Page 148 of Knot Baked Out For This
"Flowers."
"What?" I blink at him, confused. "What are you going to do with them?"
His smirk is sharp, dangerous in a way that makes my stomach flip.
"What we're going to do with them."
I frown, not understanding, but I hand him the bouquet. The roses look wrong in his hands—too delicate, too formal for someone who smells like gingerbread and fixes broken things in the dark.
He offers his other hand.
"Trust me."
Two words. Simple.
But from Luca, they carry weight.
I stare into his storm-gray eyes, seeing something there I can't quite name.
Not pity—never pity with him. Not even sympathy exactly. More like... recognition. Like he knows what it's like to have something beautiful turned into a weapon against you.
The October pre-dawn is cold, biting at my exposed skin where my sweater has slipped. Somewhere down the street, a dog barks. The bakery behind us smells like rising dough and possibility. And Luca stands there, patient as stone, one hand holding roses that represent everything I've lost, the other extended toward me like a lifeline.
Trust him. Trust that this won't hurt. Trust that he knows what he's doing.
It's harder than it should be. My body remembers what happened the last time I trusted an Alpha with roses. The blood, the thorns, the laughter from the patio as I cried. But this is Luca. Luca, who fixed my door without being asked. Who researched Omega Wellness? Who kissed me like I was something precious rather than something to possess.
My hand trembles as I reach out, and time seems to slow. This feels bigger than just taking his hand. It feels like choosingto believe that not all Alphas will turn beautiful things into punishments. That's not all love comes with thorns.
That maybe…I can trust again.
The moment our hands touch, his fingers close around mine—gentle but firm, warm against the cold morning. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, and I realize he's looking at my hands. At the tiny white scars that crosshatch my palms and fingers, barely visible unless you know to look.
"From the roses," I whisper, though he didn't ask.
"From him," he corrects quietly. "The roses were just the weapon."
Something in my chest cracks at that—the simple acknowledgment that the roses weren't to blame, that beautiful things twisted into cruelty aren't inherently cruel themselves.
"Where are we going?" I ask as he starts to lead me further inside the bakery.
"You'll see."
"That's ominous."
"That's mysterious."
"Ominously mysterious."
"Mysteriously ominous."
Despite everything—the roses, the memories, the tears still drying on my cheeks—I feel my lips twitch toward a smile. "You've been spending too much time with Levi."
"Impossible. Time with Levi is barely survivable in current doses."
We reach back to the door to the suite, but he remains outside.
“Change into something suited to your style but comfortable.”
