Chapter 5

Chapter 5

ANNALISA POV

The rest of the week blurred into a frenzy of preparation. The Moon Rite was exactly one month away, and there was an enormous amount of work to be done. Despite the fact that I was actually going through all this stress, just to be Christina's  replacement, a deal was a deal and I wouldn't back down from it, regardless of my personal feelings and so I threw myself into the task with single-minded focus.

If this was going to be my farewell to Antonio, to the pack, to the only home I'd ever known, then I would do it right.

I worked with the decorating committee, selecting flowers and fabrics in colors that were Christina's favourite, silver and blue. I also coordinated with the kitchens for the meal preparations and I also reviewed the guest lists and sitting arrangements.

"You're doing a beautiful job, dear," said Catherine, one of the older pack members helping with the floral arrangements. "You're a good woman, Annabella. So gracious about all of this."

"The Alpha deserves happiness," I replied, tying off another ribbon. "If Christiana is his fated mate, then she's meant to be his Luna."

Several of the women exchanged glances, and I could read the pity in their expressions. They thought I was either incredibly noble or incredibly foolish. Maybe I was both.

"Still," Catherine continued, "it takes a special kind of strength to plan your own... well. The pack is lucky to have had you, even if only for a little while."

The words warmed something in my chest, even as they made my eyes sting with unshed tears.

Of course, Brooke found me an hour later, her appearance making all the other  workers to scatter and find something doing on the other end of the room like frightened birds.

"How appropriate," she said coldly, surveying the decorations, looking around and touching the flowers closest to her. "At least you're finally being useful. Though I suppose even you can manage to pick out some flowers without completely embarrassing us."

I didn't respond, just continued arranging white roses in their crystal vases. Her words couldn't hurt me anymore. Not when I was already planning my escape.

Let her think she'd won. Let her believe I was beaten.

In thirty days, I'd be gone, and she'd have exactly what she always wanted—me out of her son's life permanently.

I was placing the final arrangements in the great hall when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to find Antonio standing in the doorway, still in his work clothes, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. He looked tired, the perpetual crease between his brows slightly deeper than usual.

"Annabella," he said, and something in his voice made my heart skip. "I've been looking for you."

"I was just finishing up here." I gestured to the decorated space, forcing a smile. "The hall should be ready well before the ceremony."

"Come on," he said abruptly. "I'll drive you home."

I blinked, surprised at his offer, I had to stop myself from checking my back to see if Christiana had somewhat materialized behind me, or if my dark hair had turned blonde out of thin air, to warrant this ridiculous statement from his mouth. In two years of marriage, Antonio had never offered to drive me anywhere. I usually walked, or occasionally caught a ride with other pack members. The idea of sitting in his car, occupying his personal space even briefly, felt unbelievable to me.

"I can walk—"

"Annabella." His tone left no room for argument. "Let's go."

I followed him to the parking area, my pulse quickening with each step. His car, a black SUV, sat under the street lamp as he opened the passenger door for me, helping me in. My breath caught at this gesture.

Like he was really my husband.

The interior smelled like him. But there were other scents too. Christiana's perfume, sweet and floral. I noticed her lipstick on the console, a silk scarf draped over the backseat, a pair of designer sunglasses in the cupholder.

Evidence of her presence. Marks of her territory.

Antonio noticed me noticing. He swept the lipstick into the center console, with more force that was necessary and without saying anything, then started the engine.

We drove in silence for a few minutes before he spoke. "I heard you met with the visiting educators yesterday."

"I did." I kept my voice neutral, watching the darkened streets pass by outside my window.

"Marcus Thorne called me today." Antonio's hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "He was very impressed with you. Said you had excellent ideas about integrated learning programs. That you should consider teaching."

My heart stuttered. "He said that?"

"He did." Antonio glanced at me briefly, something unreadable in his expression. "Why didn't you tell me you were interested in education? That you'd worked at the school before?"

Because you never asked, I thought. Because in two years of marriage, we'd barely had a real conversation. 

"It never came up," I said instead.

"Well." He cleared his throat. "You did well. You represented the pack admirably."

The compliment, small as it was, hit me with unexpected force. This was the first time that he had complimented me unprompted, not because he wanted to show people, he was in support of me.

Warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading through my limbs like sunlight after a long winter. My wolf stirred, responding to the words with an eagerness that was embarrassing knowing she was being fed scraps.

But then the warmth turned to something else. Something hotter, as I felt my body changing, the knot in my stomach turning to something else.

Oh no.

"Annabella?" Antonio's voice sharpened with concern. "Are you alright? You look flushed."

My heat. It was coming. Not in three days as I'd calculated, but now, early, triggered by the combination of different things; proximity to my mate, stress and happiness from being acknowledged by Antonio.

"I'm fine," I managed, but my voice came out breathy, strained. "Just—we should hurry home."

Antonio's nostrils flared, and I watched realization dawn in his eyes as he caught the shift in my scent. .

"Annabella," he said, and his voice had gotten deeper, rougher as he forced the words out. 

"Your heat—"

"I know." I pressed my palms to my hot cheeks, feeling embarrassed that I was found vulnerable like this, while also fighting the urge to jump my husband. 

 "I'm sorry, I didn't—it wasn't supposed to happen yet."

The car accelerated. Antonio didn't speak again, but I could feel the tension radiating off him, as he fought to remain in control.

We pulled up to the pack house in record time. Antonio was out of the car and opening my door before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt, his hand steady on my elbow as he helped me out.

"Inside," he commanded, his voice rough. "Now.