Isabel's Choice

Chapter 25 - Isabel

Even with the other females helping me, the workload was overwhelming. Nura kept saying it was due to my perfectionism and micromanaging nature. That, had I just let the four of them do their jobs and focused on my part only, everyone's lives would be much easier.

I was ashamed to explain to her that I was by far not a perfectionist.

Before Owen brought me here, I was dreamy and - if I was to listen to my military dad Scott - a bit messy. The former Alpha had however bitten these two qualities out of me. I had a hard time imagining that the new one would be pleased with me slacking off on my duties.

And so I did double the work, reviewing their activities thoroughly and systematically, in the same way I still controlled the kitchen and cleaning staff.

For some weeks I even wrote careful protocols documenting my work. I left those on the Alpha's desk with a note for him to approve them.

I found them back on my own desk, with a note that said "not reviewing this", completed with the caricature of a grinning wolf.

Willow kept saying that I should stop doing that. After all, Lars praised my work at every chance he got, and he seemed satisfied with our support to the pack.

But ironically, as much as I hated Owen's check marks on the corner of my menus, I was now craving some written, tangible confirmation of the Alpha's blessing. Something that I could take out of my drawer at night when the panic washed over me. Something that I could stare at until my nervous system understood that there are no consequences to be feared, that my output was satisfactory. Something that I could defiantly wave in the face of the anxiety overlords.

***

Today this needs to end.

I am marching to his office, because  this morning I found the report about the schools unsigned, with a note that said "expecting a verbal update, as agreed" and a winking wolf face.

A hesitant invitation to enter follows my knock. It takes me a moment to recognize the Alpha who is sitting on a chair in the middle of his office, the floor around him littered with shiny dark curls. Eino stops the trimmer with which he was doing finishing touches on his brother's skull, and both males give me a guilty look.

I don't know what I hate more. The regret that darkens my core because I never got to wrap one of those curls around my finger like Lars does when he's focusing, or on the mess on the floor. Five bathrooms in this house and they decided to play hairdresser in the office.

"But he's still handsome," Willow swoons.

"He's ...bald!!" I hold back a loud sigh and ask the two what is going on.

"I am not Land Core anymore, so I thought I would adopt the local look."

Lars's palms give a quick demonstrative rub to his awfully short buzzcut. The gesture reminds me so painfully of his predecessor that my throat closes, and I turn on my heels, muttering that I'll come back later. Maybe in two months, when his hair grows back.

I leave his office with my carefully color-coded papers still unsigned. They are now scattered on the floor of the bathroom in which I am furiously washing my hands, cursing for not being able to stop, cursing that I'll have to hear Eino making fun of my raccoon habits again, cursing and crying over the fact that Lars looks now like a darker, larger version of Owen.

I barely hear Nura's voice asking me if I am ok.

"I am fine," I lie, looking at the water which it's flowing in pink waves down the drain.