Chapter 30 30
Marigold POV
I stormed into one of the thirty million guest rooms of Leon’s “totally not a mansion” vacation house, slamming the gilded door behind me. Two seconds later, the door creaked open like a horror movie villain and in stalked Gregor, all storm cloud eyes and Alpha scowl.
I spun around, arms crossing like I was about to scold a toddler.
“What is wrong with you, Gregor?”
He shut the door with a thunk that shook the chandelier. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? You just went full angry-wolf in the living room like Leon tried to steal your chew toy.”
His jaw clenched. “I don’t like games. Sugar pushing you and Leon together—unnecessary.”
“Ohhh,” I drawled, stepping closer just to poke his chest with my finger, “this isn’t about Sugar. This is about you sounding like the green-eyed monster. You were jealous.”
“I. Was. Not. Jealous.” He ground the words out like gravel.
I snorted so hard I nearly choked. “Ha! Alpha Broody, you practically growled stay away from her like some dramatic soap opera husband. If there were roses in the background, you’d have thrown one.”
His nostrils flared. “I was protecting you.”
“Protecting me?” I laughed so loud I startled myself. “From what? Prince Leon’s cologne? Sugar’s dramatics? The only thing I was in danger of was a pulled hamstring from those ridiculous staircase lessons.”
He took a step closer, shadows shifting over his sharp cheekbones. “You don’t understand—”
“Oh, I understand plenty.” I jabbed a finger at him again. “You’re jealous, Mr. Growly, and you can’t handle the idea of me fake-flirting with someone else. Admit it.”
His lips pressed into a hard line. “I don’t get jealous.”
I smirked, tilting my head. “Then what do you call the vein popping out of your forehead earlier? Meditation?”
He exhaled through his nose like an angry bull. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re a hypocrite.” I poked him again, enjoying how his wolf twitched under my finger. “If you don’t want me near the prince, then maybe don’t scowl every time he looks my way. You can’t call dibs when you’ve done nothing but growl at me since day one.”
Something flickered in his eyes then—heat, frustration, something I couldn’t name.
He stepped even closer, and suddenly I was hyper-aware of just how broad his chest was, how his shadow practically swallowed me whole.
“You think this is a game, Marigold?” His voice dropped, low and dangerous.
My sass faltered for half a second—but I bit my lip and doubled down. “Well, considering Sugar made me practice fake-dramatic entrances for six hours, yeah, this is kinda a game. Except you’re the sore loser.”
He growled, low in his throat, and my wolf shivered in a way that was very much not fear.
“Fine,” I snapped, throwing my hands in the air. “Don’t admit it. Keep brooding. But let me remind you—if I don’t master this Margaux act, I end up six feet under, and no amount of jealous alpha posturing is going to save me.”
For a heartbeat, it was just us, glaring, breathing hard, the tension thick enough to choke on.
And then, because fate has no chill, Sugar’s voice rang through the door.
“Are you two finally kissing in there or should I come in with popcorn?”
I groaned. “I swear, if she has popcorn—”
Gregor’s wolf growled again, and I could tell—he was seconds away from either throttling Sugar, or me. Or maybe kissing me. Hard to tell with this Alpha.
“Stupid game—” he hissed.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, breathing through my teeth like I was about to commit a crime. “You know what, Gregor? Forget it. You brood, I sass. That’s our dynamic. End of story.”
His eyes flashed. “That’s not—”
“Oh, it is.” I cut him off, jabbing a finger at his chest again for dramatic effect. “You’re the Alpha King of Broodville, and I’m the sarcastic peasant just trying to stay alive. We play our roles, we don’t kill each other, and maybe—maybe—we’ll survive this circus.”
He narrowed his eyes, his wolf practically pressing against his skin. “One day, Marigold, that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.”
“Please.” I waved him off. “My mouth is the only reason I’m still alive. You’d miss it if it was gone. Who else would call you out on your Alpha tantrums? Leon? Sugar? Nonna? Didn’t think so.”
For half a second, his lips twitched like he almost—almost—wanted to smile. But then he caught himself, scowled deeper, and turned for the door.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Do whatever you want. Just don’t expect me to clean up your mess when you choke on all that sass.”
“Don’t worry,” I shot back, crossing my arms and raising my chin like a bratty princess. “I’ll die fabulously—probably in designer heels Leon makes me wear for training. You can bury me in sequins and regret.”
He slammed the door behind him, the wood rattling on its hinges.
I stood there, fuming, cheeks hot, heart pounding. “Arrogant wolf,” I muttered to the empty room.
And then from the hall came Sugar’s sing-song voice:
“So… no kissing? Cowards.”
I threw a pillow at the door so hard it thudded like a mini explosion.
By almost ten in the morning, Sugar finally declared me Margaux-certified.
“Congratulations, darling,” she announced dramatically, waving her eyeliner brush like it was a royal scepter. “You are now officially upgraded from Dumpster Daisy to Duchess Deluxe.”
I threw the pillow at her face, but she dodged with the grace of a caffeinated cat.
Which is how, not even half an hour later, I ended up crammed in a massive SUV with Alpha Gregor at the wheel, Prince Leon and Sugar trailing us in another vehicle. Originally, the plan was to tuck Sugar away in some “safe house” until I mastered my duchess act, but somehow she had convinced Leon she needed to be my assistant. Which was Sugar’s way of saying, she wasn’t going anywhere without chaos or couture.
And Leon, the poor fool, actually agreed. His reasoning? “Not a bad idea. She’ll be close enough to keep an eye on.”
Translation: he can keep her in his line of sight and probably shut her up faster if she’s nearby. Idiot.
So there we were.
Eight. Long. Hours.
Eight hours of bathroom breaks because apparently my bladder had the stamina of a goldfish.
Eight hours of stopping at sketchy convenience stores for coffee so bitter I was convinced it was brewed straight out of despair itself.
“Drink it, darling,” Sugar cooed when I gagged at the first sip. “It builds character.”
“It builds resentment,” I muttered, tossing the cup out the window.
And don’t even get me started on the beef jerky. Gregor was obsessed. Every stop he bought more. I swear by the end of the trip the car smelled like smoked cow death.
“Alpha,” I groaned, holding my nose. “If I smell one more piece of dehydrated beef, I’m filing for divorce, and we’re not even married.”
His hands tightened on the wheel. “Eat your fries and stop complaining.”
Fries. Fast food. Greasy wrappers piling up in the console. I had the luxurious aura of a duchess on the outside, but inside my stomach was a McDumpster fire.
Meanwhile, every single time I dared to complain, Sugar—safe in Leon’s SUV—would roll down her window during stops and shout sass across the parking lot.
“Hold your head high, Margaux! Even queens need to pee every twenty minutes!”
“Margaux, darling, do NOT let fast food betray your royal digestive tract!”
“Gregor! Feed my duchess grapes, not jerky!”
I nearly strangled her. Leon just looked like he was reevaluating all his life choices.