Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t angry at Cosmo. I’d also be full of shit though, if I didn’t admit that I’m a little pissed off at Daphne, too. Even though I know biology is largely to blame here, anytime I envision things differently than they turn out—I get stressed. This is no exception. It feels a little like the two of them stole our option to do things together as a pack, but even when I’m feeling my least charitable toward Cosmo—I know he wouldn’t intentionally do anything to hurt his pack. Neither would Daphne.

I also understand that things happen. Love makes you do crazy things, I know this better than most—and I’d like to think that we are in love. Daphne and all of us.

“Hey, Julian?” Daphne’s small voice pulls me from my deep thoughts, a bolt of silk georgette still clasped tightly in my hands.

“Yes Daphne?” I turn to face her. Her face is still red and blotchy from crying on and off all morning, but she’s gotten dressed in a very 1950’s pale pink twinset and pencil skirt—her long hair washed and blow dried into old Hollywood waves—a silk scarf in shades of pastel blue and yellow tied around her neck to hide Cosmo’s fresh bite.

“I’m sure you probably don’t even want to see me now that I’ve violated your trust and that you’re rightfully angry at me.” Her voice is a little watery, but she manages to hold back her tears. I myself feel like crying as soon as I hear the pain in her voice.

“But I want you to know that I am very sorry and I’d like to make it up to everyone—if you’ll let me.”

She stands in the doorway, her hands clasped in fists at her side—her smile thin, but determined.

I let out a sigh, and feel a weight lift from my shoulders.

“What’s done is done, we can’t go back, only forward,” I concede, opening my arms to her.

I’m unreasonably relieved when she flings herself into my arms, nuzzling her face into my chest.

“Thank you Julian, I swear I’ll prove myself worthy of Pack Silver. I promise.”

I want to tell her she already has, that there’s no need to worry—but in truth I have no idea where Magnus’ and Sol’s heads are at.

“I’m calling everyone here for dinner tonight, if they’ll come.” She smiles up at me tentatively.

“We all need to talk—I need to apologize and explain myself to the others.”

I’m a little disappointed when she doesn’t immediately mention bonding throughout the rest of the pack. I can’t tell if I’m being paranoid, or if my fears are justified when she pecks a kiss onto my lips, promising that she’ll be home before the others arrive later this evening.

I suppose I’ll just have to catastrophize from now until dinner.

Oh joy.

Iwoke up, finally out of the woods and done with my first heat. After four days of nearly losing myself to my most primal needs and urges, I return to reality with a few incredibly difficult truths to face.

For one, I had violated the trust of most of Pack Silver by not just allowing but encouraging Cosmo to bite and bond me during my first heat—despite agreeing to do the exact opposite with everyone before my first heat started.

Of course, things simultaneously became more simple and more complicated as I admitted to myself that I wasn’t sorry for letting Cosmo bite me.

In fact, I actually felt better—even more confident that Pack Silver was mine after the bonding. That doesn’t undo the fact that I hurt people I care about, though, and I’m prepared to do whatever I can to make good.

Additionally, there was the Vinny situation. The pressure to court Lost Daze, the mystery of my fucked-up meds, Vinny’s generally shady and questionable air… Whether by accident or on purpose, there is simply no reason for me to stay with an agent who repeatedly put me in dangerous and/or uncomfortable situations despite my explicit instructions and feedback.

I make myself up to look as professional as possible without dipping into schoolmarm or newscaster territory—taking care to cover my fresh bite until everyone is ready for a piece of information like that to hit the press.

To my great relief, Julian is receptive to my apology along with my proposal to meet with everyone at Tern’s Nest tonight to have supper and a serious conversation about the current situation, along with our plans for the future.

Since Magnus, Sol, and Cosmo have all returned to their daily routines, I am relegated to inviting them to dinner via text message. While I would prefer a more personal touch, it’s the best I can do with everyone scattered to the four winds—and an afternoon full of appointments with prospective agents as well as Mrs. and Mrs. LaRenta.

I’m relieved to arrive home to an empty nest, Julian having left to run a few errands not long after I departed for my appointments. It gives me time to get my bearings, to take a shower, change, and prepare for the evening.

While I’m hardly the cook that Julian or Magnus is, or even Sol for that matter, I am intent on putting dinner on the table for my pack when I make my apology to everyone and seek to make amends.

The afternoon was a productive one, so I am buoyed by the positive prospects on the horizon for my career, as I shuffle about the kitchen preparing. I shoot off a few emails to my new agent, Onika, about upcoming auditions between cutting and cleaning peppers, eggplant, and big portobello mushrooms to cook on the grill alongside the chicken I’ve been marinating.

I’ve set the table for five, two bottles of semi-dry white wine in marble coolers on either side of the table’s expansive circular surface; little condiment dishes filled with seasoned olives, hummus, baba ganoush, and creamy tahini are scattered amongst the tidy table settings–an empty bamboo basket awaiting some delicious flat breads keeping warm in the oven at the table’s very center.

I contemplated dressing up in something fancy, but it felt forced and too much like the interviews and auditions of the industry in which we all work and live. Then, I considered for longer than I’d care to admit, if I might be able to win some points by dressing up in hardly anything at all. A white teddy? A see through mesh chemise? That micro bikini that I bought a few months ago but have since been too chicken to try on? Ultimately, I decided against it, as it might undercut the seriousness of my apology.