It took me a minute to understand what was happening. The only woman I'd been near that night was the stranger in the restroom. So, if I smelled like Lydia, it must have been her. No wonder she seemed so mysterious and sad. I felt immensely for her. I know what it's like to try for years to get pregnant with a partner, only to have them succeed with someone else.

Of course, Sinclair hadn't done to her what Mike had done to me; they'd struggled together. But it must still hurt. In fact, my pregnancy probably proves their conception problems were hers, which is devastating for any hopeful mother.

"There was a woman in the restroom," I told Sinclair hesitantly. "She helped me, held back my hair."

"What did she look like?" he demanded urgently.

"Dark hair, blue eyes, tall and willowy." In fact, she was my opposite in almost every way, down to her perfectly manicured nails and designer shoes.

Before I could say more, Sinclair disappeared into the crowd, scanning the feast for signs of his ex. My heart plummeted. I couldn't believe how painful it was to see him running after her, obviously desperate to find her. One mention of Lydia, and I might as well not exist. I felt like crumpling, though I had no right to feel jilted. I'd known the situation from the beginning—Sinclair never pretended otherwise. So why did it hurt so much?

"You should get off your feet," Henry said kindly, urging me to sit. "You still look very pale." I obeyed, unsure how much longer my legs would support me. Sinclair was out of sight, no doubt chasing his true mate to convince her to return. I couldn't conjure up any words or coherent thoughts; I was slowly being crushed by my disappointment. I cursed myself for being so silly, for getting my hopes up when I knew better. It was obvious now that I'd been lying to myself about my feelings for Sinclair, or this wouldn't be so agonizing. At the same time, it was irrefutable proof that I was right not to get involved with him. I was right to try to protect myself—even though I failed. I can't imagine how much worse this would be if I'd actually started a relationship with him.

"Stop this," the little voice in my head scolded. "You're overreacting. He just went after her; you have no idea what he's thinking. You're assuming the worst because you expect to be let down."

"I expect it with good reason," I replied bitterly. "I learned the hard way, remember?"

"Sinclair is different," she insisted. "He's special, and he cares about you."

"He cares about the pup," I corrected. "He's protective of me for its sake, and he might be grateful to me for carrying it, but I'll never be a she-wolf. I'll never be in his league, and we both know it."

"That's your insecurity talking, not your brain. Think of the way he compliments you! You're more than just a surrogate to him," she pressed.

"And the moment I deliver this baby, I guarantee I'll cease to warrant his attention," I predicted grimly. "Just you wait and see."

Before my conscience could reply, there was movement in my periphery, and a new voice joined the conversation.

"I tried to warn you," Roger appeared as if from nowhere, but he obviously saw what happened. "I told you she would always come first to Dominic."

"Roger, that isn't fair," Henry rumbled beside me, giving his eldest son a disapproving glare.

"Oh hello, Father," Roger quipped, turning his attention to the former Alpha. "It's been too long—I'm surprised you still remember my name."

"That's your own doing," Henry answered fiercely. "I still call you every week, though you never pick up the phone. I'd be thrilled to see you anytime you like."

I felt a rush of sympathy for Sinclair's father. I might not be a parent yet, but I know I already love my baby more than I thought possible. I hate to think of how badly being rejected by him would sting—no matter how old he gets. Most parents would probably give up after a while, to save themselves the pain, if nothing else. It speaks volumes that Henry has never stopped trying to be in his son's life, and I'm glad that Sinclair learned how to be a father from him. I might never have my feelings for Sinclair returned, but I know my baby will always have his father's love and protection. That's certainly more than I could have said for Mike, and more than many women get from their partners.

However, Roger clearly didn't feel any gratitude for his father's dedication. Instead, he turned up his nose in disgust. "You clearly let that injury steal your dignity as well as your mobility. No true Alpha would shamelessly chase after someone who clearly didn't want to be around them."

"No true father would let a bitter child push him away without a fight either," Henry growled back, showing a glimmer of his former strength. "Like it or not, I will always be there for you—even and especially when you don't want me to be."

"That's called smothering," Roger complained, curling his lip.

"It's called parenting," Henry countered coolly. "And if I didn't teach you that well enough, then I'm relieved you don't have pups of your own."

"Please don't fight," I cut in. I hate disagreements, especially between men. That's another lesson I learned the hard way—men are dangerous when they lose their tempers. In fact, it's amazing that I'm not more frightened of Sinclair's temper, given how intimidating he is. Maybe it's because he's always so in control, but somehow I know in my heart that he wouldn't ever raise a hand against me. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I can't recall ever trusting anyone the way I trust Sinclair. That must be the pup's influence, too; he's bonded with Sinclair and knows he isn't a threat, so I don't fear him either.

"I'm sorry, Ella," Henry said swiftly. "You're right; it's the holidays; we shouldn't be arguing like this, especially not in front of you."

"I'm sorry, too," Roger conceded, though he didn't sound it. "I simply thought you might need a friendly ear, what with Dom taking off on you."

"He didn't take off; he simply went to investigate," Henry sighed, sounding as though he'd like to scold his son further and was holding back for my sake.

"Investigate what?" Roger scoffed. "He knows it was Lydia in the restroom with Ella, and he knows she wouldn't be here if she wasn't still interested in him. If he went after her, it's because he wants to see her. He chose her over Ella, just like he always will."

Henry, who didn't have the slightest clue that Dominic and I weren't really mates, looked outraged on my behalf. "Why in the Goddess's name would you say such a thing?"

"Because it's true," Roger stated simply. "I'm not going to lie to Ella like the rest of you. Dominic and Lydia are fated; their bond is more powerful than anything they'll ever share with another."

Henry shook his head. "Then why did she leave? Why did Dominic let her go?"

"Because she thought he couldn't father pups, and he believed it, too. He wanted better for her, so he didn't go after her. But now it's clear he can father pups; they can try again," Roger surmised, gesturing to my middle.

"They weren't right for each other," Henry argued. "And though you don't want to hear it, she wasn't right for you either."

"We were in love—every bit as in love as Ella and Dominic—but as soon as their bond kicked in, none of that mattered," Roger reminded him. "The Goddess doesn't make mistakes."

I wanted to protest, to correct him and attest that Sinclair and I weren't in love, or tell Henry he didn't have to defend me. I wanted to scream that it was all a sham for the campaign—just to make them stop talking about it. It wasn't the disagreement I minded anymore; I just couldn't stand to be reminded of how little I meant to Sinclair.

I could see that Roger was biased, but I also felt for him. He lost his mother, grew up in his younger brother's shadow, and lost his birthright and chosen mate to him. He was clearly scarred by those experiences, and part of me agreed that Dominic shouldn't have gotten involved with his brother's ex—fated or not. Maybe Roger was trying to manipulate me, or maybe he really was trying to help—either way, he wasn't lying. Lydia and Sinclair were bonded in a way I would never be with any man—least of all the father of my child.

Before anyone could say another word, I turned and walked out.