The Mad Alpha's Substitute Bride

(ALICE)

I’m not fond of tomato and cheese sandwiches.

But I’m eating this one because Darian left it on my doorstep last night. I could have thrown it away. I could have given it to Mary; she loves this combination. Instead, I’m munching on it. I’ve clearly gone and lost my mind.

It’s worrisome that he knows my exact address. That means he did look me up.

Yet, he keeps coming.

My heart has been feeling funny ever since he dropped off that big bag of expensive steaks the day after my birthday. Last night it was these sandwiches from one of the most high-end bakeries in LA. Why hasn’t he backed off? Why isn’t he disgusted by me, like everyone else?

We haven’t actually seen each other since he found me at the lake on my birthday. Still, my eyes burn with emotion because hope is something new to me; I’m frightened of it, but I can feel it. I don’t want to smile when I think about Darian, but he makes it impossible not to.

I wasn’t expecting any of this. The more I try to push him away, the more he insists on getting closer to me. I feel a little foolish about how I was judging Mary for being so idealistic and romantic when my own heart keeps fluttering when I think of that cocky, handsome wolf shifter.

I’ve had my moments of doubt when I wonder if he’s just leading me on. If he is, he’s doing a very convincing job of it.

The door to the break room opens, and Sam walks in.

I look up at him. "Can I ask you something? And give me an honest answer."

He opens the door of the fridge to take out his lunch. "Sure. Shoot."

"Do you think I’m attractive?"

He turns his head to look at me critically. "Ugly. Not my type. And if this is your way of hitting on me, I’d appreciate a heads-up so I can be well prepared to let you down gently. You have no one to blame but yourself.

You chose to play with fire."

I bite into my sandwich, saying dryly, "Thanks. You’re so good for my ego."

He sets a bottle of juice on the table before sitting down with his pasta. "Anytime. I’ve got you." Pointing his fork at me, he adds, "If you didn’t have the red hair and the blue eyes, I might have gone for you. Maybe just the hair. Your loss."

"My loss indeed," I drawl. "Now I have to live with the knowledge that I will never be able to get with such a charming individual as yourself."

Sam stuffs his mouth with a forkful of pasta. "You’ll get over it. I break a lot of hearts."

I snort. "I wish I had that kind of confidence. It would take me far in life."

Sam grins. "You’re either born with it, or you’re not. Anyway, what’s with this line of questioning? Are you having some sort of identity crisis? I could buy you a mirror for your birthday. I was going to get you a gift. I even saved up for it, but then I got hungry and got myself a burrito."

"You were going to give me something that costs as much as a burrito?" I stare at him.

My friend gives me a deadpan look. "I love burritos."

My brows scrunch together as I stare at him, not knowing what to make of that statement.

"So, spill." He chews his food. "What’s going on with you?"

"I’m not having an identity crisis," I correct him. "I met someone. He seems to—I think maybe he kind of likes me, although I don’t see how that is possible. I didn’t tell him about not having a wolf spirit. I didn’t have the strength to tell him that. But I did tell him to look me up in the registry.

Surely, he has found out that way. I know he looked me up because he has my address. He sent me a gift of steaks the other day. And last night, he dropped off these sandwiches. I just don’t know what to make of it all."

The words come out of me in a rush, and then I have to stop and gulp in some air.

"So, you’ve got yourself a boyfriend." Sam looks pleased. "Good for you."

"He’s not my boyfriend. We’ve met all of two times. Or maybe three."

"Sounds like a boyfriend to me." Sam looks at me. "So what’s the problem? He likes you, and you clearly don’t hate him. Give it a shot. He doesn’t seem to have a problem with your lack of wolf spirit. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth."

"What if he’s faking it?" I reveal the uncertainty in my heart. "What if he’s just pretending with all this, and then later he—"

My friend rolls his eyes. "This isn’t a movie. There’s nobody placing a bet here to humiliate you. He likes you, and you seem to have a thing for him or you wouldn’t be so conflicted. You have to take a chance sometimes." When I don’t say anything, he sets down his food container and gives me a long look. "You do like him, don’t you?"

I rub the spot on my chest right above my heart. "I don’t know. I’ve never felt this way before. I was so rude to him, and he didn’t care. It’s like everything I say rolls right off him. I try to push him away, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint."

