Page 14 of Knot Ruined

Next, I find an eye mask, the fabric velvety beneath my fingertips, lined with something soft and cooling. Then, a set of jade facial rollers, cool to the touch, had their weight solid and grounding in my palm.

And when I think they’ve thought of everything, I pull out a set of face masks, each one carefully chosen, the packaging sleek and high-end.

I pause, looking down at the collection of gifts now spread out across the table. This… this is the sweetest gift I’ve ever received. I turn to Cindy, still standing there, beaming like she orchestrated this herself.

“Is there a way to send them a response?” I ask, voice a little breathless, a little unsure. Because for the first time since this whole arrangement started, I don’t just feel like someone’s contracted wife-to-be.

I feel… wanted.

Voss

February 13th

6:45 P.M

“She sent a response!!!”

Romano dances into the room, practically vibrating with excitement, waving a light green envelope in the air like he just won the lottery.

I barely lift my head from where I’m stretched out in the armchair, but Jace is already behind him, silent, watchful, the momentary flicker of amusement on his face vanishing as quickly as it came. When we were kids, Jace sort of appointed himself Romano’s bodyguard. Not because Romano can’t handle himself—he can. But because his heart is soft. Too soft, sometimes. And because Romano is also crazy as fuck, and someone must make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.

“She responded?” I prompt when Romano throws himself onto the couch, legs sprawling, the envelope held up like a sacred artifact.

Kingston, drawn by the noise, leans against the doorway, arms crossed, his sharp green eyes locked onto the letter like it might explode.

“Well, let’s hear it,” Jace says, his voice low, gravelly commanding. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, he’s either amused or demanding answers. I’ve seen the guy stare someone into submission.

Romano grins like he’s about to open the gates of heaven, carefully sliding a finger under the envelope’s seal, slow, deliberate, making sure not to tear it.

The room is silent, the anticipation thick, as he pulls out the white card tucked inside.

To My Soon-to-Be Husbands,

I’m not going to lie. I stared at this letter for a solid ten minutes, trying to figure out how to respond. Because, really? What does one say when their terrifying, possibly-mafia fiancés send them the perfect courting gift basket and a note that somehow manages to be both romantic and slightly ominous?

Thank you. Seems too small. But since I value my life, I’m going to go with it anyway.

Thank you. For the gifts. For the thought behind them. For somehow nailing every single thing I love despite the fact that we’ve never met. I don’t know whether to be flattered or mildly concerned about how well you already know me.

And as for the spoiling, indulging, and adoring part?

Well.

I suppose we’ll see if you live up to the hype.

– Fallon

P.S. See you tomorrow. I’ll be the one in the wedding dress.

Romano breaks out into that weird-ass giggle-laugh of his, the one that usually means he’s found something wildly entertaining or is about to make a terrible decision.

“I think I’m in love,” he declares, still sprawled across the couch, grinning like an idiot as he waves Fallon’s letter in the air.

Kingston chuckles, shaking his head as he plucks the card from Romano’s grasp. Instead of rereading it, he brings it up to his nose, inhaling deeply, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Can’t say I blame you.” His green eyes glint with amusement as he lowers the letter, glancing around the room. “She really thinks we’re the fucking mafia.”

I snort, stretching my legs out in front of me. “To be fair, we don’t exactly do much to disprove that theory.”

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