by Lola Gabriel
Rowan leaned back, too. “Thanks. I wasn’t about to admit to masterminding it, but you know what I mean. It sucks.”
“Yeah,” Holly said with a nod, and she felt tears beginning to prick at her lower eyelids. “I know what you mean.”
“You just can’t talk about it, right?” Rowan asked, turning his head on the sofa cushion to look at her. Holly avoided his gaze. She couldn’t stand sympathy, especially when it was deserved. Especially when there was nothing that could be done about this whole ridiculous situation.
“Right,” she said quietly.
“I get it,” Rowan said, putting his hand on hers lightly. Holly let him. It was in solidarity, she knew. They were modern people living by ancient rules. It sucked for both of them. Holly was so tired her eyes were almost closing. In fact, she might have drifted off for a second when she felt Rowan rise beside her.
“You can stay here,” he said. “I mean, I’ll take the sofa, you can take the bed.” He looked flustered, as he seemed to do a lot. It was one of the sweetest things about him. Holly thought about going back to the hotel, about her dad and how he’d keep her up shouting if he’d noticed her absence, but if he hadn’t, then a few more hours meant nothing.
“I’m fine on the sofa,” Holly said, simply flopping sideways to take up the whole space, trying to kick off her boots.
“They’re double knotted, doofus,” Rowan told her, and he went to untie them.
“My feet are gross,” Holly warned.
“All feet are gross,” he pointed out, pulling off her left boot. “You’re nothing special.”
Moments later, Holly felt a blanket placed over her. She tried to mumble goodnight, but she was already almost asleep.
There was light coming through the huge warehouse windows when Holly opened her eyes. She shot up and, forgetting she was on a narrow sofa, almost tumbled to the floor.
What time was it, what time was it, what time was it…? She scrambled up and grabbed her coat from where it was still hung on the back of the chair. Her phone was in her pocket and still had twenty percent battery, thank goodness.
It’s 6:45 a.m. Holly’s heart slowed to a manageable trot. She pulled on her boots, vaguely folded the blanket and rearranged the sofa cushions, and pulled her coat and scarf on as she headed for the door. She was about to open it to leave when she noticed the note.
Set an alarm on my phone for 7. If you’re up earlier, good luck with everything. Here’s my number, if you want to bitch about the Victorian tea room, or anything else.
Holly smiled and grabbed the sticky note. She would text him a thank you later. Right now, she had to get back to her hotel room, shower and spruce up, and hope her dad hadn’t noticed her very extended absence.
She ordered a car as she ran down the stairs. Even though it was early, in a city the size of Seattle, there were always people out driving for the apps. Holly spent only thirty seconds watching behind the safety glass of the complex’s front door before the blue Jeep she had been promised pulled up, and she dashed out to get in.
At the Pacific Hotel, the concierge eyed her. He hadn’t been on the night before. She smiled tightly at him. Let him think whatever he wanted, she had a key card to an expensive adjoining room in her wallet. She let herself in, closed the door quietly, and leaned against it, not breathing for a few seconds. If her dad had noticed she’d been gone, he’d be waiting up, and he’d be listening.
There was nothing. So, unless he was psyching her out or had gone for breakfast or a paper, she was probably okay.
Holly let herself into the bathroom. She looked in the mirror. Nothing had changed. Stupid frizzy hair, which was made worse by the humidity she lived with. Freckles. Big cow eyes. Maybe this amazing specimen would find her utterly un-fuckable. Holly considered herself medium fuckable, but that would be a godsend.
She stripped off her slept-in clothes and enjoyed the hot water of the shower. She shivered as it hit her, relieving tension. She felt sticky from the club and from sleeping in her clothes. And she was tired and a little hungover. She really had been her best impulsive self last night.
Holly poured too much shampoo in her hand thinking about it. She didn’t want to be someone’s wife! She wanted to… Well, she had no idea at all what she wanted, but she knew what she didn’t want, and she didn’t want an arranged marriage and a life in a rural wolf pack. Some other rural wolf pack, not even her own. She didn’t even like her own! Goodness knew what it would be like with strangers.
