Page 15

Beck

The morning sun streams through the windows of the breakfast room as I settle into my usual chair with coffee and the financial reports I’ve been avoiding.

Yesterday’s celebration for Remi’s gold medal at the National Championships was a success by all measures, but now it’s back to the reality of running a business empire.

“Dad, pass the orange juice?” Remi reaches across the table. Her dark hair is still damp from her morning shower.

“Here, princess.” I slide the pitcher toward her, then glance at my other son. “River, you’re unusually quiet this morning. Is everything all right?”

River looks up from his phone, his green eyes slightly unfocused. “Just tired. The party went pretty late.”

“Not too late, I hope. You have training today.”

“It’s Saturday, Dad,” Remi laughs, stealing a piece of bacon from River’s plate. “Though I should probably get back to the rink. Coach wants to work on some extra turns for the Olympics.”

Romeo enters the breakfast room with his usual morning surliness, moving to the sideboard and loading his plate with more food than he’ll actually eat.

He’s been doing that since he was thirteen—nervous eating that he never quite outgrew.

Since his parents died, he came to live with me, along with his brother and sister.

“Morning, sunshine,” Remi teases, dodging the grape Romeo throws at her. “Someone’s grumpy.”

“I’m fine,” Romeo mutters, settling into his chair and attacking his eggs with unnecessary violence.

“Right. And I’m planning a career change to accounting,” River deadpans, earning a laugh from Remi.

I study Romeo’s profile, noting the shadows under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. “How are things going with Cerise? She seemed upset when she left last night.”

“We’re fine,” Romeo says curtly, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Are you?” Remi raises an eyebrow. “Because she looked like she was about to cry when I saw her in the garden.”

Romeo’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth. “You were watching us?”

“Hard not to when you’re having dramatic conversations right outside the main windows,” I observe. “Everything all right?”

For a moment, none of the kids speak. Then River says, “Cerise thinks Romeo likes someone else.”

“River,” Romeo warns, his voice carrying just enough Alpha authority to make his less aggressive brother back down.

“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking,” River shrugs. “You’re acting weird.”

“Weird how?” I ask, genuine concern creeping into my voice.

Remi exchanges a look with River, some sibling communication passing between them. “He keeps staring at the cottage,” she says finally. “Like, constantly. It’s kind of creepy.”

“I do not stare,” Romeo protests, but his cheeks flush red.

“You absolutely do,” River confirms. “Yesterday you spent twenty minutes pretending to read on the terrace just so you could watch the windows.”

“That’s enough,” Romeo snaps, his scent spiking with embarrassment and anger. But my curiosity is piqued now. But I act like I know nothing. “What’s at the cottage that’s so interesting?”

“The new housekeeper and her daughter,” Remi explains, clearly enjoying Romeo’s discomfort. “Mrs. Masters took over from Mrs. Reynolds two weeks ago. I haven’t met them yet. But I think Romeo likes the girl.”

Something cold settles in my stomach. “You like the housekeeper’s daughter?”

“No.”

“Yes, you do,” Remi adds. “What’s her name, River?”

“Her name is Jolie,” Romeo answers. Her name on his tongue sounds like he’s been stabbed in his throat. “She started at college.”

Jolie is good. Jolie is not Emmie.

“I take it you don’t like her,” I say carefully.

“You don’t glare at a girl’s bedroom window if you don’t like them,” Remi interrupts.

I laugh. “How old is she?”

Romeo shrugs his shoulders. “Twenty-one, I think. She’s in some of my classes.” He is acting far too nonchalant, and I’m doubting everything he is telling me.

“Cerise hates her,” River adds.

Romeo finally looks up, and what I see in his gray eyes makes my chest tighten with concern. There’s a hunger there, raw and desperate, the kind that leads young Alphas to make catastrophic decisions.

“Romeo,” I say quietly, “please tell me you’re not developing feelings for someone when you have a girlfriend.”

“I’m not developing anything,” he replies, but the defensive edge to his voice suggests otherwise.

Remi and River exchange another look. “He definitely likes her,” Remi says. “You should see the way he acts when her name comes up.”

“She’s nothing special,” Romeo says too quickly. “Just some Omega trying to blend in.”

The casual dismissal doesn’t fool anyone at the table, least of all me.

I’ve seen Romeo with Omegas before—polite but distant, never particularly interested.

The fact that he’s protesting this much means Jolie Masters has gotten under his skin in ways he doesn’t understand.

The same way Emmie got under mine, and despite how young she was, I hoped she’d still called me.

“Where are they from?” I ask, trying to keep my voice conversational.

Romeo shrugs. “South somewhere. The girl has an accent she’s trying to hide.”

“Why would she hide her accent?” River asks, genuinely curious.

“Same reason she’s trying to make herself invisible,” Romeo replies. “They’re running from something.” The observation is sharper than I expected from Romeo, whose emotional intelligence usually extends only to his own feelings.

“How do you know they’re running?” I press.

Romeo hesitates, as if he’s revealed more than he intended. “She’s too careful. Too aware of her surroundings. Jumps at loud noises. Classic signs of someone who’s used to looking over her shoulder.”

“You’ve been paying very close attention,” I observe.

“Professional interest,” Romeo says defensively. “You always taught us to be aware of potential security risks. And you allowed strangers into our home.”

“Is that what she is? A security risk?” The question hangs in the air for a moment. Romeo’s jaw tightens, and I can see him weighing his words carefully.

“She’s...complicated,” he says finally.

“Complicated how?”

He sighs heavily. “I think she might be my scent match.”

