Page 21 of Knot Your Romeo

Relief floods her features, and she turns to face me fully for the first time since we started walking. The porch light illuminates her delicate features—high cheekbones, full rose-pink lips, and those extraordinary amber eyes that seem to hold secrets. But it’s that scent... I’m drowning in it. Not the primary scents of honey and lemon that could be perfume from a bottle. No, the scent I love is the sunshine warmth that undercuts it. A scent that seems impossible for someone who carries herself like she’s expecting disaster around every corner, not happiness.

“Thank you for walking me back,” she whispers.

“Anytime.” I mean it more sincerely than I expected to. “Jolie...if Romeo bothers you again, or if you need anything while you’re staying here, my cottage is just past the white rose garden. The one with the green door and probably too many wind chimes.”

She smiles—a genuine one this time that transforms her entire face. “Wind chimes?”

“I tell people they help me track wind patterns for gardening purposes,” I admit with a self-deprecating laugh. “But honestly, they were my...they belonged to…I can’t bring myself to take them down.” It’s more than I usually share with anyone, but something about Jolie makes me want to be honest.

“I’ll remember that,” she says, then pauses with her hand on the doorknob. When she turns back to me, her face lights up with another smile that hits me like sunshine after a storm. “Goodnight, Eli.”

“Goodnight, Jolie.”

I wait until she’s safely inside before turning away, but I can’t bring myself to leave immediately. Instead, I stand in the shadows of the garden, watching the warm light in her windows and breathing in the lingering traces of her scent.

She stands at her window, looking out, and catches me. I lift my hand and give her a wave before turning and walking back toward my cottage.

The night air seems emptier somehow without her presence. I breathe deeply, trying to recapture traces of that sunshine warmth, but it’s gone, leaving only the familiar scents of roses and pine. My scent.

Another Omega who doesn’t match me. Not that it matters. I shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. Jolie can’t be over twenty-one, eight years younger than me, and the last thing she needs is another Alpha complicating her life. But I can’t shake the memory of how she looked at me—not with fear or calculation, but with genuine gratitude and something that might have been trust.

When was the last time someone looked at me like that?

When was the last time I felt this surge of protectiveness, this need to shield someone from the world?

Not since Kate. And even then, it wasn’t quite like this.

The thought troubles me as I reach my cottage. Kate left because she couldn’t fight her biology, couldn’t deny the pull of her true scent match. I understood then, even as it destroyed me. But understanding and accepting are different things, and her departure left scars I’m not sure have fully healed.

What happened between Jolie and Romeo tonight clearly involved more than casual conversation. My nephew has always been volatile, possessive traits he inherited from his father. A man who died before he could teach Romeo how to channel that darkness productively.

But the fear in Jolie’s eyes suggested what he was doing or saying was something beyond typical Alpha posturing.

I wonder if her scent made his alpha purr. I have to admit I’ve never encountered anything like it. Most Omega scents are pleasant but straightforward—floral notes, fruit, simple sweetness designed to attract and soothe. But Jolie’s scent is layered, complex. I might not match with her primary perfume, but why does the sunshine warmth scent that dances underneath it call to something deep in my alpha soul?

The walk cleared my mind enough to make several decisions. First, I’ll keep a closer eye on Romeo and his interactions with Jolie. Second, I’ll make sure she knows she has allies on this estate—people who will protect her if needed. Me, specifically. And third... Third, I’ll try very hard not to think about the way her scent made every protective instinct I have roar to life, or how her smile made my lungs feel like an iron had wrapped around them and squeezed out the last of my air.

The last thing she needs is a jaded Alpha who’s already proven he’s not good enough to keep the Omega he loved. Yet, despite every rational thought telling me to stay away from Jolie, I hope she’ll need my help again soon.

9

Jude

As I arrange mylecture notes, my mind keeps drifting to the conversation I had with Principal Morrison yesterday. Her concern about our new student—Jolie Masters—had been clear in her careful phrasing, though she’d tried to mask it behind administrative protocol.

“Keep an eye on her,” she’d said. “The girl’s enrollment was handled through some unusual channels, and I’d appreciate your professional assessment of how she’s adjusting.”

I’d agreed, of course. Morrison’s instincts about potentially problematic situations are rarely wrong, and if she’s worried about complications arising from irregular admissions, then so am I.

Students filter into my classroom, and I find myself genuinely curious about this young woman who’s somehow warranted special administrative attention.

Jolie enters quietly, choosing a seat in the middle rows, which I found strange the first time. She isn’t trying to hide in the back, but she’s also not seeking attention in the front either. Smart positioning for someone who wants to observe without being observed.

She pulls her hoodie from her head and then reaches in her bag and removes her books. Her dark hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she’s dressed in clothes that are clean but clearly old.

Everything about her screams ‘trying not to be noticed.’

But there’s something about her scent that makes my Omega instincts prick with interest. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a hidden Omega, but the first time I caught it nearly knocked me over.

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