Page 58 of Knot Your Karma (Not Yours #1)

Karma

Christmas Eve morning is one of those stupidly perfect December days where everything looks like a postcard, which would be romantic if I weren’t about to have a complete nervous breakdown about getting bonded in front of the entire town.

Winter air so crisp it burns slightly in your lungs while making colors more vivid—the lighthouse white against sky-blue, evergreen garlands deep emerald against cream silk.

From my bedroom window, I can see the lighthouse point where we’ll be making our formal promises in just a few hours, and my hands shake against the cream silk dress hanging on my closet door.

“You’re going to wear a hole in that floor,” Destiny observes from her perch on my bed, where she’s been providing moral support and commentary for the last hour while I pace between my closet and the mirror.

“I’m not pacing. I’m... considering my options.”

“You’ve considered that dress seventeen times. It’s perfect. You look like a winter goddess, and your pack is going to lose their collective minds when they see you. ”

I smooth down the vintage cream silk dress I found at an estate sale in Newport—1940s cut with delicate pearl buttons and lace sleeves that feel like something from a fairy tale.

The fabric whispers against my skin with each movement, expensive and well-cared-for despite its age.

It’s the kind of dress Grandma Rose would have called special occasion worthy, which feels exactly right for today.

“What if I trip? What if I actually face-plant in front of the entire town? What if I cry and ruin my makeup and look like a raccoon in all the photos? What if I forget what I’m supposed to say and just stand there going, ‘Hi, I’m Karma, and I have no idea how to do this?

’” My scent fluctuates between sweet anticipation and sharp anxiety, making the air around me practically vibrate with conflicting emotions.

“Then you’ll be human, which is exactly what your pack fell in love with.

” Destiny stands up, moving to fix my hair where nervous fingers have messed with the thoughtfully arranged waves, her touch gentle and steadying.

“Karma, honey, these men have seen you at your worst—panic attacks, compass theft confessions, Sage Morrison blackmail attempts. You think they’re gonna change their minds because you get emotional during your own bonding ceremony? ”

“When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

“Because it is ridiculous. Girl, those men worship the ground you walk on. They’ve literally rearranged their entire lives for you. If that’s not permanent, I don’t know what is.”

A knock at the front door interrupts my spiraling, followed by the sound of familiar voices in the entryway.

Downstairs, Reed’s got his smooth negotiator thing going on, Adrian sounds as if he’s solved every possible problem already, and Declan’s using that voice that makes me feel as if he’s got everything handled.

“That’ll be the grooms,” Destiny says with a grin that transforms her entire face. “Though I’m still not sure what to call three men who are all marrying the same woman. ”

“Pack,” I say simply. “You call them pack.”

“Pack it is. Should I tell them you’re ready, or do you need more time to panic about absolutely nothing?”

I take one last look in the mirror—cream silk catching the morning light, pearl earrings that belonged to Grandma Rose gleaming softly, the antique compass pendant Sterling gave me as an early bonding gift nestled at my throat like a talisman.

I look like someone who belongs at the center of something beautiful.

“I’m ready.”

“Good, because I think if Reed has to wait much longer, he’s going to reorganize your entire kitchen out of nervous energy.”

We head downstairs, where my pack waits in the living room looking as if they stepped out of a winter formal magazine.

Declan in charcoal wool that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad, Reed in navy blue that brings out his eyes, Adrian in deep forest green that complements his quiet strength—all of them wearing expressions of wonder when they see me.

“Jesus,” Reed breathes, ocean spray going warm with appreciation and love, his composure cracking completely. “Karma, you look...”

“Perfect,” Adrian says quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “Just... perfect.”

“Beautiful,” Declan adds. “Like everything I didn’t know I was waiting for.”

“You guys clean up pretty well yourselves,” I say.

“Ready for this?” Declan asks, offering me his arm with the kind of steady certainty that’s anchored me through every crisis.

“More than ready. Let’s go make some promises.”

The walk to lighthouse point feels like a dream sequence—winter air crisp against my cheeks while our scents trail behind us like ribbons.

