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Alfred smoothed his hands over the silk of his gown and tried to collect himself.
The party—his party—was in full swing downstairs, the sound of clinking glass and laughter filtering through the floorboards and setting his nerves on edge. He frowned at himself in the vanity mirror.
“Get it together, Al. You like parties. People like you at parties. It will be fine.”
People had better like him at this one, considering it was all about him, or his newly marriageable status, anyway. He couldn’t worry over the matter any further, as his brother had apparently given up on impatiently knocking on the door and had thrown it open instead. He hooked his arm over Alfred’s and yanked him bodily from the room without a sound.
He walked them briskly toward the stairs, the noise of the party below now so close and loud Matthew had to speak right into his ear to be heard.
“There’s a group of alphas with cigars in the corner of the drawing room. Avoid them. Mrs. Arlovski is here with her creepy daughter, but our gracious host is keeping them distracted. I’ll bring you water, so make sure you drink it. And yes, there are prawns, yes, you can eat them, but don’t get sauce on your gown. Also, I know you’re going to go straight for the piano, but try to make conversation for at least twenty minutes first. I’ll be timing you.”
Alfred bared his teeth at his brother, trying to wiggle his arm free. “Matt, seriously—”
“And do remember to have fun, cricket. You only get one of these parties in your life. Well, if I do my job right.” Matthew’s mouth tightened momentarily with worry, and Alfred’s face warmed with familiar guilt. But his brother smiled at him serenely, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be. D-don’t go too far from me?” Alfred murmured, too nervous not to beg.
“Never.”
They made the final turn toward the staircase, and Alfred reached for the banister, ready to lower himself into the shark-infested waters below. As they descended, Matthew whispered one final message to him.
“Oh, one last thing. Arthur Kirkland came all the way from England just for this.”
The hostess announced them, and the crowded foyer broke into polite applause, shining faces and glittering glasses lifted toward him, gleaming white and silver like countless pointed fangs.
Alfred lasted fifteen of the requested twenty minutes. Very impressive, in his opinion, and possibly a new record. His hands were shaking, and he needed to let the excess energy out somehow. It was too early to dance, and Matthew would likely become hysterical if he got into an arm wrestling match (though a certain present alpha would have loved it) so piano it was.
The sheet music in front of him was something boring and traditional, a waste of his talents. He considered playing something jaunty and silly, perfectly pretty and irrelevant, like any desirable omega should be. He opted to play something composed by an actual omega, instead.
It was a love song, unfortunately, but it was dynamic and unique, the beginning lilting and curious, the kind of thing that made people pause their conversations and tilt their heads, trying to place it. Then it got fast and dramatic, unexpected chords thrown about like claps of thunder, but cohesive, natural, until the player seemed to find his place, the melody coming together neat and relieving, solid, reliable. But pretty, oh so pretty, especially when Alfred played it, simultaneously effortlessly and with gusto.
The last notes died out and the quiet room burst to life again, chattering voices calling out to him and a couple of eager alphas trying to shoulder each other out of the way to get to him, hands outstretched.
“Mon cher, why are you not on the stage? I have not heard such fine playing since I left my native land.”
The voice was deep and unfamiliar and uncomfortably close. Alfred turned from the battling alphas to find another pair behind him, a handsome man in an unconventionally elaborate outfit, and—
Alfred felt his cheeks flush instantly. So Matthew had been telling the truth.
“You left your ‘native land’ two weeks ago. You haven’t heard any other playing.” Arthur addressed the man to his left, but his eyes were trained steadily on Alfred, and he stepped up even closer than Francis was, ignoring the man’s affronted gasp as he all but shoved him aside. “Alfred.”
Alfred had to tilt his head back slightly to look at him, he was so close, suddenly so close, when he had been an ocean away an hour ago, as far as Alfred had known. He looked lean and a little sun-burnt, altogether sort of unkempt in a way that made Alfred think about the dominating alphas in his adventure novels. He swallowed, and he could taste the man’s mint and bergamot aroma on his tongue. His vision swam. “Arthur. Thank you for coming.”
The man just raised a bushy brow at him, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. He seemed to be chewing hard on his words, the gears in his head overworking as usual. His mouth twitched again, but his partner spoke first.
“Are you not going to introduce us at last? I have endured half a year’s worth of Alfred, Alfred, Alfred, and now you haven’t even told him my name.”
