Chapter 180

Almara’s Pov

“How was the interview?” Arthur asks when he returns home from work. His black fitted training tee hugs his muscles perfectly. I’m sitting on the front porch of my parents' house with a glass of cheap wine. Grace is asleep and my parents are out with some friends.

Until Arthur walked up the driveway, the view was mediocre compared to our view back at his parents' house. Over there are rolling hills, dazzling stars, and woods peaking out in the distance.

Here is a neighborhood where the houses are piled too closely together like each one is trying to not get trampled and stand taller than the one next to it, blocking the view of the sky.

Growing up I always appreciated the pack-like feel, but now that I’ve had a taste of open field it’s hard going back. I take a long sip of my wine and force myself to swallow. I’m a little tipsy by now and still the flavor is just as bad.

“About as good as this wine.” I say tilting the glass and letting some of the liquid spill out onto the rotting deck.

“Why? What happened?” Arthur asks, setting his gym bag down and sitting beside me on the empty black rocking chair.

“Grace got sick all over one of the paintings there.” I set the glass down and rubbed my shoulders in a comforting hug. “Apparently, they were going to sell it for $3,000 and she asked us to pay for it.”

Arthur takes my wine glass and drains the contents. “What did you tell her?” He asks, almost sounding too afraid to want to know the answer.

“I told her I would work for free until the painting was paid off.” I say with a shrug. “She’s considering it, but Grace isn’t allowed back.” Arthur raises his eyebrows.

“She’s a kid, kids get sick,” Arthur says matching my disbelief at the woman’s pretentiousness.

“Artists,” I say with a mocking laugh. “If I can’t bring Grace, then I don’t know if I’ll even be able to work there.” Which means I’m stuck at the diner.

“Do you think we could just pay her outright?” I ask and hold my breath as I wait for his reply. Arthur sighs.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” He says in a quiet voice. I’m a bit surprised, usually it’s me who has to reign Arthur in and forgo the typical Hurricane Pack way.

“I know it goes against our vow the common packs to be one of them, but I don’t see how else-”

“No, I mean I don’t know if we have the money.” He says, each word harder and hard for him to speak out loud.

“What?” Is all I can manage to say. “I know your company has been taking hits from wolves going on strike and boycotting and all that, but Arthur you have billions of dollars. How does that just all disappear?” I ask not being able to comprehend any of this.

Arthur clutches the glass in his hands so tightly I worry it’s going to shatter any second.

“My father called me this morning. It started with the boycotting which spread to other countries so that was a major loss. Many of our investors cut ties and we had to pay them out. The donation we made to the charity came out, not to mention other fees paid to PR reps for damage control.”

Arthur continues on list off expense after expense, but the words all become jumbled to me as one resounding message becomes crystal clear. We’re broke.

I put my hand on Arthur’s wrist, he stops talking. A cloud has passed revealing the glowing moon which now shines on Arthur’s face revealing tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “For rich or for poor.” I remind him of our vows.

Arthur wanted me when I was literally a nobody, what kind of mate would I be if I decided to leave him now that he has no money. I suddenly am hit with a wave of guilt for complaining about having to keep working at the diner.

Sure, the job absolutely sucks but it isn’t anything I haven’t handled for years. Meanwhile, Arthur just got dropped flat on his face from everything the world beneath him kicked out from under him. Not once has he even complained about going to some musty gym and training wolves.

“I’m going to get more wine and we’re going to brainstorm on how we’re going to come up with $3,000.” I tell him.

Maybe more wine isn’t the best idea right now considering I have to be at the diner stupid early tomorrow, but after the day we’ve both had- I’m over it.

I return with a fresh bottle of some red wine with a name I can’t pronounce and the description of the flavor has far too many adjectives that all seem like they contradict one another, but the alcohol content is high so it’ll do.

The night has cooled, but the wine keeps us warm. And after the first glass, Arthur went inside to grab us a blanket which he has wrapped around our shoulders with me curled on his lap. Our sour cherry breath mingles with the night air.

“I have an idea.” Arthur says and I wonder if he slurred. “I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”

“Well, I can’t feel much of anything right now.” I tell him with a lazy smile that I quite literally cannot feel spread across my face.

“What if we sold some of your paintings.” He suggests, tipping his glass back. My smile falls.

“No way.” I say shaking my head. “New idea, next. Please and thank you.”

“C’mon you could easily sell one of your paintings for $3,000.” Arthur insists. I throw my head back and laugh.

“Thanks. I needed that.”

“I mean it. You have some serious talent. I think you’re just selfish and don’t want to share your work.” Arthur says poking a playful finger into my side.

“That is not true,” I say and try to search my heart for a legitimate reason why I don’t want to sell my paintings. “It’s kind of dumb, but each one is special to me. I don’t know if I can part without it.” I say feeling sentimental tears swell behind my eyes. If I wasn’t drunk there’d be no way I’d admit this.

When I look at Arthur he has a deadpan stare, making it abundantly obvious he is not feeling the same way I am. “Almara, little wolf. I love you truly I do, but you might have to take one for the team here.”

I pretend to be overly offended at his very direct speech, but I know he’s probably right. “Still, $3,000? There’s no way.” Arthur tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, only then can I feel how cold his fingers are.

“Just list it for that much and if it doesn’t sell, which it will, but if it doesn’t then lower the price.” He says making the whole ordeal sound very simple, which maybe it is. Maybe I’m the one making it complicated with my sentimental emotions.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.” I admit.

“No, it won’t,” Arthur says, sounding proud that he is getting his way, of course. I roll my eyes.

“But, I won’t be quitting my job at the diner any time soon.”