Page 3 of Knottily Ever After (Crescent Lake Cozy Omegaverse #1)

Chapter Three

Violet

H oly shit. This is the most beautiful bedroom I’ve ever seen. I didn’t expect it.

The room is bathed in white, cream, peach, and gold.

Vaulted ceiling, a chandelier with hanging crystal baubles positioned above a king-sized bed, bookended by two beautiful nightstands, an elegant lamp on each.

There’s a pillow-top bench at the foot of the bed, a plush armchair beside a beautiful picture window, and there are pillows and blankets everywhere.

A sizable desk and chair sit on one side of the room opposite the en-suite bathroom door.

When Vaughn opens that en suite door, my jaw drops at the sight beyond it.

The color scheme matches the bedroom. The back wall is accented in deep peach, a tall and wide sliding door is opened up to an enormous walk-in closet.

The right wall has a toilet, and a long vanity with two sinks, a comfy looking chair at the center.

On the left is a claw-foot tub in the back, a big standing shower in the front.

I turn wide eyes on Vaughn. “This is…” I blink. “Amazing.”

He lets out a laugh and claps his hands. “So, what do you think? Want to stay here while the repairs are completed?”

“I would love to,” I say without much thought. The room is clean, like it’s totally untouched. I get the distinct feeling that either it’s newly renovated, or no one has ever lived in it. I don’t smell any cleaning solutions or scent cleansers, so I’m leaning toward Option Two.

“Let me show you the rest of the place.”

Across the hallway are three closed doors, which Vaughn gestures to while explaining they’re the occupied rooms. On the opposite end of the entrance, the hallway opens up to a huge living room and kitchen/dining area.

A big TV, plush couch, and armchair on the right.

To the left is a chef’s kitchen with granite counters and stainless steel appliances, and the spaces are separated by a nice dining room table and chairs.

“Does everything still meet your approval?” he asks after turning to face me, the little dimple peeking out from his cheek.

I nod, slow, trying to roll back the amount of enthusiasm I actually feel.

This place is even more beautiful than the apartment I was going to rent.

The roommate situation didn’t bother me so much since this would not only be temporary, but I had no reason to believe Vaughn was anything other than truthful when he said they wouldn’t be around much during the day.

Having peace and quiet during my work hours was really important, and this seemed like an amazing opportunity.

I wouldn’t need to go all the way back to L.A., and I’d get to stay in Crescent Lake a little longer than I planned. A win-win.

Now, the bottom line.

“How much?”

Vaughn blinks a couple of times, then huffs a laugh. “Direct. I like that.” A kindhearted and super sexy smile stretches across his face. “No charge.”

What?

It’s my turn to blink rapidly. “Um… that’s not right. I have to pay you,” I insist with wide eyes.

His head is shaking before I finish. “Look, what you did for Lilly was pretty amazing. I know you’re out those finances and in a bind, so let me pay it forward.” He gets a wicked glint in his eye. “Let me be the hero of my story.”

Well, shit. I walked right into that one.

I narrow my eyes at him and purse my lips. “There has to be something I can do to repay your kindness.”

I could maybe be convinced to exchange for sexual favors...

“Well, everyone here pitches in with cleaning and food. Those who can cook do, otherwise take-out is appreciated. Communal dinners whenever possible.”

I give an affirmative nod. That doesn’t sound bad at all. “I can do that. I’m pretty savvy in the kitchen, and I hate clutter, so…”

His megawatt smile returns, dimple poking. “It’s settled then! Why don’t you let me help you bring your things up before business picks up downstairs.”

Vaughn directs me to move my car around the back of the building where, through an electric sliding security gate, is a private parking lot. After I park, he gives me a gate remote which I clip to my visor before opening the hatch and back doors to access my stuff.

“Whoa,” I hear him say at the back before I circle around to see him pulling a large, hard case from the cargo area. “This thing weighs a ton!”

“Oh!” I reach out for my precious baby, frightened for his safety. “That’s Remy.”