The words drop into the breakfast conversation like a bomb. Remi’s eyes widen, River’s mouth falls open, and I feel like someone’s just punched me in the gut.

I’ve waited forever for an Omega to be mine. Waited for the perfect scent. Unfortunately, not even Emmie’s scent was an exact match.

“Your what?” Remi breathes.

“Scent match,” Romeo repeats, his voice flat. “Perfect biological compatibility. The whole nine yards.”

“Romeo,” I say carefully, fighting to keep my voice steady, “are you certain? Have you asked her what scent she smells on you?”

“No, but I know. My body knows,” he replies with bitter humor. “Trust me, I wish I was mistaken.”

“Why?” River asks, confused. “That’s supposed to be a good thing. Like finding your soulmate or whatever.”

Romeo’s laugh is harsh. “It would be, if she wasn’t completely unsuitable in every other way.”

“Unsuitable how?” The question comes out sharper than I intended, and Romeo’s eyes narrow slightly.

“She’s the housekeeper’s daughter, Beck. No family connections, no money, no social standing. Everything Grandfather taught us not to get involved with.” The casual dismissal of Jolie based on her economic status makes something dangerous unfurl in my chest.

“Your grandfather was an elitist bastard who died alone because he valued money over people.”

“Beck,” Remi says quietly, clearly recognizing the warning signs of my temper. But I’m not done.

“If she is a match. What exactly are you planning to do about it, Romeo?”

“Nothing,” he says, but there’s something in his expression that suggests otherwise. “I’m with Cerise. This changes nothing.”

“Doesn’t it? Because Remi said Cerise thinks you’re interested in someone else. And I’m assuming that someone else is Jolie.”

Romeo’s scent spikes with frustration. “I can manage my biology. I don’t need to act on every impulse.”

“That’s not how scent matches work,” I breathe. “Denying it will only strengthen it.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Romeo snaps. “That I abandon my relationship with Cerise to pursue some Omega who’s probably only here until she finds something better?” The dismissive way he talks about Jolie makes my hands clench around my coffee cup.

“I suggest you treat her with respect, regardless of your decision.”

“I’m not treating her with anything,” Romeo says. “I’m staying away from her, like I should.”

But even as he says it, I can see the lie in his eyes. Romeo isn’t staying away from anyone. Absolutely not. He’s watching, circling, fighting a battle between desire and duty that he’s too young to understand.

“Has she given you any indication that she’s interested?” I ask.

Romeo’s jaw tightens. “She turned me down.”

“You approached her?” The words come out colder than I intended.

“Once. She made it clear she wasn’t interested in complications.”

There’s more to this story, I can tell. Romeo’s body language suggests rejection, but there’s also anger there, the kind that comes from wounded pride.

“Good for her,” Remi says approvingly. “Smart girl.”

Romeo’s glare could melt steel. “Thanks for the support, sister.”

“I’m just saying, if she turned you down, maybe you should respect that and move on.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re too focused on getting onto a podium and taking every medication known to man to stop your biology from working against you.”

“You’re deflecting because of your bad behavior,” I point out.

“I’m not behaving badly,” Romeo protests.

“I told you, I’m staying away from her.” But the defensiveness in his voice tells a different story.

And the way he keeps checking his phone, the restless energy that’s been radiating from him since I got home doesn’t make me believe he is an Alpha who’s successfully avoiding temptation.

“Maybe you should introduce us,” I say casually. “If she’s living on the estate, it would be polite to welcome her properly.”

Romeo’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. And because if she’s really your scent match, I’d like to meet the Omega who’s got my son so twisted up.”

“I’m not twisted up, and I’m not your son,” Romeo mutters, but he’s already standing, clearly done with this conversation. “I have to go. I have football training before school.” He’s gone before anyone can respond, leaving the three of us in uncomfortable silence.

“He’s lying,” River says finally. “About staying away from her, I mean. Yesterday, I saw him watching her when she came home from school.”

“River,” I warn.

“I’m just saying. And Cerise has been asking weird questions about the cottage.”

A chill runs down my spine. “What questions?”

“Like where she is from and why did they move here? Stuff like that.” Remi and I exchange a look.

Cerise Hamilton comes from old Boston money and would never accept rejection gracefully. Her family was surprised when she didn't reveal as an Omega. And if she sees Jolie as a threat to her relationship with Romeo...

“Monitor things,” I tell both of them. “If you see anything concerning—arguments, confrontations, anything that doesn’t feel right—I want to know immediately.”

“You think Cerise might do something?” Remi asks.

“I think jealous Betas can be just as dangerous as possessive Alphas,” I reply. “Sometimes more so, because they’re underestimated.”

When everyone finishes breakfast and heads off to their respective activities, I remain at the table, staring out the window toward the cottage.

Somewhere in that small building is the Omega who’s been haunting my dreams for weeks, the woman I left sleeping in a Boston hotel room because I was too much of a coward to face that she was too young for me.

But I suspect that Emmie would have left me first had she woken up in time.

And if her sister is Romeo’s unwanted scent match, maybe I should let her mother go. Because the smart thing would be to get Emmie and Jolie away from here. It would be better for everyone—Romeo could focus on his relationship with Cerise. I could pretend that night in Boston never happened.

But now that she is here, the thought of her leaving, of never seeing those amber eyes again, makes something primal in my chest roar.

She’s here. In my territory, under my protection, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her go again.

Forgetting her is no longer an option. Not when I can almost taste her scent in the morning air.

And every instinct I have is screaming out that she belongs to me.