Page 3 of Knot Your Business

The screen of my phone flashes, and I scowl, flipping it over and ignoring the call before it starts vibrating across the hotel’s dresser. My mother has already called me three times since lunch, and no amount of ignoring her seems to be getting the message across. Is me being in Manhattan for this damn thing not good enough?

Of course not. She won’t be satisfied until I’ve matched with whatever senator’s son she’s set her eyes on this cycle. My fathers have been more understanding, Dad sending me a text early this morning while Papa and Father video called me together before Faedra and I went to lunch. Only Papa really understands my disinterest in matching. He’s the only one I’ve explained why I’ve dragged my feet in allowing the Council to woo me in with their promises of glitz and fun and passion.

“Violet, I think the car’s here.” Faedra’s voice is as frazzled as my nerves, though I’d never admit it.

I sigh, finishing my winged liner and putting on mascara before touching up my highlighter. I tuck both lipsticks into my wristlet before stuffing my phone in there, too, ignoring the two new notifications from my mother. The strappy heels take a minute to finagle into, and I’m silently cursing myself for being so stubborn about my outfit by the time I’m buckling the thin bands around my ankles.

“Violet?”

“Coming,” I say, my voice betraying the nerves sitting just under my skin. I curse, grabbing my wristlet and adjusting the hem of my dress around the heels as I walk into the shared living space of the hotel suite.

I hate that I’m nervous for this.

Faedra’s eyes skate over me, her lips tipping into a sly grin even as her eyebrows rise. The blush is instantaneous, though I silently curse that response, too.

“It’s probably too much, isn’t it?” I ask, smoothing my hands over my stomach and down my hips, adjusting the metallic green fabric.

She’s quick to shake her head, her voice soothing. “It’s perfect.”

Good.

I cross the room, grabbing one of the hotel keys from the small table beside the door and tucking it into my wristlet as I meet her at the door.

“Don’t know how I’m going to survive wearing these,” I joke, pulling up the hem of the green bodycon dress, showing off the three inch gold and black stiletto heels that match my jewelry. “But I guess the Council will just have to factor that into their decision.”

She cocks an eyebrow before shaking her head and letting out a huff of a laugh.

“Of course you’d wear something that would jeopardize your safety.”

She sighs, twisting the handle. The door swings open, and I follow her into the hallway.

“They’re fucking perfect, and you know it,” I say, regaining a bit of my normal confidence as we head down the long hallway to the elevator. Her phone sounds with a notification as we near the end, and she sends a quick text to someone before stopping in front of the elevators. I step around her since I can’t see over her shoulder even with the added height of the heels.

“Besides,” I say, glancing over my shoulder, “Alphas are almost ridiculously tall. The last thing I want is for them to think I’m some dainty, virginal eighteen-year-old. The idea of ending up with a pack that idealizes that makes me want to vomit.”

I scrunch up my nose as I push the call button. Twice. Who honestly only presses it once?

Faedra glances away, her flinch subtle, and I keep my gaze on the patterned carpet just behind her. We’ve never talked about it—not since that night freshman year when her date went poorly. I had double checked she didn’t need a Plan B. Best friends look out for each other, you know? Her cheeks had matched her red hair, her freckles nearly completely invisible when she’d admitted she’d never slept with anyone and certainly not deadbeat Tyler.

Maybe the virginal comment went too far. I didn’t realize she hasn’t been with anyone since then. I know she’s nervous for tonight.

Faedra and I are opposites, my dark to her light. She’s been quietly stressing about this for weeks, agonizing over her dress and hair and makeup until I thought she would make herself sick. She’s normally the first one to rise to a challenge, to throw herself wholeheartedly into something new. But matching is different, I guess. It’s certainly more permanent. I cringe at the thought.

My mom was practically giddy when my dad told her I’d officially agreed to go to this gala. And anything that makes my mom happy makes me want to vomit and then run in the opposite direction. The reality is, I wouldn’t even be here if my last heat hadn’t been the absolute clusterfuck from hell.

For an unmatched, single Omega, there aren’t a ton of options for dealing with your heats. You can either suppress them like Faedra has done, consent to being sedated, or ride them out using toys. But even toys suck after a while. It’s like… like your body knows that it’s all fake and starts to reject it. Ridiculous, I know. And it’s not like my vibrators don’t do it for me. It’s just the knotting toys. Maybe it’s only become that way for me because I’ve started hooking up with Alphas the last couple years. I had adamantly refused anyone that wasn’t a Beta until my twenty-first birthday. You can’t miss something if you don’t realize it exists, you know?

But having now been through eight heats on my own, the appeal of the knotting toys has seriously diminished. Last fall, I decided I was willing to try going to one of the havens the Council has set up in larger cities to help Omegas that are caught off guard and don’t want to be suppressed or sedated. Hiding out in the dorm for a week while Faedra still went to classes just didn’t sound appealing to me. The place was nice enough—soothing colors and comfortable, plush nests. But everything smelled wrong, especially the Alphas who worked there and helped me through the heat.

Well, one of them, at least. The other had smelled...

The elevator opens, and I cut off my daydreaming, once again grateful for whichever group of scientists invented the newest scent blocking technology. Not a single note of my honeysuckle scent permeates from me despite that lingering fantasy. It’s certainly better than remembering my heat last month at the same facility. The Alpha I’d liked apparently chose to deactivate. And the two that were there? Definitely not the Alphas for me.

Faedra steps into the elevator, and I follow, forcing more confidence into my walk than I feel at the moment, channeling all that desperation I felt over spring break into something useful right now. The display flashes with each floor as we descend.

“The hotel is really nice,” Faedra whispers. “The Council must be happy we finally relented and picked a date.”

I nod, keeping the secret of my Papa paying for the room to myself. The Council typically picks one hotel—two, if it’s an especially large gala—for the Omegas. They intentionally coordinate with the staff to make sure no Alphas are working that day. One less place for possible unintended meet cutes or something. No way was I going to crowd into that hotel, surrounded by Omegas who were mostly younger than me and certainly way more excited to be at this damn event. When I admitted as much to Papa, he came in clutch, booking the room under Faedra’s name so my mother wouldn’t realize we were staying somewhere else.

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