Page 33 of Knot Your Romeo

“I’m just saying, if she turned you down, maybe you should respect that and move on.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re too focused on getting onto a podium and taking every medication known to man to stop your biology from working against you.”

“You’re deflecting because of your bad behavior,” I point out.

“I’m not behaving badly,” Romeo protests. “I told you, I’m staying away from her.” But the defensiveness in his voice tells a different story. And the way he keeps checking his phone, the restless energy that’s been radiating from him since I got home doesn’t make me believe he is an Alpha who’s successfully avoiding temptation.

“Maybe you should introduce us,” I say casually. “If she’s living on the estate, it would be polite to welcome her properly.”

Romeo’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. And because if she’s really your scent match, I’d like to meet the Omega who’s got my son so twisted up.”

“I’m not twisted up, and I’m not your son,” Romeo mutters, but he’s already standing, clearly done with this conversation. “I have to go. I have football training before school.” He’s gone before anyone can respond, leaving the three of us in uncomfortable silence.

“He’s lying,” River says finally. “About staying away from her, I mean. Yesterday, I saw him watching her when she came home from school.”

“River,” I warn.

“I’m just saying. And Cerise has been asking weird questions about the cottage.”

A chill runs down my spine. “What questions?”

“Like where she is from and why did they move here? Stuff like that.” Remi and I exchange a look.

Cerise Hamilton comes from old Boston money and would never accept rejection gracefully. Her family was surprised when she didn't reveal as an Omega. And if she sees Jolie as a threat to her relationship with Romeo...

“Monitor things,” I tell both of them. “If you see anything concerning—arguments, confrontations, anything that doesn’t feel right—I want to know immediately.”

“You think Cerise might do something?” Remi asks.

“I think jealous Betas can be just as dangerous as possessive Alphas,” I reply. “Sometimes more so, because they’re underestimated.”

When everyone finishes breakfast and heads off to their respective activities, I remain at the table, staring out the window toward the cottage. Somewhere in that small building is the Omega who’s been haunting my dreams for weeks, the woman I left sleeping in a Boston hotel room because I was too much of a coward to face that she was too young for me. But I suspect that Emmie would have left me first had she woken up in time.

And if her sister is Romeo’s unwanted scent match, maybe I should let her mother go. Because the smart thing would be to get Emmie and Jolie away from here. It would be better for everyone—Romeo could focus on his relationship with Cerise. I could pretend that night in Boston never happened.

But now that she is here, the thought of her leaving, of never seeing those amber eyes again, makes something primal in my chest roar. She’s here. In my territory, under my protection, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her go again. Forgetting her isno longer an option. Not when I can almost taste her scent in the morning air. And every instinct I have is screaming out that she belongs to me.

13

Beck

I pull out myphone, scrolling to the number I’d obtained on Friday night through channels I prefer not to examine too closely. I checked the text I’d sent.

We need to talk.

Three days it’s been, and her silence speaks volumes. She remembers me. Or did she know who I was all along?

The smart thing would be to let her run. To pretend that night in Boston never happened, that the memory of her soft skin and broken sighs doesn’t haunt me at every quiet moment. The smart thing would be to protect my family, my business, and my carefully constructed life from what I know is going to turn my life upside down. But I’ve never been smart where beautiful Omegas are concerned.

“Sir?” Mr. Sampson appears in the doorway, his expression professionally neutral but his eyes sharp with curiosity. “Will you be needing the car this morning?”

“Actually, yes. But I’ll be driving myself.” I finish my coffee and stand, already plotting a plan that’s probably going to end in disaster. “Ask my assistant to cancel my ten o’clock when he turns up. Something’s come up.”

If Mr. Sampson finds my change in schedule unusual, he’s too well-trained to comment. “Of course, sir. I’ll have Mr. Harris rescheduled.”

“Tell him I’ll call him this afternoon.” I’m already moving toward the garage, my mind racing with possibilities and consequences. “And if anyone asks where I’ve gone, I’m handling a personal matter.”

---