Page 39 of Knot Like Other Girls

Roman inclines his head. "Bella, then. Why don't you go get dressed? Breakfast should be ready soon."

I glance down at myself, suddenly acutely aware that I'm still in my fleece pajamas, my hair a wild mess from tossing and turning all night. "Right," I say, feeling my cheeks heat again. "I'll... go do that."

As I turn to leave, I catch a glimpse of Liam watching me, a strange expression on his face. It's gone before I can decipher it, replaced by his usual stoic yet kind mask.

In the bathroom, I stare at my reflection, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. My hair is a tangled mess, my eyes still heavy with sleep. I look like myself for once, I notice with a dry laugh. Unpolished. Nothing like the carefully curated image Braxley insists on.

I brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair, wincing at the tangles. Opening my suitcase—I still haven't unpacked, can't bring myself to make this move feel permanent—I pull out a soft cream sweater and my favorite pair of well-worn jeans.

The sweater's nothing fancy, just something I picked up at Target last winter, but it's comfortable and warm. The jeans will make Braxley cringe, but they fit perfectly and I refuse to throw them out just because they're not "on brand." No matter what I pick, he'll make me change if we go anywhere today anyway.

I dress quickly, adding a pair of thick wool socks because the marble floors in this place are freezing. I put on some extra makeup to cover the dark circles under my eyes and look a littlemore alive, a bit of lip gloss, and pull my still tousled hair into a messy bun.

As I'm checking my reflection in the mirror to make sure I look halfway presentable, I hear Braxley's voice, high and whiny, complaining about the noise.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? Some of us need our beauty sleep, you know. And what is that awful smell? Are you cooking? In my kitchen?"

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. Here we go.

When I emerge from the bedroom, Braxley is in full diva mode, giving Liam a hard time about, well, everything.

"Do you even know how much that pan costs? It's not meant for... whatever that is you're making. And those are my good eggs!"

"You have a shitload of eggs," says Troy.

"Not that kind!" Braxley complains. "And the smell! It's going to take forever to air this place out. I have a very important video to film later, you know."

Liam, to his credit, seems completely unfazed. He just continues cooking, occasionally grunting in acknowledgment of Braxley's tirade.

I catch Roman's eye, and he gives me a slight smirk.

"Good morning, Braxley," I say, trying to diffuse the situation. "The alphas were kind enough to make us breakfast. Isn't that nice?"

Braxley turns to me, his face softening slightly. "Oh, there you are, darling. I was beginning to think you'd abandoned me to these... ruffians."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Of course not. I was just getting dressed."

"Hmm," he says, eyeing me critically as he comes up to me to press his lips against my forehead with an overly loud kiss. "Those clothes are so... provincial."

I look down at my simple jeans and sweater. They're comfortable, practical. But in Braxley's world, that's practically a sin.

"Maybe I’ll change later," I say, not wanting to get into an argument. "Why don't you sit down? Breakfast is almost ready."

As if on cue, Liam starts plating up the food. I move to help him, grabbing utensils and napkins.

"Oh no, darling," Braxley says, wrinkling his nose. "I can't possibly eat... whatever that is. Do you know how many carbs are in pancakes? I'll just have my usual green smoothie."

I see Troy and Liam exchange a look, and for a moment, I'm afraid one of them might say something. But they remain silent, continuing to set the table. Although Troy is smirking.

"Savva," Troy calls out. "Food's ready. Time to put away the toys and join the real world."

Savva looks up from his laptop, an eyebrow raised. "Some of us have actual work to do. Unlike you, who seems to think his job consists solely of making bad jokes and flexing in front of mirrors."

"Hey, these biceps don't maintain themselves," Troy says with a grin. "Besides, someone's gotta keep morale up around here."

Braxley perks up. "What is your routine, anyway?" he asks. "I can't help but notice you're in good shape yourself."

Troy gives Braxley's noodle arms a quick once-over. "Cheeseburgers."

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