Page 159 of Knot So Lucky
Aurora dozes in my lap for maybe twenty minutes, her breathing soft and even, occasionally making small sounds that are unbearably cute.
Then I feel her stirring—subtle shifts in her weight, changes in breathing pattern that suggest consciousness returning.
She blinks slowly, eyelids fluttering open with obvious confusion. For a moment, she just stares at nothing in particular, brain clearly trying to reconcile where she is with where she thinks she should be.
Then her eyes widen in realization, and the most beautiful blush spreads across her cheeks.
"Oh my god," she mutters, voice rough with sleep. "That wasn't a dream."
I can't help but chuckle, the sound rumbling from my chest.
"I hope it was a good dream, at least."
She huffs, the blush intensifying as she realizes she's been sleeping in my lap like some kind of romance novel heroine.
"I... guess?"
The shy uncertainty in her voice is at odds with the confident woman I've seen dominating in the garage or taking charge during her heat.
"You don't act shy with the others," I observe, genuinely curious about the difference.
She mutters something incomprehensible, then admits quietly, "It's odd with you because you're so mature in comparison to them. Which is a good thing, oddly."
The explanation makes something warm bloom in my chest.
"My parents made sure to raise me to act more mature than my age," I explain, absently running my fingers through her sleep-messed hair. "It's a bit of a mind fuckery when you're well off. People assume everything came easy, that you don't understand struggle or work ethic."
Aurora shifts in my lap, getting more comfortable now that she's accepted the situation.
"Is that why you push yourself so hard? The training, the racing, all of it?"
"Genau." I switch to German unconsciously, then correct myself. "Exactly. Though I'm rich, I was never really privilegedlike others might assume. I worked hard, forced myself to do extra work, studied technical subjects that didn't come naturally—all so I didn't look like everything was given to me."
"Is that why you know so much about mechanics and technology?" she asks. "Even the security stuff? You seem more well-rounded than most people I've met."
I shrug slightly, careful not to jostle her too much.
"It's good to be a jack of all trades. Makes you valuable in multiple contexts, harder to dismiss as just a rich kid playing at racing."
I pause, considering what to share.
"Though when it comes to cooking, I genuinely love it. That's not about proving anything to anyone—it's just something I enjoy. Used to cook with myOmaevery weekend when I was growing up."
Aurora tilts her head, curious.
"Your Oma?"
"Grandmother," I clarify, smiling at the memories. "My father's mother. She was this tiny German woman who terrified everyone except her grandchildren, and she taught me that cooking was the most honest way to show you care about someone."
The philosophy has stuck with me through years of professional training and business obligations. Cooking for my pack, for Aurora specifically, feels like the most authentic way to demonstrate care that doesn't require complicated words or grand gestures.
"Is she still around?" Aurora asks softly.
I nod, warmth spreading through my chest.
"Very much so. Still lives in Munich, still terrorizes my father regularly. I'll have to introduce you sometime—she'll love you."
Aurora laughs, the sound surprised and genuine.