If looks could kill, the other alpha would have been a pile of ashes with a lot of frippery on top. “Alfred, Francis Bonnefoy.” He spat the name like a curse, and a few of the other party-goers glanced their way. Arthur straightened himself, and fixed a sardonic smile on his face. “Francis, Alfred Franklin Jones.”
Alfred managed to find his feet, careful not to bump into either of them as he stood and extended a gloved hand to Francis, who kissed it neatly, eyes shrewd. “You are every bit as exquise as described, Alfred Franklin Jones. What a shame I cannot join the quest for your hand. But I do like my head just where it is.” Francis laughed sharply at his own joke and let himself be pushed away this time, floating right out of the room with a wink.
“Ignore him. Pretend he doesn’t exist. It makes life much more bearable.” Arthur’s acid green eyes found his yet again, and Alfred found his place. He roused himself, and smiled charitably, dipping into a half-hearted curtsy.
“How was the journey from England?” He asked, oozing charm just like he was supposed to. He would not be defeated, on his own soil, at his own party, just because he was a little flustered, and a lot in love, and so confused it made his stomach hurt.
Arthur waved his hand dismissively. “Dull, thankfully, very dull. Could I perhaps steal a moment of your time in a more quiet place?”
He said it so politely, Alfred almost nodded. His chest burned with unasked questions of his own. He ignored Arthur’s in favor of one of them. “And what brings you all the way back to America again?”
Arthur blinked, caught off-guard. “W-well, this, of course. I was invited, after all. Alfred—”
“So you’ll be returning soon, then?” Alfred saw Matthew watching them closely, unsmiling. One of the two alphas from before was gawking at them rather openly, waiting for his second chance.
“That’s what I—can we please talk? I know we did not part on the best of terms, but I am here for—that is, you understand I would not have come if I didn’t—well, if you don’t want to talk to me, I will let you be, but the invitation, I thought it was an opportunity to, ah, to—”
Alfred liked making alphas squirm as much as the next omega, but he wasn’t cruel. He cut the other man off with a hand on his bicep, turning him slightly toward the door. “Matthew will have to chaperone. Come on, before someone else steals me away.”
It was humid, but the decorative pond at the edge of the property cooled the air enough to make the dappled shadows beneath the dogwood trees comfortable enough to linger in. They sat on hard white metal chairs as Matthew stood guard a few feet away.
“You’re the first to get a private audience.” Alfred smirked at him good-naturedly, sipping on the glass of water his brother had placed in front of him. “I suppose you deserve it, if you really sailed an ocean just for this.”
“You don’t believe I came here for—for you, do you?” Arthur had a cup of tea of his own. His hand shook slightly as he lifted it.
“I don’t understand why you would. Why should you come back for me now, when you would not stay with me before?”
Arthur never stopped looking at him. He stared at him as if he would disappear the moment he shifted his gaze, as if he were a prized possession he could not let out of his sight. Alfred loved that level of attention, but he wanted the devotion inherent in it. He needed it. For himself, and for his tiny family, too.
Arthur took a deep breath, lowering his cup with a barely audible clink. “You still intend to study in New York, do you not?”
Alfred narrowed his eyes. “Yes, once I establish a house for myself, and Matthew, and our mother. Why?”
“No doubt you will find many an alpha in that house for whom that plan is unacceptable. But you may well find an equal number happy to see an omega with such initiative.”
“The program is flexible.” Alfred countered, looking down his nose at the alpha across from him. “You can take semesters off if need be. It’s designed for omegas, after all.”
Arthur nodded. “Of course. I have no doubt you would exceed the expectations of such a program. And as I said, many an alpha would be happy to see it. But would any of them want even more for you?”
Alfred blinked. “More?”
“Authoring books, speaking at conferences. Wielding picket signs and test tubes alike. Like a true revolutionary.”
Alfred was silent and still, his posture slipping. His thighs were sticky beneath the heavy silk of his gown, and he longed for his trousers instead. “What are you talking about, Arthur?”
“Paris. You’ll have to get a lot better at French. I’ve already picked out a house to purchase, with Francis’s assistance. I knew my father was wrong about the limits of the contracts with the French offices. But I could hardly campaign properly from America. I haven’t been sitting around uselessly these past six months, my dear.”
