make the rules. I slide my finger along the seal and pull out a small box. Inside—

My heart leaps as I lift out the cupcake. One, single cupcake—red velvet, I realize when I take an experimental sniff. On top is a swirl of vanilla icing and a small, delicate, perfectly formed fondant ragdoll with strands of scarlet hair.

Attached to the bag is a small cream envelope. A single match and a lighting strip is inside, along with a pale pink candle.

And a phone number, written in neat, familiar black script with a single word.

Anytime.

Sliding the candle carefully into the cake, I light it up and watch the little flame until it blurs.

Happy birthday to me.

Chapter thirty-six

The Other Omega

“He’s late.” Liam tugs at his sleeve. “Where the hell is he?”

I shrug without looking up. Beside me, Lauren chops up a clove of garlic into miniscule pieces without raising her head. At this stage, only a microscope could pick them up.

She uses the side of her knife to slide them my way without saying anything. I scoop them up and toss them into the pot. “Tied up, probably. Don’t worry about it.”

There’s a great deal of satisfaction in parroting his own words back to him.

“Jonas!” Liam bellows. “Hurry up, will you?”

The air shifts behind us as he leans in to look at the sauce. “What’s that?”

“The rosemary jus.” I yank a few pieces from the herb pot and toss them in without bothering to count. “To go with the lamb.”

“That’s good.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Why don’t you go and change, Ro? That navy dress would be good.”

I glance down at my apron-covered blouse. I thought my jeans were fine for dinner. “I have to change?”

“Please.” It sounds like it comes through gritted teeth. “I told you, my dad has high standards.”

Like someone else I know.

“What about me?” Lauren flashes me a quick, inscrutable look.

“Perfect.”

I mutter unintelligibly into my jus. “Fine. Can you watch the sauce?”

I yank off my apron without waiting for her response and stomp into the hall. Jonas appears, playing with his tie. “Ro, can you fix this?”

He eyes me as I straighten the dark green silk and smooth his shirt collar. “There.”

Look at me, playing tradwife. Or packwife, I suppose.

How very 1950’s. I should offer him a bourbon and a cigar. I’m starting to feel like my life is the Twilight Zone. Maybe this is all a simulation.