At least she’d made a good friend last night. She felt as though she would be able to go to Rowan with, well, pretty much anything. He’d taken this whole arranged marriage thing in his stride and been so sweet with his note.
Holly wondered, as she got out of the shower, whether she should blow dry her hair or let it be its natural frizzy mess. Ultimately, what did it matter? She half dried it. If their parents wanted it, it would happen. And if not this guy, another. It was almost enough to make her wish she was human. Although then she supposed she’d be dead.
She wished she belonged to a pack like Rowan’s, at least, where she could make choices. She’d never really thought about finding love. She had never been the girly girl, wedding plans, hearts and flowers type. But imprinting, a love match, finding someone who understood you and loved you and made you laugh, and that you also really really loved having sex with… Who wouldn’t want that?
Holly pulled on some black jeans and the floral top she hated that her parents had picked out for her, and hastily slapped on some lipstick. Right on queue, there was a knock on the door adjoining her bedroom.
“Ready, dear?” her dad’s voice came, loud despite the wall.
“Sure!” she answered. She had shared her displeasure at this with him on multiple occasions, what else could she do now?
Not even her dad looked happy, really. He was in chinos and a shirt, and even that was too dressy for him. His smile was stiff. Forced. Probably, he was worried she was going to embarrass him. He needn’t worry. She couldn’t muster the energy. It was futile, anyway, against the forces of tradition.
Her father had taken their truck through a carwash for this occasion. It was odd to see it cream-colored instead of a dusky brown.
“Where’s the meeting?” Holly asked, hopping up into the passenger seat.
“Don’t call it a meeting. It sounds so formal,” her dad said, taking the driver’s seat and slamming his door. Holly sighed and tried not to look or sound too sarcastic.
“What do I call it then?” Her dad started the car, glancing at her.
“Breakfast?” he suggested. Then he said, “You look… nice. Thank you for wearing what your mother picked.”
Again, Holly bit her tongue. She wondered when her dad had last told her she looked nice, if he ever had. He wasn’t exactly the talking kind of guy. Had he ever complimented her mom, even? Holly couldn’t imagine it. On their wedding day, maybe… not arranged, she might add, though as the future alpha, her father had been able to choose his mate at will. Her brother had chosen his wife, although from one of the four packs, of course.
“I think it’s called, The Victorian… no… The Georgian,” her dad said. “It’s in the thingy.” He pointed to the GPS attached to the dash. Her brother had put it in recently. “It’s not far,” he said. Even when he was forcing her into marriage, her father was such a dad. It made it hard to hate him. Hard to be as angry as Holly wanted to be. Well, as she was, she supposed.
The restaurant was pretty much exactly what Holly had imagined. They had only just reached the hostess standing at the podium, reservation book open in front of her, when a greying man with a neat beard and a slight paunch stood up and came over to them. He shook her father’s hand.
“Eric,” the man said, “good to see you.” He turned to Holly. “And you must be Holly.” He smiled at her. “As beautiful as your parents promised.”
Holly felt a little sick at this. She stood stock still, completely unable to think of the c
orrect thing to do. Finally, she said, “Thanks?”
The bearded man laughed heartily and clapped her on the shoulder.
“Our women never take compliments well, hey, Eric? Suppose we don’t give ’em out much.” Addressing Holly again, he introduced himself. “I’m Eli, and you’re here to meet my son, John.”
The server behind the podium was looking from one of them to the other. Holly leaned over to her.
“We’re with them,” she said. “Sorry.” The server smiled.
“No problem,” she said. “I just wasn’t sure.”
“Shall we let the youngsters meet?” Eli asked her father with something that might have been a wink.
Holly glanced back at the two men, who were perusing their menus, very clearly trying not to look at their children.
“Hi,” she said, pulling back her chair and taking a seat. “I’m Holly, obviously.” The man across the table smiled.
