20. Felix #2
It's as if we're not at the ball anymore.
I've completely forgotten about my pack, about the reason we're here, about everything except the woman standing in front of me with her eyes bright with playful challenge.
My heart is hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape, and I can feel heat creeping up my neck.
She has me doing things that I would never dream of doing, not in a million years, but here I am, ready to throw dignity to the wind just to see that smile on her face.
My eyes widen as the full impact of what she's suggesting hits me. "You want to have a chocolate identification competition?"
"Unless you're chicken," she says.
"Belle Hartwell, are you trash talking me about chocolate?"
"Maybe."
"Then you're on," I say sternly, thinking that maybe too much time with Marcus is rubbing off on me. My chest is sticking out and the only difference between Marcus and I is that he would be flexing his biceps, which for a split second I thought about doing.
We approach the chocolate fountain like we're conducting a scientific expedition, and Belle's excitement is infectious. She points out different chocolate streams dark, milk, white, something that might be ruby chocolate while I find myself getting genuinely competitive about flavor identification.
"That's definitely single origin dark," she says, pointing to one cascade. "Probably Madagascar vanilla notes."
"And that one's got sea salt," I add, pointing to another stream. "I can smell it from here."
"Show off," she teases, but her scent spikes with something that might be impressed pride.
We're both laughing now, leaning over the fountain like kids at a candy store, and I realize this is what I've been missing my entire adult life. Not just fun, but this kind of connection. Someone who makes work feel unimportant and laughter feel essential.
"Speaking of showing off," Belle says, "how many times have you been to the ball?”
The question brings me back to reality slightly. The truth is that Marcus, Theo, and I have been hosting these balls for three years, but explaining that would require explaining a lot more than I'm ready to share while she's still calling me by my last name.
“Three times,” I say, which is technically true. "The architecture is memorable."
She studies my face, and I can see her sharp mind working. Her scent carries a note of curiosity now, and I can practically feel her putting pieces together.
"You know, for someone who works in our little town, you seem very comfortable in places like this."
"Is that a problem?" I ask.
"No, it's just interesting. Most people from Willbrook would be completely overwhelmed by all this." She gestures around the opulent ballroom. "But you act like you belong here."
"Maybe I'm just good at adapting to new environments,” I say.
“Or maybe you're not quite who you seem to be."
The observation is delivered lightly, almost playfully, but there's genuine curiosity underneath it. Belle has always been perceptive, and I should have known she'd pick up on the inconsistencies.
"Are any of us who we seem to be?" I counter. "Isn't that the point of a masquerade? Don’t we hide behind our masks to hide our true idenities?”
"Touché." She finishes her tart and sets down the plate. "So, about that library tour you promised."
"Right this way, my lady."
I guide her away from the dessert table, through a corridor lined with paintings that probably cost more than most people's houses.
Belle's head turns constantly, trying to take in every detail, and I find myself seeing the palace through her eyes: the overwhelming wealth, the impossible beauty, the fairy tale unreality of it all.
"Felix," she says as we walk, "can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"You handled that alpha situation back there like someone who's dealt with territorial alphas before. But you also seem to genuinely enjoy chocolate discussions and library tours. It's like you're two different people."
It's a fair observation, and one I can't fully answer without revealing more than I'm ready to. The truth is that I've spent so many years in alpha dominated business settings that I've learned to navigate them, but Belle brings out parts of me that I've kept buried under professional necessity.
"Maybe I'm just someone who's been waiting for the right omega to bring out his better side," I say.
Her scent shifts at that, becomes richer and more complex, and I can tell the honesty affects her.
But there's something else in her expression now, a flicker of uncertainty that crosses her features.
She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it again, her eyes searching my face like she's trying to solve a puzzle.
Maybe she's wondering if Theo broke their secret, or maybe she's starting to realize that I can smell her scent despite her suppressants. Either way, I can see the wheels turning in that sharp mind of hers, and I know she's putting pieces together.
We reach the library, and I push open the heavy wooden doors to reveal a room that never fails to take my breath away.
It's smaller than the ballroom but no less magnificent, with floor to ceiling bookshelves stretching up three stories, connected by a network of spiral staircases and walkways that look like something from a dream.
Belle stops dead in the doorway.
"Oh," she breathes, and the wonder in her voice makes my chest tight. "Oh, Felix, this is..."
"I know."
She steps into the room slowly, reverently, her head tilted back to take in the painted ceiling depicting classical scenes of learning and wisdom. The scent of old leather and aged paper mingles with her natural vanilla and honey, creating something that smells like coming home.
But more than that, her scent is doing something I've never experienced before. It's calling to me on a level that goes beyond attraction, beyond simple alpha omega dynamics. It's like my entire being recognizes her as essential.
"There must be thousands of books here," she whispers, moving toward the nearest shelf.
"Tens of thousands, according to the catalog."
"You've read the catalog?" She turns to look at me with surprise and something that might be respect.
"I told you I've been here before, even though I never entered. Marcus mentioned something about it.”
"What kind of collection is it? Medieval manuscripts? First editions? Contemporary works?"
I watch her run her fingers along the leather spines with the same reverence she might use to touch sacred relics. Her scent deepens with contentment, and I realize this is Belle in her element, surrounded by knowledge and possibility.
