Page 45 of Knot Your Romeo

“Can I tell you something?” he asks.

I nod.

“I used to think if I was just good enough, accomplished enough, perfect enough, then Alphas would see me as more than just my biology. I thought I could earn respect through achievement.” His voice grows quiet. “But even the kindest Alphas carry assumptions about Omegas that they’re not always aware of. They can care for us deeply and still not fully see us as equals.”

“How do you live with that?” I ask.

“By finding my worth in myself first,” he says. “By building a life that doesn’t depend on Alpha approval. And by cherishing the connections that do transcend biology, even if they’re rare.”

Something in his tone makes me look at him more closely. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

Jude’s smile is sad and knowing. “We all have our stories, don’t we? Our moments when we realized that love and respect aren’t always the same thing.”

The confession hangs between us, loaded with implications I’m not sure I’m ready to examine. But there’s comfort in knowing I’m not alone in this struggle, that even someone as accomplished as Professor Benson wrestles with the same questions about worth and recognition.

“I should get back,” I say finally, though the thought of returning to the cottage fills me with dread. I’m scared that the show Romeo made was for my benefit and he is waiting to see if I run.

“Should you?” Jude asks. “Or do you just think you should?”

I meet his eyes, seeing my loneliness reflected there along with something warmer. “What are you asking?”

“I’m asking if you want to come home with me,” he whispers. “Just for tonight. Just to not be alone.”

The invitation sends warmth spreading through my chest, but I force a laugh. “Isn’t that forbidden? Student-teacher relationships and all that?”

“Probably,” he agrees, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “Does that matter to you right now?”

I study his face, seeing the same need I feel reflected in his expression. Not for sex or biology nor the complications of Alpha-Omega dynamics, but for simple human connection.

“I can’t give you a knot,” he says softly, “and you can’t give me one either. But we can share something we both need.”

“To be held,” I finish, understanding washing over me.

“To be held,” he confirms. “To be seen. To not be alone.”

The honesty in his voice breaks something open in my chest. Here is someone offering exactly what I need without demanding anything I can’t give. Someone who understandsthe loneliness of being reduced to our designation, and the exhaustion of always having to prove your worth.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’d like that very much.”

17

Jude

My apartment feels differentwith Jolie in it. Warmer, somehow. She’s curled against my side on the couch, her head resting on my chest as we watchNotting Hill. The scent of her floral shampoo mingles with the chamomile tea cooling on the coffee table.

“Do you think it’s really like that?” she asks during the scene where Hugh Grant stumbles through his bookshop explanation. “All awkward and charming and accidentally perfect?”

“In London? Maybe.” I adjust my arm around her shoulders, marveling at how natural this feels despite us both being Omegas. “Though I suspect real life has fewer orchestral swells.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Jolie smiles at me before turning back to the movie. On screen, Julia Roberts laughs that famous laugh, and Jolie tries to imitate it.

“Oh darling,” she says in an exaggerated British accent, “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”

The attempt is so ridiculous that I burst out laughing. “That was terrible and Julie Roberts is American in the movie.”

“Terrible?” She sits up, mock-offended, her accent growing thicker. “I’ll have you know I studied at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts.”

“Oh really? And what did they teach you there?”

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