Alfred had. He’d gained five pounds and then lost ten, he’d slept on the floor of the neighbor’s stable and had read trashy novels and played piano. He’d focused on his attainable future, on taking care of his mother, on hatching plans with his brother. He’d finally learned how to put on makeup and had charmed his way into this dress and this house and this party. It wasn’t exactly sitting around uselessly, but it felt like it.
“You want me—us, because you know I won’t go without my family—to come to Paris? Because of contracts?”
“Because it’s the better place for us to be, at least until you finish university. The omega schools are older than the American ones by decades, Alfred.”
“I can’t compete with French omegas.”
Arthur laughed at that, genuinely, deep and open a-ha-has that made Alfred’s toes curl.
“They will be in awe of you. Like Francis is. Like I am.”
Alfred suddenly realized that Matthew had strayed away, closer to the edge of the pond, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped. He looked exhausted, small and out-of-place at the edge of all that water. Alfred felt an odd urge to go to him, to pull him back. “I—I think. I think I am,” Alfred stuttered over his words, shaking his head to try to sort them out again. “Afraid. I’m afraid.”
“I’ll take care of you.” Arthur said instantly, passionately, and Alfred wanted to believe him, wanted to believe a life existed for him on this other planet, sweet and secure and overflowing with opportunity.
“I need time to think.” Alfred said softly, taking a drink of water that tasted like mint and oranges.
Paris was brown and grey and noisy, and it smelled like soot and people, so many people. They pressed together on the platform, arguing and laughing and fighting to get to their luggage first.
“How far is the college?” Alfred asked, pressed close to Arthur’s side. He nabbed a bag from him, then another, much to the alpha’s dismay.
“Not far, but we won’t have time to go today. I promise you’ll see plenty of it soon enough.” He placed a quick kiss on Alfred’s cheek. “Stay close to me. Let’s find a spot to wait for Matthew and your mother.”
Once they were all together Arthur led them from the station to a waiting carriage. A smartly dressed man who Alfred knew was Arthur’s personal assistant opened the door, and Francis Bonnefoy leapt out, arms ready to sweep Arthur up in a hug. The alpha dodged, but Alfred wasn’t so lucky. He laughed as Francis touched both of his cheeks with his own, then did the same to his brother, and his mother.
“Welcome to my home!” The man said excitedly, spinning back toward the carriage. They were ushered in, and with the snap of the door, Alfred felt himself settle into this new reality. He was in Paris. He, too, was home.
“Excuse me, Doctor Kirkland?”
Alfred paused his perusal of the musty document on his desk and looked up to find a meek looking man in his doorway. The man bowed at him, cheeks pinking as he straightened.
“Yes, please come in. What can I do for you?”
Alfred had grown used to interruptions like this in the years following his being hired at the university. He was, after all, a kind of minor celebrity to many academically-minded omegas. According to his husband, he was a major one. And a hero to all mankind. And the smartest man to ever live. And the sexiest omega on two legs (What about one-legged omegas, Artie?), and so on, and so on.
“Doctor Kirkland, I just finished reading your latest paper on the lost history of the omegas of North America. I was so moved by your work I finally decided to pursue a course of study myself. It is an honor to meet you.”
Alfred smiled and stood, stretching out his sore legs. He didn’t miss the surprised look that crossed his guest’s face as he saw the swell of his pregnant belly.
“I have to head home soon for dinner, but I’d love to hear more about your studies, Mister…?”
“Ho—Kiku, Kiku Honda. I am so sorry for keeping you from returning home, I will come back at another time—”
“Why don’t you join us for dinner? If you don’t have other plans.”
The man gaped at him, and Alfred wondered if perhaps his invitation had been rude. “Or we can schedule a meeting here, if that’s more comfortable.”
“If I would not be an intrusion, I would like to join you for a meal. I have so many questions I want to ask you, about your journey here from America, and how you convinced the Anthropological Society to let you attend digs, and what really happened in New Mexico—”
“Oh, nothing unusual, certainly. Come with me, and I’ll tell you all about it. But the answers might be kind of disappointing, honestly.”
He let Kiku carry his bag when he offered to take it, exhausted from the baggage on his front. “See, everyone expects an adventure story, a mystery, a drama…”
They left the dim office behind, and Alfred shut the door, smiling fondly at his belly as he accidentally bumped it on the knob. “But really, it’s a love story.”