Page 4 of In Knots

Chapter 2

The evening swelters, my heels pinch my toes, hairpins dig into my skull, and this dress clings so tightly to my frame I can hardly breathe.

Beside me, my mother kicks me under the dinner table every now and again and hisses into my ear.

“Sit up straight, Alexa. And for God’s sake smile.”

I try, lifting my chin and pinning a smile across my face but inevitably, after a few minutes, my posture slips, and my smile wanes as I listen to the alpha talking at us across the table.

Simon Stanford, the eldest son of one of my father’s business associates. An alpha my mother clearly thinks is a potential match. I examine him, unable to focus on the drone of his words, something about what he studied in college and the business he intends to start with his trust fund. He’s freshly shaven, his hair slicked back and his teeth so gleaming white, he must have had them whitened. His hands look soft and spotless too, and I wonder if he had them manicured.

The evening is being hosted by my best friend’s parents, another of the wealthy couples of the city, to raise funds for their foundation. Chloe’s not here tonight, though. She got married three months ago and moved to a newly built six-bedroom townhouse in the city centre with her new alpha. They’re on an extended honeymoon, a luxury cruise around the Caribbean. I miss her.

Tonight, her parents have laid tables out on the veranda of their grand house, lanterns hanging in trees and candles flickering on tables. Beyond the swimming pool, a band plays soft jazz music and a few couples sway together.

I wish I had my camera with me. At least it would make this evening a little more bearable, providing my hands with something to do. I can visualise how I’d capture the candlelight playing out against the glassware, or the way the blue of the swimming pool bathes the singer of the band in neon shades.

“Alexa,” my mother says and I realise I’m staring at the band and not the alpha across the table.

“Oh, yes,” I say, smoothing my hands over the silk of my skirt.

The alpha flashes a wide smile at me, his teeth almost blinding and his eyes flicking momentarily to the neckline of my dress.

“I was just saying,” my mother continues, kicking me again, “that this music is delightful. Perhaps you’d like to dance?”

“That sounds like a super idea,” the alpha says, pushing his chair back.

I shake my head, holding up my hand. “Oh no, I’m a horrible dancer.”

“Nonsense!” My mother laughs brittly. “Three years at Madam Claudia’s Finishing school.” She addresses the alpha. “She dances like an angel.”

Three steps and the alpha is by my chair, holding out one of those soft hands. I doubt very much he wants a wife who can dance like an angel, but we all pretend as if we’re civilised and not driven by our base alpha and omega instincts, the ones I’m sure have this alpha wishing I could dance like a stripper.

I take his hand and let him pull me gently to where the others are dancing on the wooden dance floor erected on the lawn.

His hand rests on my lower back as we weave through the other guests, nodding and smiling at our parents’ friends and some other young people we both know. Then he’s swinging me into his embrace, a tad too tight, a little too close. I pray he’s a silent dancer and won’t be tempted into more small talk.

My prayers go unanswered.

“You’re very beautiful,” he says, inhaling my scent in a way my father would most definitely dislike.

“Thank you,” I mumble, attempting to create a little space between us. He only holds me closer, and I wonder how long the song will last and if I’ll be able to make my excuses and leave when it ends.

“I’ll be frank with you. I’m on the lookout for an omega.”

Aren’t all alphas? Omega are a dying breed, fewer and fewer of us born each year, and as such ever more prized – among the alphas anyway. And an omega from a well-to-do family like mine? Even more of a catch. It’s what my mother and father tell me almost daily.

It’s why they guard me so closely. Not wanting me to fall into the wrong hands. Hoping to find me a good match with an alpha from a wealthy and respected family. One like this. One that might provide an alliance with a family that would benefit my father’s ever-growing business empire.

“I’d like to get to know you better,” he continues undeterred by my silence. “I’ll take you to dinner on Thursday night, pick you up at eight pm. Stanley’s, so wear something pretty.”

My mother will be delighted. Not that the dates aren’t forthcoming. There’s been lots of invitations – many my parents have turned down because the alphas were not suitable – and lots of dates, endless never-ending dinner date after dinner date. Plus offers of marriage and less puritanical offers too.

Much to my mother’s distress, I’ve declined all the proposals.

I haven’t found a man who lights me up inside and I don’t want to settle. My parent’s patience, however, is wearing thin, and eventually I’m going to have to choose my mate. Or, as my father’s warned countless times, he’ll choose him for me.

Simon squeezes my waist and I’m pretty sure I can feel the outline of his erection pressing against my stomach. I close my eyes and try to imagine I’m somewhere else. Driving back along that empty road, with the wind in my hair and the smell of the countryside in my nose.

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