Page 6 of Knot My Luck

They say bad luck comes in threes but I’m already facing down my thirddecadeof lifetime of bad luck. And it doesn’t show any signs of letting up soon either.

I glance in the rearview mirror, my stomach tightening at the sight of the perfectly pressed dress in the back seat, a ridiculous emerald coloured satin thing that screams “wedding guest” in a way that feels more suffocating than celebratory. My friend’s wedding. I should be excited, right? Thrilled for her. I am…I just have a tendency to be a little late, and maybe a little distant when it comes to big, sentimental events like this.

This is only my second time back home in five years, and unlike last time when I stayed in a hotel and engaged in a wild night of mind blowing sex with a total stranger before leaving town the next day, this time I have to stay and see my family.

Joy.

Thinking of my last visit…A reckless mistake. That’s all it was supposed to be. Just one night to forget I’m an omega, in a world that will always try to own me.

Which is probably why I’m dragging my heels about the whole wedding-visit-return thing.

I take a breath, trying to calm the erratic beat of my heart. But my trembling body betrays me. Despite using a scent blocker this morning, the stress has caused it to wear off a little and betray me. No matter how much I try to steady myself, the faintest trace of my anxiety lingers in the air, a bitter note to my suppressed scent, a whisper only an alpha would catch.

This is my fault, I know. I shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to get my flight, hire a car and drive to town. My flight being delayed wasn’t exactly my fault, but I probably should have flown in yesterday. The second I realised how much time had passed, I’d been rushing through everything – hair, makeup, getting to grips with this stupid manual car. I drive an automatic back home and I will not be going back to manual, ever.

And then, of course, the traffic.

Today is not going well.

The GPS finally announces that I’m two minutes away, but I can already hear the faint chime of the bells. The wedding’s at the church down the street, and I can practically feel the eager stares of the guests waiting for me to pull into the parking lot.

Great.

I quickly pull into a space at the back of the church’s lot, throwing the car in park and grab the dress, trying not to panic. I roll my shoulders, pushing down the restless itch under my skin. This place, this city – it knows me. And somewhere in the crowd my past is waiting for me. I just have to get in there, smile, and pretend to be the beta who left five years ago and never looked back.

My heels click on the pavement as I jog to the entrance, heart thumping faster than it should.

I slip inside, pushing open the wooden doors with as much quiet grace as I can muster. I can hear the faint, melodic hum of the choir in the distance, soft but steady. I dive into the bathroom and quickly change into my dress, fixing my hair and reapplying my lipstick. I stash my travel clothes on the counter and make a mental note to grab them after the ceremony before we leave for the reception. The doors creak on their hinges as I step into the church, the sudden silence making me cringe, like everyone knows I’m here, and they all know I’m late.

I press myself against the cold, stone wall, out of sight of the main aisle where the guests are seated. The last thing I want is to disrupt anything, especially not in front of the bride. I’ve been friends with her since we were kids, and I know this wedding means everything to her. She’s waited for this day for as long as I can remember. I can’t believe I’m ruining it by being this late.

There’s a spot toward the back, next to the last row of pews, where I can hide without drawing too much attention. Instinct tells me to keep my head down. To stay unnoticed. I may be pretending to be a beta today, but those omega instincts are what will ensure no one discovers the truth. The last thing I need is an alpha catching a trace of something I shouldn’t be feeling.

I move toward it, my pulse still racing, and settle in. I’m far enough to not be seen by the rest of the guests, but close enough to see the procession as it unfolds.

I can’t even bring myself to look at the altar yet. I know I should be focused on the impending arrival of the bride, but all I can think about is how my heart’s still pounding, how everything feels a little out of sync. There’s something about this day that’s already making me feel like an outsider, and I’m not sure if it’s the wedding itself, or the pressure of trying to be the ‘perfect’ guest.

Scents thicken the air, cloying and threatening to overwhelm and suffocate me. The flowers, the incense, the perfumes and colognes of betas, the sharper, heavier presence of alphas. I’m not usually this sensitive to smells on my suppressants. So maybe it’s just my own nerves strangling me from the inside out.

Either way, it’s all too much.

But there’s no backing out now. I just have to hope I can stay in the shadows long enough to get through this without drawing too much attention. The back row is my safe haven – out of sight, out of mind.

The music swells, a soft, serene melody that floats through the air like a gentle wave, filling the church with a sense of anticipation. I glance toward the aisle, my heart in my throat. It’s happening. The bride is about to make her entrance, and the nerves that had settled a little begin to stir again.

I take a slow breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. The guests are all poised, waiting with bated breath. I’m just a spectator, but somehow it feels like my own heart is beating along to the rhythm of the music.

I watch as Nuala’s bridesmaids file in, dressed in blush-pink gowns, their smiles bright, their steps elegant. Each one looks like they’ve stepped out of a bridal magazine, all perfect and poised. My hands tighten around the pew, my chest tightening with a mix of envy and admiration. How do they all manage to look so put together? Each woman has that same graceful air, like she’s always known what to do, where to stand. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m standing on the sidelines, struggling to blend into the background.

Nuala has always been the picture of perfection – never a hair out of place, always in control, always the centre of attention in the best possible way. And here I am, barely keeping it together, too self-conscious in the back row, hoping no one notices I’m there. My chest tightens again, and I feel a pang of something sharp inside. Am I really this…out of place? I shake the thought off, telling myself that I’m just overthinking things.

Then, the doors swing open once more, and everything inside me stills.

There she is. The beautiful bride. In her pristine white lace gown, glowing like she’s stepped out of a dream. A collective sigh fills the room as she begins her walk down the aisle, her smile radiant, eyes locked on her soon-to-be husband. She looks flawless, every inch the beautiful bride, and I feel a lump form in my throat. This is her moment. Her day.

I can’t help but admire her, feeling a mixture of awe and that gnawing sense of being left behind. She looks perfect, as she always has, like she’s meant for this. And here I am, just a background character in this perfect scene, unable to stop comparing myself to her. My heart aches a little at the thought, but I push it aside.

I watch her approach the altar, focusing on her, trying to push away the unease that clings to me, the worry that I might not belong in this room. The ceremony feels weighty now, and I shift slightly in my seat, hoping the anxiety in my chest won’t betray me.

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