“John, obviously,” he said. He was dark-haired, clean shaven. His eyes were gray. He wore plastic-framed glasses, tortoiseshell. His shirt was black. The two of them just looked at one another.
“Do you know what you’re going to eat?” Holly asked. John shrugged.
“Hate eating on a first date.” He smiled or smirked or something.
“Me too.” Holly leaned back on her chair. “But I’m hungry this morning.”
John picked up his menu. Half-hidden behind it, he said, “It was a joke. Calm down.”
Holly raised her eyebrows.
“I’m also calm. Don’t pretend this isn’t weird as hell.” The cool she had managed to maintain in the car with her father was failing her. She cracked a couple of knuckles under the table, a nervous habit. “Am I your first candidate for a wife?” John actually smiled this time.
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re right, it’s weird. And you seem fine. I’d be worried if you were super keen.”
Holly let out a held breath. A moment later, a server came over.
“Hi,” he said, “can I get you…?”
“Coffee,” Holly said, “and just like, fruit salad? And toast?” Then she looked up at the server, whose mouth was slightly open in surprise. “Sorry,” she went on. “We’re in a rush.”
“No problem,” the server said. He turned to John. “And for you?”
“Same,” John answered. “And water.” When the server had departed—a little rapidly, Holly thought guiltily—John leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “I’m not an idiot,” he said. “I don’t expect us to fall madly in love… I mean, I know we won’t. I won’t, at least.”
“Woah,” Holly said. “Hold up. Me neither.”
“Sure, sure,” John said, but Holly had her hackles up. John glanced at their fathers, who were drinking coffee, still talking, still trying not to look at their children. “I’m not trying to be rude,” he said. “You’re very… you’re fine.”
Holly furrowed her brow. This guy was strange.
“Thank you?” she said. “You are also a person.”
John laughed. And then the coffee came. He tipped brown sugar into his. A lot of it.
“Your teeth will fall out,” Holly warned him.
“My teeth regenerate.”
“Yep,” she sighed. “Mine too. Just making conversation.”
“Cool,” John said. “Suppose we have years of it to look forward to.”
Holly sipped her coffee. It was too hot. “Excellent, can’t wait. You want to talk about… like, interests, dreams, etcetera?”
John stirred his also-too-hot coffee. “Are we allowed those?”
This relieved the tension somewhat. Holly leaned back, leaving her coffee to cool down a little. The server was back with toast and fruit, and he didn’t even ask if they wanted anything else, just disappeared like some kind of spirit.
“Hobbies, maybe,” Holly said, spreading jam onto a slice of whole wheat. “I can take up cross stitch. Guess you’re going to be an alpha, that’ll take up your time nicely.”
John nodded. “Guess so. And cross stitch is in again, isn’t it? You can start an Etsy shop. I don’t mind my wife working.” He ate a piece of honeydew.
Holly put down her knife and glanced at the older men near the entrance again.
“Okay,” she said. “Seriously, though… you’re doing this for your parents, right? How do you see this?”
John chewed and swallowed. He shrugged.
“I’m gay,” he said. Then he turned to look at his oblivious father. “Shit, I wasn’t going to be so blunt.”
“That’s okay,” Holly assured him. “And? I mean, why are you here?”
“Why are you here?”
Holly could finally take a gulp of her coffee. “I really, really don’t know.”
“Great,” John said. “So, we can work with that… work together?”
Finally, Holly bit into her toast. She kept her gaze steady on John until she had chewed and swallowed. “No one knows? You want me to be your beard?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that…”
“Sure, I get that you’re in a pickle, but you’re saying you want me to pretend. To marry you and pretend you’re straight, we’re in love, etcetera?”
John shrugged. “I have a partner I love, I get to stay with him. You get to keep your family quiet, have a few kids, keep our alliances going, be the wife of an alpha.”
Holly scoffed. “You imagine you’re doing me a favor?”
John was still eating. “We’re doing one another a favor, aren’t we? Doing one another favors?”
