My jaw clenches; I smile throughit. Clara. Just hearing her name makesme want to throw up. But this is her, standingin my family’s house, as if she owns the place. And worse—she actually does.

"Naomi!" she shrieks, the words squeaking out of her in a voice so high-pitched it dripswith false enthusiasm.

Someone get me an eye-roller so I canroll my eye into another dimension. So instead, I do what anyone with a modicum of self-respect would do in my position — I fakeit.

"Clara! Oh my God, look at you! Glowing!" As all my pitch shifts towardthe sun, I say. I add a slight head tilt for addedimpact.

Her hands upon her swollen belly, and her lipscurl into a smug smile. “Pregnancy looks goodon me, huh?”

Like a well-fed leech,”I whisper.

"What was that?" Sheasks, brows knitting.

“I said,‘Look at you, peach!’ “ I lie sweetly, giving her an arm pat as if I am thevery best of friends with her.

She giggles, and I fight the urge toscream. And, of course, my brother Theo is gazing ather as if she hung the damn moon. Hisentire face is basically like *whipped. * Gross.

"See, Naomi?" My mother leans in, smiling fondly atClara. “I told youour baby was going to love Clara. Who wouldn’t want such agood girl?”

Me. I’m the answer to thatquestion.

But I smile, nodding along like a dutifuldaughter who’s not quietly praying for divine intervention.

Luncheon, Liesand Dropped-in Guests

I help my mother preparethe dinner table, an act I haven’t done in quite some time. It feels... oddly comforting. Years of devouring takeoutin my tiny city apartment, *home-cooked food feels like a luxury. *

Halfway through a delicious bite of mash, it is forcefullyjarring my peace.

"NAOMIIIIIIIII!"

My fork nearly flies across the room at thehigh-pitched shriek. A human missile named Layla barrelingtoward me before I can process anything.

I canhardly stand before she screeches to a stop inches from my face.

Well, that’s new. Normally, she simply throws me tothe ground like a golden retriever whose tail has been stepped on.

"Wow. Restraint?" I tease, arching a brow. "Are we maturing?"

Laylacrosses her arms, pouting. "You’re a horrible friend."

"Not even a hello first?" I smile, if she isright about it.

She huffs dramatically. “Oh, Iwould’ve greeted you. Butyou didn’t say you were back!”

"Surprise?" I do,giving her an innocent smile.

Layla glares fora couple seconds and then sighs. “Ugh, I hate thatI can’t stay mad at you.

“That’s becauseI’m adorable.”

She snorts, but doesn’tdispute it.

My mother swoops in like a heavenly savior before Tina can go on anotherrant.

"Ladies, it’s lunch time. Layla, join us. You can scold Naomi later."

Layla’s eyes illuminate like Christmasmorning. Aunt, you don’t need totell me twice!”

She flops down ina chair as if she owns the joint. I see her and Theo give each other anervous look.

Hmm. Suspicious.

The entire pack believed they were mates onceupon a time. Then reality happened.

Theo met Clara. Layla met someone else. And now, here we are.

— I don’t know what happened with them but based on how Layla is just stabbing the shit out of her steak likeit had a personal vendetta against her, I’d say it was ugly.

Secrets and Schemes

Layla takes me upstairs to my room afterlunch. I have little more than crossed the threshold when she — flops onto my bed as if she paysrent here.

“Makeyourself at home, won’t you?” I say dryly.

"I always do," she smirks.

I shake my head,surveying the room. Nothing has changed. Animal and Contact Noise: Thesame soft lavender walls. The same bookshelves filled with my childhoodfavorites. A similar feeling of nostalgiawrapped around me like a comforting blanket.

“Nice to be home,” Isay, dragging my hand over my desk.

"Yeah," Layla says. “Home tofinally confront your demons.”

I narrowed my eyes on her. “You could’ve put that in a lessominous way, you know.

“But where’s thefun in that?” she grins.

I plopdown next to her with a sigh. "Honestly? I don’t know what I’ll donext. Butone thing is for sure — I’m done running.”

Layla sits up, eyes gleaming. "YES. THAT’S THE ENERGY. MAKE THAT DOUCHEBAG REGRETEVER BEING BORN.”

I blink. “Are we still talkingabout my ex-mate? Or are they simplya reflection of some unresolved feelings you have for a certain someone?”

Layla’s mouth tightens into aline. "Mind your business."

I snort. "Uh-huh. That’s what I thought."

Layla clears her throat, changingthe subject so quickly I almost get whiplash.

“Anyway,” she asks, a naughtiness in her eyes, “do youhave a boyfriend?”

I choke on my own spit. "WHAT?"

She clicks her tongue. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. I can tell just by looking at you — you’re still a virgin, aren’tyou?”

What the actual hell.

I gape at her. "How did we get here?! A moment ago, we were talking aboutmy emotional trauma!”

Layla waves a hand. "Oh, hush. There isspace for trauma and romance.”

I groan, hiding my facein a pillow. “Idon’t have time for dating, alright? I never havetime for work and — “

"Boring," Layla cuts me off. “Well, your lucky night— tonight is Theo’s birthday party. And guess what?"

I peek at her warily. "What?"

She grins like a villain. There will be plenty of hot,eligible bachelors there.” And I, my dear, am dressing you for the gala of— (wait for it)—suitorhunting.”

I sit up so quicklythe room spins. "SUITOR WHAT?! "

Layla cackles likethe evil genius she is.

"See you at six sharp. Don’t be late."

Suddenly my tranquilreturn becomes a matchmaking disaster.