We had a long, almost eight-hour flight ahead of us.
As soon as we settled into our seats, I sent a quick message to my mother:
I’m fine. I’m flying to London for a few days with my mate. We’ve recognized each other. I’m no longer an omega. I agreed to marry him.
Before any flood of questions could follow, I switched my phone off. I wasn’t ready to answer them—not yet.
Dorian took my hand.
“I always get nervous during takeoff and landing,” he explained.
I arched a brow. “Really? You? The strong and fearless one is afraid of flying?”
“I didn’t say afraid. I said nervous. Wolves like to keep their paws on solid ground. Flying isn’t exactly my thing.”
“Want me to help distract you?” I asked.
“And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
“Close your eyes,” I instructed.
He obeyed, and f
