Page 7 of Knot Your Romeo

“Two bedrooms upstairs and a shared bathroom,” Mrs. Reynolds explains, leading us through the space. “Full kitchen, though you’re welcome to take meals at the main house if you prefer. The family is quite informal about such things.”

Upstairs, I peek into the smaller bedroom and immediately fall in love with the window seat overlooking the gardens and the back of the main house. Sunlight streams through the glass, casting rainbow patterns on the hardwood floor.

“It’s perfect,” I say, and mean it.

Mrs. Reynolds beams. “I’m so glad you think so. Now, Rita, shall we walk through your duties? The family is quite reasonable, but there are some...particular requirements.”

As the two women discuss cleaning schedules and meal preferences and the staff Mom will need to manage, I drift to the window, watching the grounds. The whole place feels like a different world, one where I might actually be safe.

“Jolie?” Mrs. Reynolds’ voice pulls me back to the conversation. “I was just telling your mother about the family dynamics. Mr. Silver is often away on business, but when he’s home, he’s very hands-on with the household. And Elias manages the grounds. He’s a lovely man, you’ll meet him soon. And then there are the children.”

“Children?” I ask, though something in her tone suggests they’re not exactly children.

“Well, Romeo is twenty-one, so hardly a child, I suppose. He’s finishing his degree at college. You’ll likely see him around campus.” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “He’s...spirited. But harmless.”

The way she says ‘harmless’ makes me think she doesn’t entirely believe it herself.

“And the daughter?” Mom asks.

“River and Remi. River is the oldest, and he plays ice hockey. Remi, she’s twenty-four and away for most of the year. She’s a future Olympian. Figure skater. Such a sweet girl, when she’s home.” Mrs. Reynolds glances at her watch. “Speaking of which, she is competing this weekend.”

My stomach knots at the thought of meeting more strangers, more people who might notice something different about me.

“Will we be expected to serve dinner?” Mom asked me to help her for a few weeks until she got to know her way around the house.

“Oh no, dear. The family has a cook for formal meals. Your mother’s duties are more general housekeeping, cleaning, laundry, organization. Nothing too strenuous.” Mrs. Reynolds’ expression softens. “Mr. Silver specifically requested that his staff have reasonable hours and personal time. For an Alpha, he’s quite progressive in that regard. Anyway, I should let you unpack.”

After Mrs. Reynolds leaves us to settle in, Mom and I unpack our few belongings in relative silence. I can feel her relief radiating through the small space. But I’m the same. It feels like for the first time in months, we’re not looking over our shoulders or jumping at every unexpected sound.

“This could really work,” she says as we put away the last of our clothes. “Mrs. Reynolds seems lovely, the cottage is beautiful, and the pay is more than generous.”

“What about the family?” I ask, settling onto my bed. “What if they’re like Blake? What if they—“

“They won’t be,” Mom interrupts, but there’s steel in her voice now. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, Emmie. I promise.”

It’s the same promise she made when dad died. The same promise she made when she married Blake. But I don’t say that. Instead, I nod and try to believe her.

As daylight disappears, I hear laughter and conversation drifting across the gardens from the main house.

“I should introduce myself to the cook,” Mom says, checking her appearance in the small mirror. “Mrs. Reynolds mentioned they coordinate on household schedules.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask, though the thought of facing a house full of strangers makes my skin crawl.

“No, sweetheart. You’ve had enough for one day. Why don’t you call Ella? Your sister doesn’t live too far away from here. Perhaps we can visit once we’ve settled in.”

I nod, grateful for the reprieve.

After Mom leaves, I curl up on the window seat with my phone, watching the sun set over the manor grounds. Everything is so green here, so alive. The air through the open window smells of roses and pine and something else—something clean and earthy that reminds me of rain.

I don’t ring Ella; I call the sister I’m not supposed to call—Lottie. But Lottie’s phone goes straight to voicemail, as it has for the past three days. I try not to panic. She’s probably fine. But it doesn’t stop something cold settling in my stomach. I press her name on my phone again and wait when movement near the main house catches my eye.

A young man emerges from what looks like a side entrance, his silhouette tall and lean against the golden light spilling from the windows. Even from this distance, I can tell he’s powerful. An Alpha, definitely. It’s in the way he moves, the set of his shoulders; everything about him screams dominance. He pauses on the terrace, running a hand through his dark hair, and for a moment, his posture suggests he is frustrated.Or angry.

Then he turns, and though I can’t make out his features clearly, I watch as his gaze sweeps across the gardens. Looking for something. Or someone.

When his attention passes over the cottage, I instinctively shrink back from the window, my heart hammering for no reason. He can’t smell me. Nobody can. So I don’t have to worry.

This must be one of the sons that Mrs. Reynolds mentioned. I don’t know why, but something about him makes my skin prickle with awareness. The feeling is familiar yet unwelcome—the same electric tension I felt with Beck, that pull toward danger disguised as desire. I force myself to look away, focusing on the peaceful gardens instead of the man who dominates the terrace like he owns the world. Which, I suppose, he does.

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