Page 43 of Knot All that Glitters: Part 1

His frown deepens, and he wipes his hand over his face. “Jesus, you can’t even recognize it.” He reaches out and tugs on the string of the hoodie I’m wearing.Creed’shoodie.

I can’t. But now that he’s pointed it out, I can see it. All those times they kiss or cuddle me, I kiss and cuddle right back. I’ve started stealing their clothes to be wrapped in their scent. I may or may not have nestled some of those same articles of clothing around my pillows in the guest room, so I can smell them when I sleep.

If one of the alphas gets even remotely upset, I feel the urge to go to them, to soothe them, just like I had with Jude moments ago.

“Why do you hide it in public, button?”

I want to tell him. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue. All I need to do is part my lips and say it. ‘My father barked me into it.’ But as soon as I even think of doing that, giving away his biggest secret, a sharp stab of pain hits behind my eyes.

I lift a trembling hand to pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to ease the pain, but it does nothing. The only thing that will help is not following this line of thought.Lying. I have to lie to Jude. And I really, really don’t want to.

“Haven?” he sounds worried. Hands cup my cheeks, turning my face toward him. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

I shake my head and give him a wobbly smile. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re literally shaking right now.”

“I pretend in public because I believe in what he’s doing.” The words leave me in a rush and the pain in my head eases. Jude stops tilting my head this way and that, the tips of his fingers tightening.

“Look at me, button.”

My eyes open, but I can’t do more than a squint, because there’s still a dull ache in my brain. His pretty green eyes run over me, fingers stroking my cheeks. “You don’t believe in what he’s doing.”

“Don’t you?” I shoot back. “You’re at every one of his rallies and fundraisers, Jude. Why would that be if you don’t support his policies?”

His jaw tenses for a moment, and then he sighs. “We have our reasons, Haven.”

“And I have mine.” It’s just that my reason is that I literally don’t have a choice, and they absolutely do. Still, everything they’ve shown me in the last three days tells me they don’t actually believe what my father preaches. I sigh and grip his wrists before tilting my head to kiss each of his palms. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

He arches a brow, and his lips twitch. “We aren’t fighting.”

I blow out a breath and slump into him, forehead pressing into his chest. Jude doesn’t hesitate to wrap me in his arms and tug me onto his lap. We sit there for the longest time, his lips pressed into my hair until eventually he says, “So dinner?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have said yes. But I really wanted to. As soon as the words left my mouth, that dull ache behind my eyes intensified, and I had to run upstairs to take far more pain killers than is recommended, just so I could follow through on dinner.

I’d expected them to take me somewhere fancy and had been prepared to change into a dress and heels, but Creed had taken one look at me in leggings and his hoodie and said I looked good. Hale had confirmed there was no reason for me to change.

Now I understand why. They brought me to a little pizza place.

Literally, the tiniest little hole in the wall restaurant I’ve ever seen. The four alphas with me only make it seem all that much smaller.

Still, we’re ushered to a table near the back, away from the windows, and Jude is sure to position me facing away from them, so anyone passing by won’t have a clue who I am. Though, with my hair in a messy top knot and wearing a hoodie three sizes too large for me, I doubt many people will recognize me.

“What do you want, angel?” Tic asks, opening his menu.

I shift in my seat, still looking around the adorable little place. I’ll have to bring Ren and her family here the next time I get the chance. Ginny will love it. “Haven?”

I blink back to the table to find them all looking at me expectantly. “What? Oh. Hmm, I’m not picky. I’ll eat anything.”

It’s the truth, but they all laugh. “Right. Because omegas are notoriously not picky.” Omegas are notoriously picky. They like what they like and if they don’t get it, they throw temper tantrums or pout.

I don’t have that luxury.

I shrug. “What do you want me to say? I go to a lot of dinners with my father and it’s not as if he’ll allow me to send back something I don’t like. If I don’t eat what’s put in front of me, I don’t eat at all.”

I don’t even notice anymore. Food isn’t something I get pleasure out of. It hasn’t been for a long time.

I don’t know why that seems to bother them—as far as I know, that’s a pretty typical parenting tactic—but it does. Creed leans across the table. “What kind of pizza do you like, baby girl?”

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