“I get to be the wife of an alpha and have a few kids? You think that’s what I want? And you have a partner? Am I allowed one?”
John looked into his glass of juice. “I mean, don’t get caught… don’t make anyone talk… and, can you lower your voice?”
Holly leaned toward him, lowering her voice to something like a hiss, “Yes. As you’ve been so kind as to offer me a few kids… I mean, I was hoping for someone who wanted to have an arrangement, but I don’t think it’s you. I don’t think we’d get along day to day, do you?”
John leaned back and wiped his mouth with his napkin.
“No need to get emotional,” he said.
Holly closed her eyes, trying to find her center. Then she found it. It was screaming, RUN. She pushed back her chair a little louder than she had intended and stood up.
“Actually,” she said, “I think there’s every need to get emotional. This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.” Passing her father, quickly, on her way out, she saw him turn with dismay on his face. She felt a pang of guilt and called out, “Dad, I’m sorry!” but didn’t stop.
The server they had confused in the way in was watching with interest. Holly didn’t slow her pace as she barged through the large double doors. Once outside, she broke into a run, heading vaguely for the river. She would grab a taxi if she saw one but wasn’t going to wait for a rideshare service, or at a taxi rank. Her father would be apologizing, probably expecting to see her at the hotel, though that wasn’t where she was going.
For a moment, Holly thought she had lost the sticky note. She felt in one pocket and then the other. Beginning to panic, she finally found it stuck to the inner topside of her left pocket.
5
Rowan
Rowan had been lying in bed for way, way longer than was really acceptable, but he was on vacation. He’d woken to his alarm, the one he’d set for seven, and sat up in bed. He felt bad for not insisting Holly take it, but she’d been pretty much passed out as soon as she’d decided to stay. Anyway, the note on the door was gone, and he didn’t see her anywhere, and he called her name and received no answer, and went back to sleep. Now it was close to eleven in the morning, and the sun that had finally decided to come out after last night’s rain was pouring into the apartment, lush and golden.
Rowan was idly scrolling through things on his phone when it rang, and he jumped. Who called anyone? And it wasn’t anyone he had in his phonebook. Still, he
answered it.
“Let me in!” Holly’s voice came abrupt and breathless before Rowan had even said hello.
“What?” he asked, but he was throwing back the covers. “You’re here?”
“Pretty sure,” Holly said. “Please let me in, I don’t know if anyone followed me. And if you buzz me up, I’ll know for sure I’m outside the right converted warehouse. They all look the same.”
Rowan went to the entryphone immediately. He heard the buzz through the speaker of his phone a moment after he pressed the entry button, and then he heard the clang of the door. Holly hang up. As she came down the hallway, pink-faced and still panting a little, Rowan was standing in the open doorway to the apartment.
“What happened?” he demanded, stepping back so that Holly could enter. “And what are you wearing?”
“I can’t do it,” she replied. “I really can’t.” She glanced down at herself. “My mom picked it out. She’s… a mom.” She pulled at her shirt. She looked as though she might be about to burst into tears, but then she seemed to focus properly on Rowan for the first time. She smiled. “Well, hello,” she said, “you were hiding a bit of a bod under those hipster threads, huh?”
Rowan realized he was in his underwear and swore under his breath. Of course he was blushing now, and the blush was spreading to his very visible chest.
“Don’t be ashamed of it!” Holly cried. All the same, Rowan pulled on the shirt and sweats he’d worn on the plane the day before; a day that seemed like months ago now. “Can I borrow one?” Holly asked.
“Huh?”
“A shirt, dodo, I really don’t want to be in this ghastly thing.” Again, she pulled at her blouse.
“Sure,” Rowan said, “but it’s not totally clean.”
“Don’t care,” Holly said as she grabbed the shirt he handed her. She pulled off her top and dropped it on the floor. “We should burn that,” she told him. Rowan tried not to look at her as she put his shirt on. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. Finally, Holly flopped down on the sofa, and Rowan, nervous, hovered close to her.