Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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If there’s one thing I’ve picked up in my twenty-five years, it’s that tough situations become a lot more bearable if there’s good food around.

I know that probably reveals some deeply concerning priorities of mine, but given the choices I was facing, I felt like it was unfair to judge myself too harshly.

As I found myself sitting across from the most stunningly intimidating man I’d ever encountered.

Just as he was about to elaborate on this...deal of his. A waiter come up to us.

When the waiter rolled in with dinner after the private dining room doors swung open, my first clear thought was a grateful, Oh, thank you, Lord.

The spread was enough to cater a small wedding, which felt especially ironic since I was, apparently, in the room where my own arranged marriage was being discussed.

There was roasted beef, glazed with some dark, shiny sauce, buttery potatoes sprinkled with herbs, vegetables that clearly had never met the concept of being overcooked, warm bread, a variety of delicate appetizers whose names escaped me, and a dessert tray that nearly brought tears to my eyes.

So...many...carbs.

Father would faint if he found out I was eating these instead of some tasteless shit like salad.

I couldn’t help but stare at it. Then I glanced back at Lorenzo. Then back at the food again. "C...can I?"

He raised one eyebrow. "You can eat."

I gave him a skeptical look. "Are you sure?"

His mouth curved into a slight smile. "I invited you to dinner, didn’t I?"

"That doesn’t necessarily mean I’m allowed to eat it."

Lorenzo looked genuinely amused.

It was a small change, but it transformed his entire demeanor. And honestly, that was annoying, very annoying...because Lorenzo Castelli was already infuriatingly attractive without a smile, and I had no desire to discover that he looked even better when he was entertained.

His emerald eyes were sharp under dark brows, and something about his face was almost aristocratic; too refined for a man whose name apparently sent grown men into whispers.

I hated that I noticed all that. I hated it even more when I caught sight of the long line of his throat as he raised his glass.

My eyes darted back to my food. Food was safe, food didn’t have emerald eyes.

Food didn’t make people vanish.

Food also didn’t come with a reputation for being a cold-blooded mafia psychopath.

Reaching for the bread, I said, "I’ll just eat then."

"Clearly."

I ignored him and took a bite. My eyes nearly rolled back in my head. Oh, this was good.

After years of being told what, when, and how much I could eat, having an entire table filled with food in front of me felt a bit wrong.

At the Sinclair house, meals weren’t really meals. They were orchestrated exhibitions of control. Too much dessert? Unacceptable.

Too much bread? Unnecessary.

Too much meat? Weight gain risk.

Too little food? Would make me look sickly.

Everything was measured against whether I’d be desirable enough for some hypothetical Alpha.

So when Lorenzo calmly told me to eat, I decided to take him at his word. I served myself another helping...then another. Lorenzo was watching me.

I glanced up. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You’re staring."

"I’m just observing."

"That’s just a fancy way of saying you’re staring."

The corner of his mouth lifted again. I pointed my fork at him. "And stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you’re trying to figure out if I’m mentally stable."

"Are you?"

I considered it for an actual moment. "Not particularly."

But then again... aren’t we all just a little bit crazy?

He gave a low hum and leaned back in his chair. I went back to my meal.

For several minutes, the only sounds filling the room were the soft clinking of utensils, rain pattering against the tall windows, and my unabashed attack on dinner.

I was halfway through my second serving when I noticed something: Lorenzo hadn’t touched much of his own food. He was just watching me. Not in a predatory way, though. It felt more clinical, like I was a particularly interesting puzzle he hadn’t yet figured out.

I swallowed. "What?"

"You eat like someone’s about to take it away."

My fork froze mid-air. For a second, I was at a loss for words.

Then I shrugged, "Experience."

His expression shifted slightly. Just a flicker, but I caught it. His eyes flicked to the fading bruise on my cheek.

I noticed. He noticed me noticing. Neither of us said anything. Instead, Lorenzo raised his glass and took a slow sip before finally explaining why I was there.

I felt uncomfortable when he noticed it, so I decided to change the subject. "So what about the deal?"

"I assume your father mentioned why I reached out to your family."

"Something about me offending you with my charming personality."

"You insulted me."

"I was having a rough evening, Lorenzo."

"You called me Dracula."

"I still stand by that."

His eyes narrowed, and I smirked as he looked almost offended...almost. Then he leaned back, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee.

"My father is Frederick Castelli."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"I know he’s your father."

"That’s not what I meant."

I laid my fork down and leaned back. "All right. Enlighten me."

Lorenzo’s gaze landed on me. "I’m the second of three sons, and out of all of them...I believe I’m the best candidate to take over."

That wasn’t what I expected. I waited for more.

"My older brother is the eldest, which usually puts him next in line. But tradition doesn’t equal capability." His tone had no bitterness, but somehow that made it sting worse. "My brother is smart, but emotions drive his decisions. He’s impulsive, trusts too easily...then acts rashly when things go wrong, and in our business, that’s a flaw."

"And the younger brother?"

He sighed. "My younger brother would rather waste his inheritance on men, women, flashy cars, and parties."

"Sounds real productive."

"He’s never shown any interest in taking over the family."

"Also productive."

Lorenzo’s eyes locked onto mine. "You find this amusing."

"I find most things funny when I’m uncomfortable."

"I noticed." He paused before continuing. "My father and I don’t see eye to eye on succession."

I stopped chewing. "Why not?"

"Because he thinks the man leading this family should have a family of his own."

"That’s kinda stupid."

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, and I quickly reminded myself who I was speaking with. "Respectfully."

His lips twitched. "Of course."

I took another bite as he went on. "My father’s been ill for a while. His health has taken a turn for the worse."

There was a subtle shift in his expression when he mentioned it. Not dramatic. Just enough. The coldness didn’t vanish.

Lorenzo didn’t suddenly morph into a grieving son with tears, but his jaw tightened, and his gaze drifted toward the rain-streaked window.

"My father believes that marriage gives a man something to protect beyond himself. He thinks that responsibility makes a leader more prudent."

"And you disagree?"

"I think responsibility can make a man reckless, just as easily."

"That’s surprisingly reasonable."

"I have my moments."

I smiled faintly. "So, you need a wife...or a husband."

"Yes."

"And you thought kidnapping the first unlucky Omega you spotted was the answer?"

"No."

"Good. That would’ve been awkward."

"I chose someone from your family."

I frowned. "Blair, right?"

His expression remained neutral. "Originally."

There was that flicker of irritation again. Clearly, he had expected my delicate, beautiful, red-haired half-sister to enter the room. Instead, he got me.

The cake thief, the unwanted child.

I couldn’t decide if I should take offense or be impressed by the universe’s sense of humor.

"So what happened?"

"Your father."

I blinked. "What about him?"

"Most families would hesitate before allowing their Omega daughter...or son—to marry into mine."

"Because you’re a mafia Don?"

"Among other things."

"Fair enough."

"Your father didn’t hesitate."

I snorted. "Of course he didn’t."

Lorenzo studied me. "He only wanted to know how much he’d receive."

That made me laugh outright, I couldn’t help it. "That sounds just like him."

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