“Seven,” Ben remarks. “That’s—”
“Practically unheard of,” Violet finishes for him. “I know.”
Alarm bells go off inside me. How did we not already know this?
“I had no idea we were in the presence of such great celebrity.” Archer presses a kiss to the back of her hand, and it’s enough to make me want to slap him.
Violet shrugs and breaks free of his grasp. “We were a little famous growing up. Nothing major.”
Now that I know cannot be true. I’ve never heard of an omega bearing seven children. Not once in all my life. This is a big deal, and it’s something that should have been flaunted all over the marriage market when presenting Violet. How is it that none of us knew?
And why is Violet being so dismissive of it now?
I glance toward Miles at my side, and he shakes his head subtly. Did he know and not tell us? Is he asking me not to point out the obvious here? What’s going on?
“Violet,” I start, but then the steering wheel jerks hard in my hands and a loud bang silences us all.
Violet screams and clings to Archer like her life depends on it.
“Relax, sweetheart,” I say, more than a little miffed. Now I’m actively throwing her into Archer’s arms. Literally too. “No big deal, just blew out a tire. I’ve got a spare in the back. Give me ten, and I’ll have us back on the road.”
At this point I’ve decided. Between all of Archer’s alpha posturing and Violet’s suspicious dismissiveness of her family background, one thing is clear. I need some time alone with her, both to sniff out her intentions and to stake my claim.
seven
VIOLET
Just as Noah promised, changing the busted tire hardly takes the guys any time at all. We’re back on the road a short while later and then arrive at the airport just a little bit after that. Instead of turning off for the terminal though, we keep going until we pull into a huge black asphalt lot.
“Where are we going?” I ask, recalling the lengthy flight required to get here. As far as I know there’s nothing for miles and miles other than wilderness. My heart jumps in my throat when I realize they could very well be taking me back. To San Francisco. To Mom.
“Don’t look so intimidated,” Archer says as he helps me out from the truck. “It’s not like we own the airport. Just this one hangar. No big deal.”
A private hangar. Wow.
I knew they had money, and I assumed it was quite a bit the way my mother’s eyes lit up when she accepted that check from Miles.
But private jet money?
That is another level entirely, even for me with my cushy California upbringing.
My jaw hangs open as I take it all in. “You guys have a private jet?”
“Better. C’mon, we’ll show you,” Noah responds before jogging off toward the side door and disappearing inside after a quick swipe of his keycard.
I wait with the others, eyeing the enormous white rectangle that stretches out before us. Its vinyl siding is sleek and perfectly clean despite its ivory color. One entire side is made up of a mechanical door, not unlike a garage—just much wider and at least three stories tall. Another side of the rectangle sports a regular-sized garage entrance along with a standard exit door for people.
“Normally we’d pull the truck inside,” Archer explains, leaning so close his lips practically touch my ear. “But that would take away from the big reveal.”
And just as he says these words, the massive door begins to pull upward.
What greets me is not a fancy private jet but rather an adorable front propeller aircraft. White with blue stripes, two wings, and three wheels. It hardly looks any bigger than the truck we drove here.
“Violet, meet the Cessna. She’s a 402 and proud,” Miles says glibly as he leads the way inside. “Cessna, this is Violet.”
“She prefers being called by her given name.” Ben is the first of us to reach the aircraft besides Noah who is already there. He lays a hand on it and rubs in soothing circles. “Some people have pets. We have machines. This is Bessie. So called because she’s our best girl.”
“Bessie,” I repeat, unable to stifle the laugh that follows.