Chapter 85

Mia’s POV

They think I’m stupid. They think that just because they cover their faces behind tall menus that I don’t know they’re talking about me.

I sit up taller in small rustic chair and tap my teaspoon against the fine china and watch the droplets of earl gray tea splash back into the cup.

I hate early grey, but my therapist says it’ll calm me. I think about dumping a boiling pot of early grey over her ratty head as II set the spoon to rest.

“Ahem,” I fake clearing my throat and cross my legs letting the high pump of my clunky heels drape over one another.

These shoes probably cost more than everything on this menu combined and if these bitches sitting across from me what to talk about me, well they should at least know I wouldn’t hesitate to make their pathetic lives worth something by stepping on them with these shoes.

“If you think I had melt down back in the states, you should see what I’m like when I’m not on my own land,” I tell them and flash a smile. The one girls jaw drops open but no sound comes out.

I get a little thrill from the fear I smell coming off of them. Her friend fishes some Europe’s out of her purse before tossing crumpled up bills on the table and pulls her friend away.

I watch then hurry down the cobblestone, as if I’d waste my breath trying to chase them down. I lean back in my seat and exhale. Maybe I’ll go to Paris tonight. London can be such a drab.

The blueberry scone I purchased sits untouched on a square glass plate, I had no intention of eating it, I just bought it because I could. Crystalized sugar sits atop the crumbly pastry and I feel my self gaining weight just my looking at it.

A waiter dressed in all black with a white cloth draped over his forearm struts by. I stick my foot out and he stops just before plummeting. Shame.

He eyes me and I meet his stare. “This scone had a hair on it. Remove it from my sight,” I tell him and flick it away from my reach at the table. “Please,” I add only because he’s cute.

He doesn’t say anything as he swipes the plate with the scone on it into a nearby trash it. The glass makes a distinctive breaking chime and I get chills. I love that sound. “Thanks,” I say and turn back to my tea.

On second thought, I love London. They’re just as mean as I am.

I check my gold watch. It’s almost time for my massage. I open my wallet and see that I have less money than I thought I did.

I snap shit my wallet and shrug. The tea was crap anyway. I scoot out from my seat and walk through the village holding my head high.

No one questions you when you have confidence. Besides, if my twat, as the British say, for a lawyer had won the damn case like he said he could I would’ve happily paid for my meal.

This really is all my mothers fault. She spent half of Eric’s money before even thinking of me, which just shows how selfish she is, and is exactly why I didn’t bring her on this trip with me. I need the time alone.

People whisper and point as I roam the streets of this small village and peer into the boutique shops. I know they probably haven’t ever seen a hot American before, so I give them a little show being sure to sway my hips side to side.

One boutique catches my attention. In the mirror a mannequin is posed like she’s just jumped over a puddle and landed on her one foot while the other is kicked up behind her, her heel almost touch her rear. Her fingers hold open the flare of her royal blue dress she’s wearing.

I have to have it. I can see myself as that white porcelain mannequin looking utterly adorable in the blue dress with a matching sun hat. I push open the door. “Welcom-“ the clerk starts to greet and then stops short. She probably thinks I’m a model or something.

“How much for the dress?” I ask dismissing her obvious awe of me.

“That one?” The woman points to the blue dress behind me.

“Well, it’s the only good thing you have in the store so yeah,” I tell her annoyed. What other outfit would I be asking about? The woman sets her jaw and her thin lips go straight.

“800 euro” she tells me stiffly. I try not to let it show on my face that I can’t afford that. Ugh. Even that thought makes me physically ill.

“That’s it?” I say and eye it like its suddenly lost all appeal to me.

“So, you’ll take it?” The woman asks cross her arms and her lips curl into a sneer. I fume. How dare this Brit think she can talk to me this way? Her hair is clearly dyed from a box, she needs Botox-badly, and she could lose thirty pounds.

“Of course not,” I scoff. “I wouldn’t ever wear anything so cheap,” I walk out of the boutique while I still have my dignity.

“Mia,” an unfamiliar voice calls after me.

“Who is it?” I ask turning around. Three tall men come out from a stone archway covered with foliage. I instantly recognize the one in the middle. Eric’s father. He’s older than I remember, but decently still a heart throb to someone like my moms age.

I assume the man to his right is his beta just based on the way he stands close to Eric’s dad and then there’s a man to the left who stands slightly back like he doesn’t want to come too close. Who is he? He seems familiar but I can’t place him.

Eric’s father and his men seem like they fit well in London. Gray suits to match the overcast sky, slick back hair with a bit too much gel, all they need is a scotch and a cigar in hand and you’d never think they were here for business- which is why I assume that’s why they’ve come.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. Eric’s father extends his hand as tho a peace offering. I let him take it and he gently kisses my knuckles. Finally someone in the family shows me respect.

“Surely you remember Matthias here,” Eric’s father says and motions toward the man on his left. At the mention of his name, i vaguely recall encountering him a couple times when I accompanied Eric to his rich boring dinner parties.

I smile politely at him. He is rich after all. “And this is Tony. He’s a loner who’s considering joining the pack,” I eye him suspiciously. I consider asking Eric’s father why he would bring a newbie all the way to London with him, but I realize I couldn’t care less how he conducts his business.

“What are you doing here?” I ask again, noticeably glancing at my golden wrist watch.

“I know you’re a busy woman so I’ll get to the point. I propose a pack merger,” he says and his eyes light up at his words. I’m not so quick to respond.

“How did you even know I was in London?” I ask finding it a bit odd that three old men came to trade me down. Then again, I suppose old men chasing young women isn’t the strangest thing to happen.

Matthias laughs like I’ve said some kind of joke. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s just you’re all over social media,” he says and pulls up a post that shows a picture of me at the collage I had just left not too long ago.

The caption reads, “does America want their psycho back?” I growl.

“Why do you want to merge?” I bark. Matthias pulls back the phone and Eric’s father smiles like he’s got me right where he wants me.

“Eric and Renee aren’t living in reality, it’s like they’re in some kind of citizen world where certain social status rules don’t apply to them,”

I raise my eyebrows. At least someone in the family has common sense. “If Eric continues this way then our family name as we know it will become weak. I can’t have that. Legacy and all,” Eric’s dad says as though I give a damn but then I start to think that maybe I should.

If I join his pack, I’ll care very much what the association with his name is. “And again, why do you want me to join?”

Eric’s father leans back and spreads his arms at his side as though to ask isn’t it obvious. “”There would be no one who’s more passionate about taking Eric down than you. And you’ve been with him for so long, you know his weaknesses,” I nod in agreement.

This would be better than winning in court. “One condition,” I say. “My son Nilo will become the new Alpha of this pack,” unlike my mother, I can think of my offspring.

“Done,” Eric’s father says.

“Then we have a deal,” I smile. Eric and Renee are going to have no idea what’s coming.