Before (The Sensitives) - By Dawn Rae Miller Page 0,3

the room. My insides churn with each step. I know I should be better at this type of thing, but the thought of everyone watching me makes me want to run from the room.

When we’re nearly to the end of the row, I stop short and double check our table assignment on my wristlet. Table Ten. Which is…shoved into the corner, away from the other guests, except for the unfortunate few who have also been condemned here. My frozen smile melts off my lips as soon as I turn my back to the room. When my eyes meet Beck’s, my lip trembles.

Perhaps Mother knows how much I hate being in public? Or is she simply so embarrassed by my social ineptness that she wants to hide me in a corner?

Beck releases my arm and flashes his dazzling smile to our tablemates.

“Good evening,” he says, using formal State speech. “I’m Beck Channing.”

Silence.

A mousy women with a pinched expression turns to the person next to her and says, “What a beautiful ceremony. Malin must be so proud, and Callum thrilled, to have Annalise join their family.”

My mouth drops open. What in the world? Does she not recognize us?

“Excuse me.” Despite the twinges of anger boiling in me, my voice is calm. “I’m Lark Greene and this Beck Channing, my birth-mate.”

Normally, when people hear our names, they light up. It’s embarrassing, actually. But not this woman.

“Lark,” she says coolly. “How nice of you to attend your brother’s binding.”

She scowls in Beck’s direction, but either he doesn’t notice or he’s too polite to comment because he holds out my chair and doesn’t acknowledge her rudeness. However, when my shoulder brushes his arm, he leans down so that his mouth is millimeters from my ear.

“We could leave.”

I shake my head. As much as I want to, we both know we can’t.

#

“When you greet Malin, keep your chin up. Don’t look at your shoes.” Bethina stood across from me, back stiff and straight, pretending to be my mother. “And do not touch your lips.”

I dropped my hand to my side and rolled my shoulders back.

“Like this?” I asked, hoping I looked more refined and less like a hopeless schoolgirl. I cleared my throat and spoke the words I’d been practicing for the past hour. “Mother, it’s a pleasure to see you this evening.”

“Not bad, Lark. I could actually hear you that time,” Beck said from the other side of the room. “She’s doing better, isn’t she, B?”

Bethina clucked her tongue. “Better, but she still has a long way to go.”

With a sigh, I stretched my spine and imagined a string pulling me nice and straight. Proper, like a real Stateswoman. I held out my arm, wrist side up, to Bethina and tried again.

“Mother, it’s a pleasure to see you this evening.” My clear voice didn’t shake or fade, and I beamed.

“Much better.” Bethina grasped my arm in greeting. “I knew you could do it. A binding is nothing to be frightened of. It’ll be just like any other State function you and Beck have been to.”

I wanted to believe her, but Bethina left out one important detail: my mother. I’d never attended an event where I had to interact with her.

“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands. “Time for the two of you to finish your schoolwork.” She paused at the door. “And don’t be late for dinner.”

“I’m never late for food,” Beck called after her.

I turned on my brother’s binding invitation. Since it arrived, I’d watched it at least thirty times. Or more. And each time, bile rose in my throat as I envisioned having to stand in a receiving line with my mother, brother, and his new mate and make small talk with strangers.

“Watching it again?” Beck asked.

“It’s pretty,” I said, flicking the invitation off.

Beck laid his tablet on top of a pile of dirty clothes covering his desk and studied me with his head inclined to the left.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“No.” I attempted a confident smile. But lying was silly. Of course I was nervous. That’s why I asked Bethina to practice with me. It’s why I couldn’t stop watching the invitation. And Beck knew it.

He crossed the room to where I stood and took both my hands in his. “We could refuse to go.”

Bethina had said the same thing to me earlier in the day. “Ping Malin and say that you’re unable to attend. Problem solved.”

But no matter how tempting it was to do just that, I couldn’t bring myself to actually ping