Page 115 of Knot Their Safe Haven
Her whisper carries the same awe she had for the breakfast spread, but multiplied. The private garden spreads before us—part of some historical society's property that normally requiresmembership and appointments. But money talks, and the Rosenberg name shouts.
Orange and white checkered blankets cover the grass beneath an ancient oak whose leaves burn gold. Pumpkins of every size create natural borders—some carved with intricate designs that must have taken hours, others painted with metallic swirls. String lights wrap through branches despite the afternoon sun, waiting for dusk to justify their presence. The picnic spread looks like Pinterest achieved sentience—finger sandwiches cut into leaf shapes, pumpkin soup in miniature gourds that serve as bowls, cider in mason jars with cinnamon stick stirrers.
"Alexis." She turns to me with eyes bright enough to rival the lights. "This is..."
"Excessive? Ridiculous? Everything you wanted?"
"Perfect."
She launches herself at me, arms around my neck, and I catch her easily. Her kiss tastes like apple cider and joy, brief but devastating in its sincerity.
"How did you even arrange this?"
"Called ahead while you were getting ready. The historical society loves donations." I set her down but keep her close. "Plus I wanted photos without strangers in the background."
I pull out the Polaroid camera—vintage because aesthetic matters—and her squeal could shatter glass.
"Yes! Oh, we need one by the carved pumpkins. And under the tree. And?—"
We spend twenty minutes taking photos with the dedication of teenagers documenting their first relationship. Velvet draped over my shoulders. Me lifting her while she laughs. Both of us attempting serious faces before dissolving into giggles. The Polaroids scatter across the blanket like evidence of happiness.
"My cheeks hurt from smiling," she complains, dropping onto the blanket with zero grace.
"Tragic." I settle beside her, pulling the picnic basket closer. "Hungry?"
"Still full from breakfast, but walking helped." She selects a sandwich shaped like a maple leaf. "Plus everything's tiny and adorable. Finger food doesn't count as real calories."
"That's definitely not how biology works."
"Shh. Let me have my delusions."
We eat in comfortable quiet for a few minutes, the creek providing soundtrack while leaves occasionally drift down like nature's confetti. Velvet shifts, moving to lay her head in my lap without asking, and the casual intimacy makes my chest tight.
"This is nice," she murmurs, eyes closed.
"Just nice?"
"Nice in ways I didn't know existed." Her fingers find mine, playing with my rings. "Can I ask you something?"
"Always."
"What made decide to be a bold female Alpha? Like I know the twins and even Alessandro mention you go back and forth as Alexander in the public eye because it’s just easier for diplomatics, but like what made you confident in being Alexis? Not the gender part—I understand that. But the public part. The risk to your career, your family's reputation. Like if you jus decided to be like fuck this, I’m a female, get used to it, weren’t you afraid of the outcome?"
I consider how much truth to offer, then remember this is Velvet—she deserves everything.
"Woke up one morning when I was thirty-five and realized I was dying." Her eyes snap open, concern immediate, but I continue. "Not literally. But living as Alexander was killing everything real about me. You just wake up one more and get tired of all the bullshit. The suits, the boardrooms, the carefulmasculine performance—it was suffocating. I'd built an empire as someone who didn't exist. I wanted to wear dresses, to embrace my feminity as well. The only ones that mattered was the family and friends close to me who read right through the facade. Everyone else, I realized what was the grand show for?"
"So you just... changed?"
"Took three years of therapy and one spectacular family intervention that ended with my father disowning me for six months." I trace her jawline with careful fingers. "Then he realized I was still the same ruthless bastard who'd doubled the family fortune, just in better shoes."
She laughs, catching my hand to press it against her cheek. "And the pack?"
"Alessandro never blinked. Said he'd noticed years ago and was waiting for me to be ready. The twins..." I smile at the memory. "The twins sent me a cake that said 'Congratulations on your promotion to goddess' and supported me as usual. No questions needed."
"They sound perfect for you."
"They are. Which is why when Alessandro said he'd found his omega, we paid attention. Seventeen years of waiting meant she had to be extraordinary."