Vaughn’s eyebrow raises at me. “Remy?”

A nervous laugh. “Yeah. He’s a 1927 Remington Number Twelve typewriter. It’s a family heirloom and my good luck charm.”

His head tilts at me, his eyes going warm. “Remy. I like it. I promise I’ll be extra careful bringing him upstairs for you.” He winks. “Do you use him to write, or…?”

“Oh, no,” I say, head shaking. “He just… brings me comfort.” My face is absolutely heating up.

I’ve never had to explain Remy to anyone before.

Steve had been my friend when I inherited him, and he knew the story of how my great-grandfather had bought it new and gifted it to my grandmother. No one else was privy.

Three trips up and down the stairs to the second floor later, and all of my things were in my new room. Vaughn had excused himself to get back to work, citing the end of the work day for patrons.

I busy myself with unpacking and straightening up all my things, getting them just where I want them.

Remy is out of his protective case and gently seated at the end of the long desk.

My laptop is set up in the center in front of the plush swivel chair, electronic tablet beside the keyboard.

I place a few books in the drawer of one of the nightstands, along with a rechargeable book light, and plug in my phone/watch/earbuds combo charging cradle.

Once I finish hanging my clothes on the plentiful hangers in the closet, I set my shoes in the cubbies inside and line up my suitcases in the back corner, out of the way.

I arrange my toiletries throughout the bathroom, and when finished, I turn to the enormous clawfoot tub. “I’ll be seeing you later,” I promise.

But when I return to the bedroom, I find myself restless. Lonely, actually.

I feel the draw of going down to the bar to be around people—or maybe just Vaughn—but I refrain for now. Instead, I do the level-headed thing and call my best friend and book editor, Rebecca.

“Vi!” she cries out so loud I have to pull the phone from my ear. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Wide-eyed, I snark, “Nice to hear your voice, Bec.”

She lets out an exaggerated sigh. “You’ve been MIA for more than a day. Steve has been blowing up my phone—”

“Fucker was cheating on me, Bec.” My words are harsh, but I hate the sob behind them.

She’s quiet for a moment, then says in a soft voice I don’t hear from her often, “Oh, Vi… I am so sorry.” A sigh. “Want me to castrate him for you?”

And she’s back!

My laugh is watery before I recount the events of two days ago.

She was pissed, cursing up a storm when I got to the part when I walked in on Steve and Sam, then hollered a laugh when I told her I’d left his door open for the CEO to catch them both with their pants down.

“Where are you now?”

“A beautiful little town in the north called Crescent Lake.” I tell her about the apartment mishap, meeting Dimple Hottie Vaughn, and falling into this luxurious bedroom.

She lets out a whistle, then says conspiratorially, “I think you should use the Hottie for more of that gracious hospitality.”

I breathe a laugh. “Oh, I’ve thought about it.”

“Do it!” she demands. “You need to be sexed up by some hot Alpha who’s going to treat you right.” She sighs. “Look, Vi. We’ve known each other for a long time, and you’ve been in love with Steve well before we met. But…” She trails off and goes silent so long that I have to pipe up.

“But what?”

She sounds like she’s choosing her words with care. “I… never thought he was right for you. And I definitely regret not saying anything before now, but you were just so in love, Vi. I think… I think it blinded you.”

I swallow hard. “Blinded me?”

“To the truth,” she says in that soft voice again. I don’t like it. It isn’t the Bec I know and love, her brash, take-no-prisoners attitude is simply gone. “He never treated you like an Alpha should treat his Omega. He treated you more like a little sister.”

Slap.

That’s what her words feel like.

But is she wrong?

A tear slips from my eye, and I swipe at that motherfucker with a vengeance. I don’t want to cry over this man—this situation—anymore.

“I’m gonna go, Bec.” My voice is weak, and I hate it.

“Okay, Vi. Leave your phone on, okay? I’m worried about you. And check-in, please.”

I tell her that I will end the call, completely depleted of any desire for social interaction, or even a long, soothing bath.

What happened to my beautiful life?