Real by Amy Bellows
H
Staying low profile while finding some clothing for Buddy requires a bit of strategy. I choose a strip mall close to the cliffs because this is an expensive area mostly populated by ice dragon shifters, and I figure the shops won’t be overly crowded. I have some savings I can put toward clothing for Buddy. Not just an outfit for court, but also pajamas, underwear, and some comfortable clothes that fit him better than his oversized hoodie.
He wrings his hands on the drive to the strip mall. I don’t know if he’s ever been out in public before. He seems to relax when I put my hand on his knee, so I keep it there.
“We’re just going to go in, try on some clothes, buy a few things, then walk out. That’s all,” I say as I park in front of a clothing store that has a high-end spa to the right and a custom jewelry shop to the left. Ice dragon shifters are so high maintenance.
“How will I know what to try on?” Buddy asks.
I climb out of the car and walk around to the passenger side to open his door. “You can try on anything you like.”
“What if I don’t know what I like?”
“What did you wear when you lived at Dorian’s house?”
“I was supposed to stay in my closet when Dorian was home. I didn’t need clothes.”
The idea of Buddy hunched in a closet, naked and lonely, makes me want to hold him in my arms all over again.
“Well, you need clothes now. C’mon, let’s go look around.” I hold out my hand to Buddy. He slips his silicone fingers in mine and pulls himself up. I’m surprised by his weight. If I didn’t know better, I’d think his body was made of flesh and bone.
He pushes the car door shut, pausing to make sure it closes completely. “I don’t have money. Don’t you need money at stores?”
“I have money.”
He scrunches his shoulders together. “But we’re buying clothes for me.”
“I’ll buy them for you,” I assure him.
“Why? I don’t know how to make money. I can’t pay you back.”
I could tell him I’m buying him clothes because it’s my job. That’s partially true. He needs clothing for court tomorrow, and Steppe asked me to buy it for him. But that isn’t why I’m spending my own money so Buddy can get something more than the cheap button-up shirt and slacks Steppe intended for him.
“Because I like you, Buddy.”
The smile he tries to hold back makes my heart grow three sizes. He continues to grip my hand as we walk across the parking lot to the glass door of the shop. A young, blonde omega woman in a pencil skirt and cardigan waves at us from the cash register. She does a double take when her gaze falls on Buddy.
Buddy inches closer to me. “Maybe we should go.”
If Buddy has to prove to the judge he’s human, asking this woman to treat him like he’s one is a good start. “You have every right to be here. Go on, look at the clothes. Pick out some things to try on.”
He glances at the woman again before turning his attention to the display of button-up shirts and jeans at the center of the store.
“That shirt has a crane on it,” he says, pointing to a light blue shirt with a navy-blue crane on the breast pocket.
“Do you like cranes?”
He bobs his head up and down. “Candlewick showed me lots of YouTube videos of cranes. He says they’re a classy version of a flamingo.”
I laugh. The more Buddy talks about Candlewick, the more I like him.
I grab one of the smaller sizes of the shirt and hold it up to him. It’s impossible to know if it will fit while he’s wearing that damn hoodie. “Want to try it on?”
He looks over at the cashier. “Will she let me? There are probably lots of people who want that shirt. It’s a great shirt.”
I hold back another laugh. “There aren’t any people competing for it right now. Let’s go to the dressing room.”
Along the back wall of the shop are four dressing rooms that are wide open. Buddy is still clutching my hand, so I guide him back there and hold out the shirt to him.
He releases my hand and takes the hanger from me. I almost ask if he wants me to come in with him, but that wouldn’t be appropriate. He steps into the dressing room by himself and closes the door as carefully as he shut the passenger door of the car.
I don’t think he ever left Dorian’s house. How long was he trapped there?
While Buddy changes, I pull out my phone. There aren’t any missed calls or text messages. But there is an email from Vicki, Felicity’s paralegal. It includes a link to an article in Forbes entitled, “Forget finding a mate, Dorian Gray intends to make one.”
The article has a huge picture of a devastatingly handsome man with the same blue eyes as Buddy and brown hair of the same shade. In fact, this man is eerily similar to Buddy in a lot of ways—his angled bone structure, his sharp nose. The main difference is that Buddy is smaller.
Dorian Gray, the heir to his alpha father’s Tobacco empire, announced today that he won’t be taking a mate through this year’s burrowing season, despite turning thirty last spring. Fox shifters rarely wait past the age of twenty-five before starting the process of finding a mate, but Gray claimed there weren’t any omega fox shifters who interested him.
“I don’t want to settle for less than I deserve,” he said in an interview last Monday. “Instead of trying to find the perfect mate, I’ve hired a warlock to make one for me. Then I can get exactly what I want.”
When asked what kind of price a spell like that would have, he said he wasn’t concerned.
“Bringing life to my mate might cost me a few years of my own, but who wants to get old anyway? Once I start pissing myself and losing my teeth, what’s the point of living?”
An anonymous warlock told us a spell like the one Dorian wants will likely cost him at least twenty years. And that doesn’t include the monetary price for the spell casting. A large portion of Gray’s fortune will likely go to the warlock who has agreed to attempt such a controversial spell.
“Any alpha who can afford it will be creating their own mates after this. You’ll see,” Gray said. “It’s impossible to find an omega who’s pure and sweet these days.”
Dorian’s omega father declined to comment.
My stomach roils. The article is twenty years old. Either it took the warlock a long time to create Buddy, or he’s been hiding in Dorian Gray’s closet for twenty years.
Either way, Buddy isn’t just an echo of someone Gray was mourning. He’s a new person.
I knew it.
The door to the dressing room swings open. Buddy stands there, the button-up shirt hugging his slim frame. Other than the seam along his neck, he almost looks human. His skin seems more textured than before, and his lips are wet.
In this moment, I can see why a man like Dorian Gray would give anything for Buddy. He’s beautiful.
He lowers his chin. “Is it okay?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. You’re just… a very attractive man.”
Buddy’s lips quirk up. “Do you really think so?”
I nod. Buddy should know that about himself, shouldn’t he? Even if it isn’t appropriate for me to say it.
Buddy spins around to look at himself in the mirror. For a moment, I swear the seam at the top of his neck fades. But I must be seeing things because it pops back into focus the second a female voice says, “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
It’s the cashier.
“Do you sell socks and underwear?” I ask.
“Of course. Let me go grab you a few styles to choose from. Will these be for you or your… robot?”
“My friend,” I correct. “And yes, the socks and underwear are for him.”
“Ah, very well. I’ll be back shortly.”
Buddy watches her as she walks away. What would it feel like to have a body that made everyone assume you were a machine or doll? I look down at the round stomach I’ve always hated so much. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so bad.
“What is this?” Buddy asks, holding up his sleeve where the tag is dangling. The shirt is two hundred dollars.
I rip the tag off anyway. After living with Dorian Gray for two decades, Buddy deserves to be spoiled a little bit.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Let’s go find you some shoes and pants that fit.”