Page 65 of Knot My Type

"One of the things?" His eyes light with gentle teasing. "Just one?"

"Well, there's also your cooking, your ability to fix literally anything that breaks, the way you notice when someone needs comfort without them having to ask..." I trail off as he leans down to press a soft kiss to my forehead.

"I love you too," he murmurs against my skin. "All of you. Your fierce independence, your creative passion, the way you argue with Kael when he's being unreasonable, the way you make Rhys laugh until he snorts..."

"He doesn’t,” I protest, though I'm smiling.

"He really does snort. You just haven't noticed because you're usually laughing too hard yourself."

The image makes me grin, and I realize this is what I tried to explain to Rebecca—this easy intimacy, this sense of being known and appreciated for exactly who I am. Not some idealized version, not someone I'm pretending to be, but me in all my messy, complicated, imperfect glory.

"Is she going to visit?" Fen asks, settling into the chair beside me.

"She wants to. She says she needs to give you all the best friend inspection before she can approve of this relationship."

"That's fair," he says seriously. "We'd want to meet her too. Anyone important to you is important to us."

The simple acceptance in his voice makes my throat tight with emotion. After Marcus, who saw my friendship with Rebecca as competition for my attention, and David, who thought she was a bad influence, the idea of being with men who want to include the people I love feels revolutionary.

"She's worried I'm making a mistake," I continue. "That I'm being impulsive, that I haven't thought this through properly."

"Have you?" The question is gentle, curious rather than challenging. "Thought it through properly?"

I consider this, turning the question over in my mind like a stone I'm examining for flaws. "Not in the way she means. I haven't made pro and con lists or researched polyamorous relationship statistics or planned out every contingency. But I've thought about what makes me happy, what makes me feel alive, what kind of life I want to build. And every answer leads back to this, to you three, to the family we're creating together."

"That sounds pretty thorough to me," he says, his hand finding mine across the small table.

"Rebecca thinks I'm being ruled by emotion instead of logic."

"Maybe logic is overrated," Fen suggests. "Logic told me I'd never find an alpha who could accept having a beta as an equal partner. Logic told Kael he was too difficult to love. Logic told Rhys he was better off alone than risking getting hurt again. But here we are."

"Here we are," I agree, squeezing his hand.

We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the late afternoon light shift across the kitchen walls. Outside, I can hear the steady drip of melting snow, the distant sound of a car on the main road. Normal sounds of a world returning to normal after the storm. But nothing about this feels normal to me—it feels extraordinary, magical, like something I need to protect and nurture with everything I have.

"Your friend will come around," Fen says eventually. "Once she sees how happy you are, once she gets to know us, she'll understand."

"What if she doesn't?"

He's quiet for a moment, considering. "Then that will be hard, and I'm sorry. Losing people you care about because they can't accept your choices is one of the most painful things in the world. But you can't live your life trying to make other people comfortable with your happiness."

The words hit deep, settling into a place in my chest that's been tight with anxiety since my conversation with Rebecca. He's right, of course. I can't spend my life seeking approval for every choice, especially not choices this fundamental to who I am and what I want.

"Besides," Fen continues with a small smile, "she'd have to be pretty stubborn to resist Rhys's charm, Kael's cooking, and my devastating good looks."

I laugh despite myself, the tension in my chest easing. "Your devastating good looks?"

"You wound me," he says with mock hurt. "Here I am, shirtless in golden afternoon light, and you question my devastating good looks? I may never recover from such a blow to my ego."

"Your ego seems pretty resilient," I point out, but I'm smiling as I say it.

"It has to be, living with two alphas who think they're God's gift to the universe."

As if summoned by the comment, Kael's voice carries down from upstairs. "Eliana? Where'd you go, sweetheart?"

The endearment sends warmth spiraling through me, just as it has every time he's used it over the past weeks. Such a simple word, but weighted with affection and possession in a way that makes me feel cherished rather than owned.

"Kitchen," I call back, and within moments I can hear the heavy tread of footsteps on the stairs.

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