Page 34 of Knot Alone

“Sign please.”

It takes more out of me than it should to scratch out a signature.

“And you’re done. I’ll go talk to your Alphas, which should take about as long as we’ve taken here. Would you like me to send them to you when we’re done?”

“Yes, please.” I plead.

“Try to rest and I’ll get them to you as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.” I try not to be embarrassed. Iris just smiles and bops me on the knee with her tablet.

Before the door even closes, I grab a heating pad from the chest—don’t look at the sex toy—and crawl under the pile of pillows. I let the hot pad warm up my nest as I burrow myself in, pretending I don’t have to wait.

Chapter Nine

Linus

There are moments when Graham’s calm is a great comfort to me. And there are moments where I’d appreciate a little panic.

But he never does.

“How are you not furious about this?” I demand, pacing across the tiny confines of Iris’s office while Graham stays sprawled in her chair.

“How am I not furious that your parents are behaving like themselves?”

I want to say it’s different this time, but it isn’t.

I got next to nothing done at work this morning. Not because I wanted to be back in bed with my lovers—which I did—but because three minutes after I settled in my office, my parents turned up, bubbling with excitement over ‘my’ Omega. They were all, ‘We don’t expect grandchildren for a year at least,’ and ‘We’ve looked into her family. Not quite our sort, but good enough for company,’ and ‘Don’t worry, we’ve already contacted the divorce attorney.’

Storming out of my office to keep from screaming at my parents is not the way I wanted to start my work day. But needs must.

One of the senior partners swanned in and collected my parents for a late breakfast, winking at me while he nodded along with all their nonsense. That way they could feel heard without me being the one who did the listening. But the damage was already done. Not just in office gossip, but… Graham.

For the first time in the mad, mating rush of the last twenty-four hours I asked myself, Graham isn’t worried about divorce, is he?

He can’t be.

Blessed be my secretary, because she got my desk clear for the weekend while I angsted around my office. But before I could summon up the courage to just ask him, Graham called, demanding I get to the Center because Maggie was going into heat.

And now I’m a tangled mess of worries about how Graham really feels, all while trying not to think about Maggie somewhere in this building, winding up for her heat. Or think about how pretty she looked in the chair behind the caseworker’s desk when I ate her out. A replica of the chair Graham is sprawled in, like he’s ten seconds away from telling me to come over there and sit in his lap.

Worry and arousal don’t mix well.

Graham snorts as I start another lap of the room.

“Stop it,” I say.

“Then stop smelling guilty about wanting to hump the chair,” Graham says with dry amusement. As much as I want to pretend his calm doesn’t help, it does.

I come around the desk and step between my husband’s legs, leaning down to press our foreheads together. “Tell me.” Graham murmurs.

“I love you.” My voice breaks.

“I love you too. What’s got you all wound up?”

Graham says it so easily, like it hasn’t crossed his mind to be worried. “Are you… are you all right?”

“I’m not the one pacing.”

---