Page 97 of Knot So Lucky
"Aurora Rory Lane." I cut him off, switching to my real voice mid-sentence.
The effect is immediate and dramatic.
My natural vocal register—higher, distinctly feminine despite months of training it lower—rings out across the suddenly silent pit area with the clarity of a bell.
"Roran Lane's sister," I continue, crossing my arms and tilting my head in a gesture of casual defiance that I absolutely don't feel internally. "Aurora is my legal first name. Rory is what most people call me because it's easier than explaining that my parents gave identical twins nearly identical names."
The silence stretches for one heartbeat.
Two. Three.
Then everyone seems to gawk simultaneously, the pieces clicking into place with almost audibleclicksas brains process the information.
The pit tech they've been working with for months is female.
And an Omega, if the scent that's probably breaking through my failing suppressants is any indication.
"I'm the official pit tech of our team," I add, voice steady despite the internal screaming. "Which is why everyone normally minds their business about my personal life."
One of the reporters—a woman with a microphone branded with a major sports network logo—stutters through her next question.
"B-b-but how are we just finding this outnow? You've been with the team for months…the background checks, the medical screenings, the?—"
I shrug with feigned casualness.
"I don't know? The whole bromance allegations between me and Cale should have made you guys do your research better."
The reporter gasps, eyes going wide as another piece slots into place.
She looks at Cale, who arches an eyebrow in my direction while I give him a pointed glance that clearly communicatesplease don't make this worse.
"Are you saying—" The reporter's voice climbs an octave with excitement. "Are you saying you're in a relationship with your brother's best friend and racing partner?!"
Well. In for a penny, in for a pound.
"Yup." I let the word pop with deliberate emphasis. "So fair warning to any interested packs out there: we're a package deal. Tough luck. Then again, you'll have to deal with my brother first, so have fun with that negotiation."
The crowd erupts.
Questions flying from every direction, cameras flashing, people shouting for clarification or additional details or just generally losing their collective minds at the scandal unfolding in real-time.
Before I can be completely throttled with questions—before the mob can close in and demand answers I'm not prepared togive—Richard appears like a guardian angel in team manager clothing.
"Emergency meeting," he announces with the kind of authority that brooks no argument. "Right now. This applies to you, too, Cale."
Cale sighs with exaggerated put-upon suffering, but his hand finds mine with practiced ease.
"Why the fuck not," he mutters, loud enough for the nearest microphones to catch. Then, raising his voice to address the crowd: "Duty calls as this race's champions. Any questions can be saved for the official press conference."
He starts to walk away, pulling me along, when a reporter's voice cuts through the noise with a question designed to provoke.
"Is this just some one-sided romance for attention? Trying to capitalize on your unexpected win with a publicity stunt?"
Cale stops so abruptly that I nearly crash into his back.
For a moment, he's completely still.
Then he spins around with such sudden violence that I spin with him, the world tilting as momentum carries me forward.
