Page 66 of Knot Just for Show

And the doors swing open.

The hallway set lighting is so much brighter that I actually have to work not to raise my hand and block my eyes instinctively—then, I see them.

Five men stand on the opposite side of the room and I’m not sure where to look first. Mavren had said something about me not having an obvious ‘type’ of guy, and already I can see a little bit of what he was getting at.

“Oh my god,” I murmur under my breath as I put one foot in front of the other—doing my best to keep moving forward without dropping my jaw and tripping over it.

For an awful second—I’m worried they’ll just stand there, silent and frozen. Would such an obvious rejection hurt less than a disingenuous one? In the next blessed breath, my name seems to come from each of them in a hurried chorus, hands stretching toward me as I draw closer. I could cry under the staggering weight of my joy—but I’m doing my absolute best to hold it together.

“Ok, now—I’m at a distinct disadvantage here,” I laugh continuing my approach on increasingly unsteady legs.

The second tallest of the lot, a man with a shining black pompadour, dark almond shaped eyes, and an obviously well maintained tan—jostled the shortest of my suitors; compact, athletic but sleek, sharply dressed in an expensive suit, cut in impeccable lines with his chocolate curls and beautiful, sharp features. The pair shared a glance, then practically raced one another across the short distance of carpet between us.

The taller of the two men grinned at me, a shark-sharp smile of dazzling white teeth, and I knew him straight away.

“Teddy?” I can scarcely catch enough breath for the laugh that follows.

His smile only widens, the beautiful boy beside him looking on hopefully.

“Lysander?” I nearly sob, the joy springing up from deep within me threatening to overflow.

The two don’t bother to confirm or introduce themselves—they just throw themselves at me wrapping their arms around me in a tight hug.

“What are you idiots waiting for? Get over here!” Teddy shouts, waving over the rest of the guys.

The tallest of the group, a beautiful man with deep brown skin and long dreadlocks twisted into an elaborate coil atop his head, steps forward and offers one of his work worn palms to me—a litany of tattoos in crisp black ink visible on his forearms; tuftsof fresh coriander leaves, a bunch of needled rosemary springs, a chef’s knife, a balloon whisk, the tiny Kewpie doll baby of a mayonnaise mascot.

“Hey,” Mavren purrs low in his chest as I throw myself into his arms.

“Hey, yourself.” I blink back tears as I sink into his embrace—his hands moving up my back to cradle the crown of my head gently.

I can tell he lets me go reluctantly—a man with paper white skin, glacial blue eyes, and beautifully styled lavender blonde hair so fair it’s nearly silver. His alabaster lashes fan up and down as he looks me over—a dreamy smile stretched across his lips—a silver and opal septum ring dangling from his nose and glittering piercings visible up and down his ears as he leans in to pull me from Mavren’s arms.

“Should I be surprised you look like you belong behind a microphone in a jazz club? I can’t believe no one’s said it yet—you look incredible, Ursula,” he hums, low and resonant, as he folds me in his arms.

“Ash,” I sigh his name against his ear—doing my best to keep my tears from spilling over and destroying my makeup.

There are choruses of compliments from the others after Ash’s callout, but they all blend and smear together.

After a long moment pressed together in a tight hug, he lets me go—a man with a toss of fiery red hair, his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose crowded with freckles, fixes his cool quartz gray gaze on me—his arms outstretched.

“Well, look at you, our little gold star.” That soft twang, those vowels straight from West Virginia—Ronan.

He takes my hands in his and draws me toward him, a devilish grin curling his lips as he pulls me closer.

“Speaking of things I can’t believe y’all haven’t done yet,” he purrs, one of his hands letting go of mine—his fingers suddenlyin the hollow of my throat, then in my hair—coiling back to the nape of my neck as he pulls my face toward his in a kiss.

His lips are full and soft when they meet mine, my spine softening and knees weakening as he dips me backward slightly—one hand cupping the back of my head, the other still clasping mine—our fingers knitted together.

It’s full on bells, whistles, and fireworks—the crescendo to the big musical number; just like they show in the movies.

I’ve barely surfaced from the first kiss, Ronan setting me upright back on my own two feet—before I’m being passed into the waiting arms of Mavren—a look somewhere between embarrassment and frustration drawing his regal features.

“I didn’t know what protocol was, I wasn’t trying to—“ he begins to explain, but I cut him off with a giggle and a gentle press of my index finger to his beautiful, full lips.

“No need to apologize, Chef—just kiss me if you want to kiss me.”

Before I can take a breath, he stoops down, shaking off my finger and pressing his mouth to mine.

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