She’ll never let me anywhere near her again after all this.
So maybe I should take what I can get while I still have the chance.
As Amelia and Isabelle’s laughter increases in pitch, something shifts in Trinity’s expression—a flash of vulnerability. From what I’ve already seen of those two, whatever they are laughing about isn’t anything good.
At this moment, I make a decision.
As soon as Trinity reaches the end of the gangplank, I push off from the railing and stride toward her. Her eyes widen as I approach, uncertainty mingled with something else—anticipation and maybe even eagerness. I might not deserve to be her knight-in-shining armor, and I’m terrible at the role, but I’ll play exactly that for as long as she wants.
I reach her in three long strides and, without hesitation, pull her into my arms. One hand slides around her waist while the other cups the back of her head. Her body stiffens in surprise for just a heartbeat before melting against mine.
“Play along,” I whisper in her ear, though that’s not why I’m doing this.
Then I kiss her.
Not the performative public display of affection I’d planned. Not the staking-a-claim gesture I’d intended to send a message to her exes. This is something else entirely.
This is real.
Her lips are soft under mine, tentative at first, then responding with an intensity that steals my breath. Her scent envelops me—rich spice with a hint of sweetness that I missed before because rut-inhibiting medication is required while heat-breaking for alphas—and suddenly I understand what people mean when they talk about scent matches. It’s like discovering a piece of myself I never knew was missing.
Around us, I vaguely register the varied reactions. Josephine squeals with delight. Margaret makes a small sound of surprise. One of the alpha sisters—Isabelle, I think—gives a disapproving sniff while Amelia mutters something under her breath.
None of it matters. Nothing matters but Trinity’s hands gripping my shirt, anchoring me to her as if she’s afraid I might disappear.
When we finally break apart, her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed. She looks dazed, as if she’s feeling the same earthquake I am.
“What was that for?” she whispers, her voice slightly unsteady.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, allowing myself the small intimacy. “Just making sure everyone knows you’re taken.”
It’s the answer she expects, the one that fits our arrangement. But it’s not the truth.
The truth is more complicated. The truth is that I’ve spent six months regretting not calling her back. The truth is that I’m terrified of what I’m feeling right now—this pull, this certainty, this recognition that goes deeper than attraction.
The truth is that I’m nearly certain we’re a scent match, and I’ve probably known it since that first heat we spent together. I just never thought I deserved someone like her.
I still don’t.
But as I look into her eyes, feeling the weight of her hand still gripping my shirt, I realize I might not have a choice anymore. Some things are bigger than our own insecurities.
Some connections can’t be denied, no matter how hard we try.
NINETEEN
TRINITY
I’m trying notto let my traitorous feelings distract me during this damn romantic sunset cruise, but it’s getting harder by the minute. The boat cuts through crystal-blue waters as the sun dips toward the horizon, painting everything in shades of gold and coral. Under different circumstances, this would be the perfect setting for an outing with my dream pack.
Instead, I’m trapped in my own personal hell.
Kyren’s arm drapes across the back of my chair, his fingers occasionally brushing my shoulder. Matheo sits on my other side, close enough that his thigh presses against mine. Cash and Lucas flank us, creating a protective barrier that feels both comforting and suffocating. They’re playing their parts perfectly—attentive, affectionate, completely devoted.
Too perfectly.
Every touch, every lingering glance, every casual endearment feels genuine enough to make my chest ache. But I keep reminding myself this is what I’m paying them for. Professional actors in my elaborate charade.
The cake tasting earlier was a nightmare. Isabelle and Amelia peppered me with questions while we sampled enough cake to kill a lesser woman, including twelve different flavors of floral-infused chocolate that I could barely tell apart.How did you meet? Where was your first date? When did you know they were the ones?Each question required quick thinking and careful answers that wouldn’t contradict whatever story the men might tell later.
