Chapter 181

Almara’s Pov

One year exactly has passed since Arthur, Grace, and I moved in with my parents. They have been generous enough to not once ask when we were leaving, to be honest I think they like having the extra company. As long as we keep working and show we’re contributing then they’re happy.

We’ve even worked out a schedule where they watch Grace as I still go to work at the diner and Arthur goes to work at the training center.

The horribleness and initial shock of readjusting to this common-wolf lifestyle did eventually get easier. Though the latest sting is the realization that adjusting to a normal life style only got easier because the public doesn’t care about the Hurricane Pack as much.

Our publicists says this isn’t a bad thing, it means people may no longer regard the orphanage situation anymore, especially now that a brand new one that is much nicer and kid-friendly has been built, with of course a plaque to commiserate the Covington’s for their generous donation.

Still, one measly plaque of a good deed isn’t enough to put us at the status we once were. I mean we’re still the Alpha’s, but the respectable fear that would size a room full of people whenever any of us walked in has dissipated.

Customers at the diner would openly gawk when I started to wait tables again, now I might catch someone in a passing whisper asking if I was the Luna or if I merely looked like her. Sometimes the responses would have me stifle a laugh. No man, the Luna is way hotter than our waitress.

Arthur on the other hand, who I thought no longer noticed the stares and captivated attention of passengers whenever he walked down the street took immediate concern when no one batted an eye in his direction.

Our phones rang less and less, our inboxes are nothing but junk as opposed to the usual long list of interviewers begging for a mere five-minute conversation. Ads and commercials have been filled with once B-lister celebrities. Followings on social media have dropped as have the interactions.

The world simply kept spinning while the Hurricane family became frozen in time as the once leaders of the world and thawed to be only commoners.

When Arthur and Roman gave their promise to spend more time in the physical presence of lower packs and not live as highly as they always have, I expected it to last a month at most. I don’t think any of us expected for it to really be pulled off.

Unfortunately, as the funds kept running dry then the easier or rather more necessary it became to keep a low profile. The last thing remaining that sets us apart is the mansion that Roman and Elenor have managed to keep.

Little does the public know that the mansion is merely a skeleton. Roman and Elenor had to sell half of their possessions just to maintain mortgage payments. Arthur and I have gone back to visit once and I kept my mouth shut, even if Lily kept running hers in my head, but the house looked ridiculous.

So much empty space and only two wolves living in it. Arthur was quiet on the car ride back to my parents. I thought he was sad about seeing all the things he had since he was a child no longer part of his home but he said that wasn’t it.

He said that with all the items removed, he saw the house for the first time, for what it is- a hollow graveyard. Even with the mansion filled to the brim with riches, it was all merely a distraction preventing those living inside from seeing how empty they really are on the inside.

So, life hasn’t been all bad. One of the unexpected positives that came from all of this is I am learning new sides of Arthur I never knew were there. I suppose Arthur is too. Without the constant attention, fame, or money Arthur has discovered a lot about who he is.

For instance, Arthur is really good with tools. Maybe this goes without saying, but he looks really good holding tools too. He and my father are building a treehouse for Grace, even though she’s only almost three she’s basically at a five-year-old’s level.

That’s the other thing, my parents have fallen in love with Arthur all over again, because well how couldn’t they?

It’s summertime, mid-June. There’s a few weeks left before the heat becomes unbearable and I’m trying to enjoy every minute of nice summer afternoons while we can.

I’m sitting on a old-worn picnic blanket with a glass of lemonade that Grace and I are sharing. Arthur and my father are hammering away at the tree house.

“How’s it going?” I ask Arthur as he climbs down the ladder. His face is stricken with irritability.

“I got sap on my Persian dry-clean only shirt,” Arthur says wiping sweat from his brow. I give him a funny look. Sometimes he still falls into his old-self of complaining about rich-wolve problems. I want to ask him why he’s wearing such a fancy shirt while building a treehouse anyway, but I digress.

One thing I’ve learned about Arthur is that just because is isn’t rich doesn’t mean he can’t try to look it. Even if it’s just while in our backyard hammering a tree. I move the subject along.

“Another one of my paintings sold.” I say and instantly his face lifts to a sunny smile almost as dazzling as the sun.

“Congratulations little artist wolf.” Arthur says.

“It’s the biggest sale yet.” I say, enticing him even further.

“Oh yeah? How much?” Arthur asks raising his brows.

“$3,000.” I say laughing at the memory of that number. The first painting we tried to sell for that much to cover the cost of the damage done at the Art Tree Supply store went semi-viral only as a laughing stock at how much I was asking for.

I didn’t let Arthur hear the end of that for a while. In his defense, we were pretty drunk when we thought I could sell one painting for that much, being a nobody really in the artist world. Unfortunately, we had to sell seven of my paintings to be able to pay off our damage.

But now, I don’t want to jinx anything, but this is a really good sign.

“No way!” Arthur beams.

“What is it?” My father calls from behind a thick branch.

“Almara sold a painting for three grand!” Arthur shouts back, pure joy emitting from his entire being

“That’s my girl!” my father says. “Cheers!” He holds up his hammer and I raise up my lemonade.

“Cheers!” Grace replies with a big smile. I scoop her up and kiss her on the head. Okay, maybe it’s really good.

“Do you think you can quit your job at the diner now?” Arthur says referring back to our conversation that night on the porch a year ago while taking a sip of my lemonade. I laugh.

“Here’s to hoping.” The truth is, my last few paintings have been selling really well. I’ve been using this time of change and adjustment to be my muse and I think wolves are feeding into that energy.

With the Hurricane Pack out of the constant spotlight, it’s been a change for everyone whether they realize it or not.

If I can sell a few more of what I have and make some new paintings that I’ve been crafting in my mind at this current rate then we’ll really be heading back to where we were. Just then that realization hits me like a bag of bricks. Do I really want to back to our hectic famous lifestyle?