Sam resumes eating. "Sounds like a keeper. I know you have this melodramatic idea that only bad things will ever happen to you, but good things do happen, Alice. The world is a shitty place—and I believe that statement wholeheartedly—but sometimes good things happen, and you should just go along with them. This guy is clearly into you. Sending food is courting behavior. We both know that. Why are you trying to turn it into a bad thing? There’s no harm in giving him a chance."

I play with my sandwich, my appetite vanishing. "He wants to meet up tonight. Do you think I should say yes?"

"Yes!" my friend says loudly. "Go out with him. Let him spoil you. You clearly like him, Alice. I keep telling you this. Give him a chance. Not everybody’s a monster."

My lips curve slightly. Mary told me the same thing. Maybe I should just take their advice and go out with Darian. I didn’t want to see him now that he knows what he knows, but this might not be the worst idea. If he’s willing to accept me as I am, isn’t that what I’ve always wanted? To be accepted as I am?

As I finish the sandwich, I find myself smiling.

***

Darian told me to meet him at the restaurant, but when I exit my building, a car is waiting for me. At first, I ignore it, but a blond man gets out of the driver’s seat when I walk past, and he calls out to me. "Alice Lane?"

"Yes?" I ask cautiously. "Can I help you?"

"Darian sent me to pick you up."

I stop in my tracks. "Darian sent you?" "Please, get in. I’ll drive you to the restaurant."

He opens the back door for me, and reluctantly, I slide into the seat.

The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror throughout the drive but doesn’t say anything. He pulls up in front of a restaurant that looks far more expensive than anything I could have imagined.

"A–Are you sure this is the right place?" I don’t think I can even afford to breathe the air in there.

"Darian has reserved a table. Don’t worry, the maître d’ will guide you. The driver looks toward the entrance just as a man in a tuxedo walks out.

My clothes are simple: a blue blouse with bell-flared sleeves that I thought looked pretty and a pair of black jeans. But next to the man in the tuxedo, I look shabby.

The maître d’ doesn’t so much as blink. "Right this way, ma’am." He’s a wolf shifter like me. His scent gives him away.

I enter the restaurant and am immediately dazzled by the high ceilings and gorgeous decor. The entire place has been done up in hues of gold and red, a beautiful combination that screams elegance and sophistication.

The maître d’ leads me to the back of the restaurant, which offers more privacy. As I pass by the other diners, I feel even more underdressed. The women are wearing gorgeous dresses, while their partners are dressed in suits that drip money. I really don’t belong here.

A sliver of doubt creeps into my mind. But when I see Darian looking over at me and beaming, some of it fades away. He gets to his feet and pulls out a chair for me. The maître d’ immediately turns red. "There’s no need for that, Your—"

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Darian cuts him off. "I believe everything is set for tonight."

The sudden, formal edge to his voice has me blinking. The easy-going and casual man I know has been replaced by someone cold and aloof. The maître d’ pales and hurries away.

I sit down hesitantly, and when Darian looks at me, he’s back to his normal self.

"Did we really have to come here?" I look around uneasily. "When you said dinner, I thought you meant getting something like hot dogs or pizza. I mean, I know you work for the royal family, but this is insane."

"You don’t like this place?" Darian looks around. "We can go somewhere else."

"It’s fine. I just wish you had warned me about the dress code here. I would have worn"—I look down at my clothes—"not this."

"What’s wrong with your outfit?" Darian asks bluntly. "You look gorgeous."

I’m taken aback by the compliment as I look around at the other females in the restaurant. I wouldn’t say that I’m beautiful.

These women look like polished socialites, their makeup and hair done to perfection.

I suddenly realize something. There’s some distance between our table and every other table. It’s almost as if there’s an invisible barrier around us.

Some of the diners are glancing our way, but very discreetly. And the ones closest to us are sitting stiffly, looking very uncomfortable.

Is it because of me? Am I making them uncomfortable because I clearly don’t belong here? I consider asking Darian, but he seems to have put a lot of thought into this...dinner. I don’t want to ruin it.

In the back of my mind, I know that this dinner is really a date. But I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it.