Page 78 of Scheme
“Let’s look at the photos first since you wanted to see them,” he suggested, leading me through the winding paths between tables.
He was so relaxed, and I felt like I was losing my mind.
Fortunately, the pictures were an ideal distraction. The finalists from each category had their nominated work on display, all varying in theme and subject matter and style.
Eventually, we arrived at Kit’s contribution—a striking picture of a fishing village in Norway. He fidgeted uncomfortably next to me as I admired the contrast of the bright red houses against the pure white snow, the cosiness of the homes versus the bleakness of the environment. He’d captured it all so perfectly. It wasn’t as though this was the first time I’d seen Kit’s work—Nico and Violet’s house was filled with it—but there was something extra magical about seeing it now andknowinghim.
“Can wepleaseleave?” Kit grumbled, fidgeting despite still holding my hand. “It is an acute kind of misery to look at my own work. You are torturing me.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” I laughed. “Nico and Violet’s hallway is basically a shrine to your work.”
“Which is why I always cut through the back garden to the studio,” he countered. “Come on, it looks like people are taking their seats for dinner.”
They were, but in a very slow meandering kind of way, and there was absolutely no need to rush, but I took pity on him and followed without complaint.
We were sitting in one of the centre tables near the front, our names neatly printed on thick card above our place settings.
And I was sandwiched right between two unmated alphas. Kit on my right, and a Jude Spencer to my left. He smiled broadly as I took my seat, Kit standing behind me to push in my chair, his hands smoothing over my shoulders in a way that felt distinctly proprietary.
“Margot Bailey, a pleasure to meet you. I’m Jude.” He leaned forward as he spoke to address Kit as well, who was suddenly looking very glare-y.
“Nice to meet you, Jude,” I replied politely, nudging Kit with my elbow. “This is Kit Iyer.”
If Kit found it difficult to walk into a room without being immediately accosted by omegas, I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Jude. Not that he wasbetterlooking than Kit—I definitely didn’t think so—but he did have that storybook-prince charm, with neat wavy blonde hair, sea-blue eyes, a square jaw and high cheekbones.
He looked like something out of a catalogue, smelled like fresh basil, and every single thing about his clothing and general presentation whispered wealth in an elegant, understated way.
How was this guy unmated?
“So,” Jude said, taking a sip of his wine as waitstaff set down starters in front of us. “Are you an artist as well, Margot?”
“Not even a little,” I laughed. “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. I sort of feel as though I’m pulling off a great con just by being here.”
Jude grinned. “I promise you’re not alone. For every brilliant creative here, there are at least two dull corporate types, here to appreciate the general appearance of the work, if not the deeper meaning and technical expertise behind each piece.”
I jumped slightly as Kit’s hand landed on my thigh under the table, the skin entirely exposed by the slit of the dress.
“Are you one of those dull corporate types?” I asked, attempting to regain my composure as I cut into my butter-poached halibut.
“What gave it away?” Jude asked, flashing me a charming grin. “It’s the haircut, isn’t it? Even when we’re all wearing suits, the artists in the room have an air of effortless cool to them. I think it must be the hair.”
Kit’s fingers flexed around my thigh, his hand shifting inappropriately higher. I was wearing proper slick-control underwear tonight to keep my scent thoroughly locked down, but I’d never put them to the test before.
Jude leaned around me, catching Kit’s eye. “Case in point. The consummate, cool artiste.”
Kit all but scowled back at him, which strangely only made Jude’s smile brighter. Then again, alphas who didn’t know each other could be oddly competitive.
“I’m actually familiar with your work, Kit. I loved the Norwegian series that you were nominated for. Breathtaking stuff.”
“Thanks,” Kit grunted, not a single ounce of civilisation to be found.
“Do you have a favourite of Kit’s pictures, Margot?” Jude asked. “I’m sure it’s hard to choose.”
I nearly swallowed my tongue as Kit abruptly tugged my thigh toward him, pulling my legs apart. He looked as though he was about to say something, and I hurried to respond in case he was going to get all alpha-grump on us and ruin a perfectly pleasant conversation.
“It is hard to choose, though there is one photo of Diamond Beach in Iceland that I particularly love. Perhaps, because I was so intrigued that I looked it up myself, and in other pictures—of course, it’s still beautiful in the way nature tends to be—there’s a sort of haphazardness to it all. A messiness or disorder, perhaps. But through Kit’s eyes, through his lens, it was majestic.”
Kit had gone incredibly still next to me, and my face heated. Had I said too much?Revealedtoo much?