Christmas lights twinkling from every house we pass, the sound of our footsteps on cobblestones mixing with distant harbor bells.

The whole town lines our path—children pressed against windows leaving breath-fog prints on glass, elderly couples standing in doorways with hands clasped together, people calling out congratulations from their doorways, which should feel overwhelming but actually makes me feel like the entire town decided we’re worth celebrating, lights glimmering in the twilight.

When we reach the point, my feet stop moving without conscious decision, vanilla going breathless with wonder as I take in the transformation of our simple lighthouse into something that belongs in fairy tales.

Reed wasn’t exaggerating about planning the most impressive reception this town has ever seen.

The lighthouse itself is wrapped in warm white lights that make it glow like a beacon of welcome against the December sky, each bulb perfectly positioned to create maximum warmth without overwhelming the natural beauty.

Someone arranged chairs in a perfect circle around a central space where four posts stand draped with evergreen garlands and silk ribbons that flutter gently in the breeze.

Heat lamps positioned strategically throughout the gathering ensure everyone will be comfortable despite the winter air, their warmth creating small havens of comfort.

“Reed,” I whisper, my scent sparkling with gratitude and amazement, “this is incredible.”

“Wait until you see the reception setup at the inn,” he says with obvious satisfaction. “I may have gotten slightly carried away with the planning.”

“Slightly,” Adrian agrees with dry humor. “You coordinated with vendors like a diplomatic summit.”

“Some things deserve to be done properly,” Reed defends. “Our omega’s bonding ceremony is definitely one of them.”

People are already gathering—familiar faces from Main Street, customers from the shop, friends who’ve become family over the years I’ve lived here. But it’s the sight of our actual families that makes my throat tight with emotion.

Adrian’s mother stands near the front of the circle, a sturdy woman with graying hair and her son’s gentle eyes, talking animatedly with what must be Reed’s parents and siblings.

Her presence carries the same quiet strength as Adrian’s sandalwood, mixed with maternal pride that’s almost visible.

Declan’s parents have claimed seats on the other side, his father looking uncomfortable but present, his mother dabbing at already teary eyes with a handkerchief.

And there, near the lighthouse itself, Sterling stands in deep conversation with a woman I barely recognize beneath all the glitz and glam.

“Mom,” I breathe, breaking away from my pack to cross the space between us.

There’s Mom, looking absolutely gorgeous in that sea-glass dress I helped her pick out last month. Her silver hair is actually styled instead of in her usual messy bun, and she’s got that nervous-excited energy she gets when she’s trying to make a good impression on Sterling.

“My beautiful girl,” she says, her voice breaking on the last word as she pulls me into a hug that smells like the lavender soap from my childhood mixed with something new—hope that’s been tended for thirty years. “Look at you. Look at this place, these people, this celebration.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I say into her shoulder, tears blurring my vision as relief floods through me.

“I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Besides,” she pulls back with a smile that’s pure mischief, “someone needed to make sure Sterling didn’t get too nervous about officiating his first bonding ceremony.”

“How are things... between you two?”

“Tentative. Hopeful. Thirty years of missed chances don’t disappear overnight, but.

..” She glances toward Sterling, whose hands still move to straighten his tie when she looks at him—a nervous gesture that’s apparently survived thirty years, making him look less like a successful collector and more like the boy who gave her a compass watch.

“We’re taking it slowly. Figuring out who we are now instead of who we were then. ”

“I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

“I’m happy for you too, sweetheart. These men of yours—they look at you as if you hung the moon.”

“They make me feel as if maybe I did.”

Sterling approaches with the measured pace of someone who’s officiated important ceremonies before, though I suspect this one carries more personal significance than any business transaction.

His expensive cologne mixes with the salt air, creating something that smells like success tempered by genuine warmth.

“Karma, you look radiant,” he says warmly, his smile transforming his entire face with paternal affection. “Are you ready to make this official?”

“More than ready.”

“Excellent. Lilli, would you like to take your seat? I believe we’re about to begin.”

Mom squeezes my hand once more before moving to join the circle of witnesses, her lavender scent lingering as comfort and encouragement. Sterling moves to the center, and oh God, this is actually happening.