"All of the above. There's a particularly impressive section on architectural history on the third level."
"Of course you'd know about the architecture section." But she's smiling as she says it.
"And there's a complete collection of romantic literature from the 18th and 19th centuries on the second level that I thought might interest you."
She turns to face me fully, and there's something different in her expression now. Her scent shifts again, becomes warmer and more inviting.
"You thought about what might interest me?"
"Belle, I think about you more than I think about my own interests."
There’s something about this room, about the way she looks surrounded by books, which makes it impossible to keep playing games.
"That's..." She pauses, seeming to search for words. “Possibly the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"That I thought about books you might like?"
"That you think about me at all." Her voice is soft, almost wondering. "I'm not used to being someone's priority."
I step closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, close enough that her scent surrounds me completely. Close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
"Belle, you've been my priority since the first time I saw you get excited about a new book shipment at the library."
"That was months ago,” she whispers.
“I know."
"You've been thinking about me for a month?” She asks.
"I've been thinking about you, dreaming about you, and trying to figure out how to get close to you without scaring you away." I reach up and trace the edge of her mask with one finger, and she shivers at the contact. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"What do I do to you?" She asks, but she’s not teasing me. It’s as if she has no idea the power she has on me.
"You make me want to be someone who deserves you. You make me want to learn how to have fun, how to be spontaneous, how to live instead of just existing. You bring out this person I never knew was inside me."
Her scent spikes with something that might be arousal, and I have to fight to keep my own response under control.
"Felix..." Her voice is barely a whisper.
"You make me want to eat dessert for no reason and have philosophical discussions about chocolate and spend entire evenings in libraries just because they make you happy.
" I'm still tracing the edge of her mask, and her breathing has become shallow and rapid.
"You make me want to be the kind of man who knows how to make you smile. "
"You already make me smile,” she purrs as if I’m sending her into a trance.
“I want to make you laugh every day. I want to be the person you trust with your dreams and your fears and your terrible jokes about library science."
"They're not terrible jokes."
"They're awful jokes," I say with a grin. "And I want to hear every single one of them."
She places her palm flat against my chest, right over my heart, and the contact sends electricity shooting through my entire nervous system.
"I can feel how fast your heart is beating," she whispers.
"That's what you do to me. That's what you've always done to me."
"I don't understand how this is happening so fast," she says, but she doesn't move her hand. "I don't understand how you can make me feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
"Maybe you are."
"This is crazy. We work in the same town, but I barely know anything about your life outside of architectural plans and building permits,” she admits.
"Then ask me. Ask me anything you want to know."
"What do you do for fun?" She asks.
I laugh, and it's probably the most honest sound I've made all evening. "Before tonight? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I work, I sleep, I work some more. I haven't had fun since god, I can't even remember."
"That's sad."
“Thanks!” I chuckle. “I didn't think it was sad until I met you. Now I realize I've been sleepwalking through my life, waiting for someone to wake me up."
Her scent becomes richer, more complex, and I can see her pupils dilating as she processes what I'm saying.
"And you think I woke you up?"
"Belle, you don't wake me up. You set me on fire. You make me want to throw away my schedule and just exist in moments like this."
"What kind of moments?"
"Moments where we're standing in a palace library surrounded by thousands of love stories, and I'm thinking about how none of them could possibly be better than this.
Moments where you're looking at me like I might be someone worth knowing, and I'm trying to figure out how to be worthy of that look. "
She's quiet for a long moment, her hand still pressed against my chest, her scent growing stronger and more intoxicating with every breath.
"Felix," she says finally, "I think you might be the most dangerous thing that's ever happened to me."
"Dangerous how?"
"Because you make me want things I never let myself want. Because you make me feel like the version of myself I always wished I could be."
"What version is that?"
"Someone who's worth this." She gestures between us.
"Belle, you are worth this, and everything."
I can see the exact moment when her last wall crumbles. Her scent shifts again, becomes open and vulnerable and completely trusting, and I know that whatever happens next is going to change both of our lives forever.
"I want to know you," she whispers. "Really know you. Not just the professional architect, but the man who's standing here telling me I'm worth everything."
"Then stay with me tonight. Let me show you who I am when I'm not hiding behind work and responsibility. Let me show you what it looks like when someone puts you first."
"What does that look like?"
"It looks like spending the rest of this ball learning everything that makes you happy and then making sure it happens. It looks like dancing until dawn and eating every dessert on that table and talking about books and dreams and everything else you've never had someone to share with."
Her answer is to rise up on her toes and press her lips to mine, and the kiss tastes like chocolate and possibility and coming home to a place I never knew I was looking for.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, I rest my forehead against hers and marvel at how perfectly she fits against me.
"Belle," I murmur against her lips, "you bring out the child in me. The one I never knew existed. The one who wants to play and laugh and discover magic in ordinary moments."
"I want to meet that person," she whispers back.
"Then let's go find some magic."
And as I take her hand and lead her back toward the ballroom, toward the dessert table and the dancing and whatever other adventures the night might hold, I know that I've found my missing piece.
The part of me that Belle was always meant to wake up.