Page 191 of Knot Like Other Girls

I dab a touch of gold onto Roman's eyes on the canvas before me, trying to capture that particular light in them when he's looking at something he loves. The portrait has consumed me for weeks. My first serious painting since reclaiming my art after years of dismissal, first from my family and then Braxley.

"Almost there," I murmur to myself, stepping back to survey the nearly finished work.

It's large, spanning nearly four feet across, showing all six of us arranged in what I hope feels like a natural moment rather than a staged portrait. I've painted us in our living room, bathed in the warm glow from the stone fireplace we gather around every night. Roman stands tall and vigilant, one hand restingon the back of a leather armchair where I sit in the center, connecting to each alpha through subtle positioning.

Troy stands beside the armchair, his golden retriever energy captured in his characteristic grin. Liam leans against the arm of my chair, his tattooed frame relaxed and at peace. Savva stands to the left of Roman, his elegant sophistication evident in the tilt of his head toward me and the book held forgotten in his hand. Cole leans against the mantle, his hand on my shoulder, scarred profile turned slightly toward the light. A slight, soft smile curves his lips.

And me? I've painted myself looking directly forward, my expression open and certain in a way I never was before the Vanguard Pack.

The woman in the portrait knows exactly where she belongs.

Stepping back again, my chest tightens.

It's done.

I think I actually pulled it off.

The idea had come to me during one of our quiet evenings, all of us sprawled in various positions around the living room. I'd looked up from my book and been struck by the harmony of it—five vastly different men who somehow fit together perfectly, with me as the connecting thread. I'd started sketching that very night, and the project had grown from there, taking over the room they'd converted into a studio for me.

Every brushstroke feels like reclaiming something the world tried to take from me. My identity as an artist, yes, but more than that. My right to see beauty and capture it. My ability to tell stories through color and line.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

"Come in," I call.

The door opens and the alphas come in, crowding the small studio. Even after months together, my heart speeds up in theirpresence. Roman wastes no time kissing the top of my head, his hand rubbing my shoulder. I lean affectionately into his touch.

"Is it..." he begins, his golden-hazel eyes finding the canvas immediately.

"Finished," I confirm, moving aside so they can see.

For a moment, none of them speak as they take in what I've created. I hold my breath, suddenly nervous. I'm not the insecure omega I was when we met, but this painting feels like I've opened my heart and laid it bare before them.

Troy is the first to break the silence, a strangled sound escaping him. "Holy shit. When you said you used to paint..."

"This is… extraordinary," Savva says, uncharacteristically breathless as he steps closer to examine the details.

Liam stares in open wonder at the portrait. "You've made us beautiful, lass."

"You already were," I reply automatically. "I just painted what I see."

"You see us," Cole says simply, his voice rough.

"I do," I whisper, leaning into him and caressing his arm.

Roman approaches from the other side, his hand finding the small of my back. "The way you've captured our relationships—not just to you, but to each other..."

"That was important to me," I explain. "This isn't just five separate bonds. We're a unit. A family."

Troy swallows hard, his usual playfulness momentarily set aside. "You got that right, princess."

"Where are we going to hang this?" Savva asks, already mentally rearranging furniture. Always the planner.

"I was thinking above the fireplace in the living room," I say. "Where we all spend time together."

"Perfect," Roman agrees. "Right where it belongs."

My shoulder receives a gentle squeeze from Cole. "I'll get the tools," he says, moving toward the door. "Frame's ready."

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