Page 107 of Knot Their Safe Haven
"One hour," he warns. "Be ready or I'm coming up there to hurry your gorgeous ass along."
"Mmm, promise?" I step back with deliberate slowness, letting the robe shift to reveal one shoulder. "Though you'd just get distracted by said ass."
The blush that colors his cheeks is delightful. "Don't tempt me."
"Tempting you is quickly becoming my favorite hobby."
I leave him standing in the kitchen, adjusting himself through his jeans, while I practically skip toward the stairs. The excitement feels juvenile—thirty-nine years old and giddy about a surprise outing with my pack. But that's the point, isn't it? Finally getting to experience things I missed while building empires and saving everyone except myself.
The bedroom has been transformed in my absence. Shopping bags line one wall—Nordstrom, Saks, boutique names I don't recognize. A note in Dante's handwriting:"Saw these and thought of you. -D&D"
Inside the first bag: cashmere in jewel tones—emerald, sapphire, deep amethyst that will complement my silver hair. The second: jeans that definitely cost four figures, butter-soft and perfectly distressed. The third makes me laugh—leather jackets in burgundy, forest green, and one in purple so deep it's almost black.
"Subtle," I mutter, but I'm smiling.
A knock interrupts my exploration.
"Come in."
The door opens to reveal the twins, both dressed in what can only be described as autumn pornography. Dante in rust-colored cashmere that makes his hazel eyes look like honey. Damon in forest green that emphasizes every muscle. Both in perfectly fitted dark jeans that should be illegal.
"We brought options," Dante announces, holding up more bags.
"And opinions," Damon adds, already moving to the clothes spread on my bed. "That purple leather is perfect for today."
"Where are we going?"
"Nice try," they say in unison, then Dante continues, "But Alessandro made us promise. Something about you needing to practice trusting your pack."
"Manipulative bastard."
"Brilliant bastard," Damon corrects, pulling out a cream sweater that probably costs more than most mortgage payments. "This, the purple leather, those jeans. Trust us."
"You just want me in purple."
"We want you in everything. Or nothing." Dante's smile is pure sin. "But purple will photograph well."
"Photograph?"
"Where we're going, there will be witnesses." Damon's matching smile makes my stomach flutter. "Time the world sees the Rebel Queen properly claimed."
They leave me to dress, though not before each pressing a kiss to my cheeks—synchronized as always, leaving me flushed and wondering how I survived forty years without this attention.
The outfit comes together perfectly. The cashmere sweater clings without suffocating, the purple leather adds edge while staying elegant, the jeans make my ass look incredible—not that it needs help, but appreciation for Italian denim is real.
I'm applying lipstick—burgundy to tie everything together—when Alexis appears in my doorway.
"Fuck, you look good."
She's in black jeans and a sapphire sweater that makes her eyes electric, blonde hair styled in that sharp bob that probably requires weekly maintenance.
"So do you." I cap the lipstick. "Ready for whatever nonsense the boys have planned?"
"It's actually good nonsense this time." She enters, adjusting my collar with casual intimacy. "You'll love it."
"Hints?"
"Public. Scenic. Lots of opportunities for François to choke on his breakfast when photos surface."
