Accidental Surrogate

Ella

I’ve been avidly watching the clock ever since returning home. Neither Hugo nor any of the guards said a word about my absence, but they did immediately take the grocery bags from my arms, insisting I shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting. I came straight to the kitchen afterwards, hoping that I might be able to finish my surprise before Sinclair comes home, and thereby counteract some of his displeasure that I snuck out.

In my defense it wasn’t really sneaking. Sure, I waited until the guards were distracted just in case they tried to stop me leaving, but no one ever told me I wasn’t allowed to do so. In fact Sinclair told me I was free to go where I wish… though in hindsight I imagine the Alpha wouldn’t like it if he came home and no one knew where I was – especially after the hospital yesterday.

I try to focus on baking rather than the scolding I’ve surely got coming from Sinclair. I’m really not sure how to handle the situation. It feels entirely unfair that I could be in trouble for breaking rules I didn’t know existed, but I’m afraid of angering Sinclair further by expressing my true feelings.

I’m starting to feel completely bipolar in this arrangement of ours. I’m perpetually afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing and provoking Sinclair’s temper, but I’m not used to censoring myself this way. Eventually the truth inevitably slips out and then I worry I’ve ruined everything. So I try to reverse course and do damage control, and probably come off like I’ve got split personalities.

I don’t know what to do. I know I should try to keep Sinclair happy so that I have the best possible chance to stay with my baby, but I don’t know how long I can keep this up. I also don’t know what to make of Sinclair in the first place. He’s the most confusing man I’ve ever encountered. I don’t even recognize myself around him. Once moment he’s turning me on, making me feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my entire life, and doing sweet selfless things like helping Cora – and the next he’s stomping around like a tyrant and ordering me about.

I’ve just finished mixing the wet and dry ingredients together in a big silver bowl when the door clicks open behind me, and Sinclair’s familiar scent fills the room. Uh-oh, here we go.

When I turn around, I find him framed in the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest, and a thunderous expression on his face.

“Welcome home?” I greet him weakly, that statement sounding more like a question than anything else.

Sinclair’s emerald eyes begin to glow as he studies me, raking his gaze over my body from head to foot and making me positively squirm. “What do you have to say for yourself, Ella?”

“I’m making you a surprise,” I explain, realizing telling him sort of defeats the point. “Or I was – to thank you for your help with Mike.”

“You didn’t tell

feebly. “I went to

the hospital yesterday.” Sinclair rumbles, as if I could forget. “You shouldn’t be lugging around groceries or

you never told me that I needed to take guards with me if I went out, or that I had to run my plans by you first.” I counter,

has been lately, and you know I don’t go anywhere without guards – and I’m a lot bigger and stronger than you are. What if something had happened– we wouldn’t have known where to

for you!” I exclaim, fighting

Sinclair scoffs. “No one is saying you’re a prisoner. But you are a public figure now, and you’re in delicate condition. We’re talking about taking basic precautions and keeping me in the loop. I need

bags of sugar is hardly a risk to my health!” I argue, smothering a few extra choice words. “I’m not so delicate that I need a constant babysitter. You forget that I was on my own for 30 years before you came along and I did just

so fine that a bottom dwelling asshole bankrupted and betrayed

thick with emotion. “Don’t blame me

like him in the human world, you’re five

I demand. “How am I suppose to

your own safety!” Sinclair grits

my question.” I remark, narrowing

recovered! I thought you

to set foot outside the house!” I cry, “I don’t

trust other people.” Sinclair corrects me, cutting to the quick. “You feel safer doing everything for yourself, and you don’t know how to ask anyone else for help – let alone believe they’ll come through for

to figure that out. He isn’t wrong – I’ve always preferred to do everything myself, because I learned the hard way that I’m the only person I can rely on when push comes to shove. But I’ve never told him this – I’ve never