Page 112 of Knot Just for Show

“You’re all being very secretive,” I pout, opening one half of our embrace so that we stand facing my wardrobe—my arm around his waist, his arm draped over my shoulder.

“I promise the surprise will be worth it.” He smiles, the circles beneath his eyes faded slightly after his own snooze earlier.

“You’d think we would have already had our fill of surprises,” I laugh weakly—and I can see something flash in Lysander’s eyes. It wasn’t meant to be a dig at him for the dramatic reveal, my heat inexperience, the revelation of interpack relationships and chemistry, or even the drama with Anton and Teddy on the beach—rather a commentary on the experience as a whole, preposterous as it was.

“I’m just trying to get through tonight—it’s a lot of pressure, you know?” I rush in to fill the space, worried I’ve hurt his feelings, but Lysander’s face softens again.

“I know, there’re a few more around the bend.” He kisses the apple of my cheek, then my lips before drawing back—his brown eyes fixed softly on my face. “Here, I’ll help—I may not be Julian St. James, but I do have a doctorate in aesthetics and art theory.” Lysander begins filing through the hangers in the closet.

I know I’m supposed to be agreeable, to take the easy guiding hand toward dinner, but a needling fear runs prickling down my spine.

“Where’s Teddy?” I ask, watching Lysander pull a pair of pleated linen palazzo pants from the closet, laying them over his arm carefully before he answers me.

“He’s still got some real last minute things to deal with before the dinner. The boys and I told him we had his back, that we’d make sure we got you to Pomme Verte on time as long getshis assthere on time,” Lysander answers flatly—his hands waffling back and forth over a few hangers before he ultimately decides on a blousy washed silk button down the color of a rock dove’s wing.

“Beige bag is the aesthetic of the evening?” I snicker, incredulous at his selection.

“Just put them on,” he instructs—handing me the garments before disappearing back into the wardrobe.

“Tonight is important, if everything goes well—we’ll be announcing our intention to become Pack Gold at tomorrow night’s mixer, then it’s right into the trial heat, and after that…” I trail off, standing dumbly in front of the elaborate gold framed cheval mirror beside the wardrobe—the blousy shirt flowing over my waist and down the decorative front pleats of the pants.

I look like a frumpy cloud of fog.

“Tonight is important,” Lysander echoes me in agreement, emerging from the wardrobe with a pair of rich red brown leather suspenders and a red silk scarf printed with the Ewing rose; the same pattern on my ring. “You are going to dobeautifully,” he assures me, French tucking my shirt before he fixes the leather braces to my linen pants—tying the scarf jauntily at my neck.

“You think so?” I blink, stepping into the heels Lysander pulled for me, pulling a tube of vermilion lipstick from the nearby vanity.

We stand side by side in the reflection of the mirror. I look almost like one of the boys, only with feminine accents and indecent roundness as Lysander whispers into my ear, “Everyone is going to love you. I know I do.”

Ronan, Lysander, Ash and I arrive at Pomme Verte just after sundown—the low twilight shining in pinky purples through the large panes of glass that make up the restaurant's greenhouse-like walls and ceilings.

Plants are everywhere, hanging from pots toward the ceiling, growing toward the light, from large mosaic tiled pots on the ground, and nestled into clever ledges, behind tables against the glass.

The restaurant is entirely empty. Except for one long table set with numerous places, a spirited conversation already bubbling up from the white linen dressed table.

Tears fill my eyes as I see at the very head of the table, with her long cherry chocolate curls bouncing around her shoulders—eyes crinkled at the edges and the corners with her smile. Miriam. My mama. Beside her, Poppy. My pops, my dad, mybrothers, are eagerly engaged in an almost-shouting match with Cosmo Lamont and a very, very pregnant Daphne Dale—the other members of Pack Silver stuck with other obligations for the evening. They gab loudly over one another. An older couple both with white blonde hair and pale glassy blue eyes are all but cringing away from my loud, brassy family.

On the other side of the table are two men covered head to toe in tattoos, one with shoulder length hair and the other with a buzzcut, were having a lively discussion with a woman with a sleek, swept back bleach blonde hairdo; her partner practically toppling her wheelchair to show the man with the buzzcut an engraving on her phone. Beyond them, closer to my family, sit two women of middle age; one tall and broad with golden hair and grass green eyes, sits beside the other—petite and lithe with a tidy black bob and blunt bangs peppered with silvery gray, her dark almond eyes watching my mother curiously as Miriam squawks loudly at the head of the table, a small smile quirking the woman’s lips.

“Well, it looks like the table is nearly full…but I don't see Teddy.” I wring my hands nervously. I am wondering if it is not too late to back out of the door before anybody sees that we have arrived. I have just about convinced myself that it won't be too difficult to bust out of the big glass doors and hoof it back to Emily in the waiting limousine when my mother looks up and catches my eye.

“Ursula, darling, my little Shana Madel,” she calls across the room, her voice breaking with tears.

“Mama,” I sniffle—and then she's pushing back from the table, standing on her too short, stubby legs running toward me, her arms outstretched. The two of us come together in an embrace, my face buried in the crown of her hair, the tears flowing down my cheeks.

“Daphne!” I sob as Daphne brings up the rear—waddling toward me, a hand bracing the bottom of her huge belly.

“My little girl, I should have trusted you when you said you needed to wait. I knew you would find your pack someday, but I never imagined they’d all be so gorgeous!” Mama dabs at the corner of her eyes with her finger. Taking a step back from me to take in Ronan, Lysander, and Ash. Looking them over, up, and down.

“Ma, please! You’re embarrassing me,” I chuckle through my tears, rubbing at my eyes with the back of my hands.

“What did I tell you, La-la!? I knew you were going to find happiness,” Daphne exclaims happily through her tears as she scoots in beside my mother—the three of us making a small ring of hugging and crying.

“Come on, why don't we have a seat? I haven't met everybody yet. Why don't we do some introductions? You’ve been chatting a while—why don’t you start?” I put my arms over their shoulders, holding them close to me.

Mom, Daphne, and I walk down the long table hand in hand until we arrive at the end of the table where everyone is seated.

The lavender blonde couple are obviously Ash's parents. Still, I allow my mother to make the necessary formalities.

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