Silas
I’ve already checked the dining table three times in the last ten minutes, as though straight placemats might stop tonight from going wrong.
The placemats are straight. The cutlery is polished. The flowers sit neatly in the centre, low enough that nobody will have to lean around them to hold a conversation.
Drinks are chilling in the fridge. The food is prepped and timed down to the minute, and the heating has been nudged up a degree because November has decided to remind everyone it’s nearly winter. I won’t have my mate freezing when she’s denying herself the use of her blankets.
Everything is ready. Technically.
I still find myself adjusting the champagne glasses on the coffee table by less than an inch, making sure everything is going to look perfect.
“You know,” Evander drawls from where he’s sprawled across the sofa, all six-foot-three of broad shoulders and long limbs somehow taking up the entire thing.
His thick brown hair is already a little mussed from lounging, despite the expensive charcoal shirt stretched neatly over his chest and the tailored trousers that probably cost him more than retail because the tailors know how little he’ll respect them.
“If you keep moving things around, you’re likely to drive yourself crazy,” Evander continues. “Nobody coming cares how prepared we are.”
“Crazier than he already is,” Harlan mutters from the armchair beside him.
Unlike Evander, who’s already managed to wrinkle himself before we’ve even left the house, Harlan looks exactly as he’d intended.
Every line of his fitted cream turtleneck, tailored camel trousers and dark overcoat has been considered, the colours working perfectly against his warm skin and dark blond hair, artfully left a little too long on top.
Even sitting down, there’s an effortless precision to him, his long fingers resting against the arm of the chair as his molten hazel gaze follows me around the room.
The two laugh together as if they’ve told the funniest joke.
I roll my eyes. “It was crooked.”
Fuck, Silas, don’t argue with the idiots.
“It wasn’t,” Evander says with a smirk.
“It absolutely fucking wasn’t,” Harlan adds.
I ignore them and turn on the speakers, letting soft instrumental music drift through the room.
I step back, studying the room again as the low instrumental music settles beneath the quiet hum of the heating, checking for any obvious problems.
Isaac comes through, dressed as impeccably as ever, carrying the serving bowls I’d asked him to rewash.
His espresso brown hair is neatly styled, not a strand out of place, and the sleeves of his crisp navy shirt are rolled to his forearms. His fitted charcoal trousers have somehow remained perfectly pressed despite everything we’ve been doing this evening.
The other two have taken the piss and done nothing to help, but Isaac’s quietly done whatever I’ve needed without making me ask twice.
At six feet, he’s tall without being imposing, his lean frame carrying the quiet confidence that seems to come naturally to him.
He places the bowls on the coffee table.
Damn it.
I wait until he steps back, then rearrange them until they look better. Amusement tugs at the corner of the beta’s mouth, his caramel brown eyes warming, but I don’t bother commenting on it.
They’ll just take the piss even further.
“I think we’re officially out of things to prepare, Silas,” Isaac offers, his deep voice carrying easily through the room as he perches carefully on the arm of Evander’s sofa.
“I’ll do another check in the kitchen,” I say.
“Fucking hell,” Evander groans. “Don’t give me a job. I won’t do it.”
“I’ve noticed.” I sneer, shaking my head. “We should light the candles now.”
“They’re battery-operated,” Harlan says without looking up from his phone. “You’ll press one button, and it’ll take less than a second.”
I narrow my eyes at him, annoyance cutting through me. “Then if we press it now, they’ll all be set up.”
Harlan snorts.
“Oh, no,” Evander says gravely. “Can’t let our guests see us press a button.”
Bastards.
They don’t understand why I’m being so… anal about this. Not really.
To them, this is dinner with our families. Important, yes. A milestone, certainly. But it’s nothing majorly problematic.
To me, it’s more than that.
I’ve spent years loving Harlan’s parents as though they were my own. They’ve never once treated me differently than him. Never made me feel like anything less than their son.
But sometimes, usually on nights when the house was quiet and everyone else had gone to bed, the thought would creep in anyway.
I’d remember that they’re not actually mine. That I never came from them, that they never chose me—they simply ended up with me. A scar left behind by losing the family who were mine, the people who did choose me, who made me.
I learned long ago that family could be found again, thanks to the Mercers.
Tonight, though, it’s different. This pack we’re creating, this new family… they’re mine, and for once, I don’t have to wonder whether I’m truly theirs.
I’ve spent months working in the background to build this pack, doing everything in my power to get us on the same page, and it’s all come to fruition.
We’ve built this pack, built our future together, and I want the people we love most to see what we’ve made of each other.
How perfect we are for one another.
The thought settles somewhere deep inside me.
A warm hand slides into mine before I realise anyone’s approached, the soft brush of plum fabric catching against my trousers as I look down at my gorgeous omega, the breath catching somewhere behind my ribs.
She’s fucking stunning.
Honey brown hair tumbles over her shoulders in glossy waves, framing the gentle heart of her face, while the emerald green of her eyes seems almost luminous beneath long lashes.
The fitted plum dress hugs the soft curve of her waist before flowing elegantly to mid-calf, every detail chosen with the kind of effortless precision only another stylist would truly appreciate.
Gold catches at her ears and throat, delicate rather than extravagant, and the jewellery immediately draws my eyes to Evander’s mark on her.
Her makeup is subtle enough to let the warmth in her cream-toned skin shine through, and I’m so glad she hasn’t erased herself in another attempt to hide. She’d dressed to impress tonight—not because she needed to, but because she knew how important this evening was to me.
She doesn’t ask what I’m doing, doesn’t criticise me like the others have been.
She simply studies me with those impossibly gentle spring green eyes before lifting our joined hands and brushing her soft pink lips against my knuckles, soothing me without drawing attention to the fact that I need it.
“You’ve checked everything, Si,” she murmurs, resting her head on my chest. “You’ve done an amazing job. I love how well it’s come together.”
“I’ve checked most things,” I offer, turning her in my arms so she’s looking up at me.
Her smile grows. “Hm. What’s been left off your list, then, alpha?”
Oh, fuck, my cock twitches at the term.
Little minx knew it would.
She steps closer until the sweet comfort of her scent wraps around me, strawberry cream melting into warm vanilla musk, familiar enough to loosen the knot in my chest.
“I know why this matters to you,” she says just as gently.
Of course, she does.
She always notices the things everyone else misses. She’s so used to reading people, anticipating needs before they’re ever spoken aloud.
Her palms cradle my face, drawing my full attention to her.
The heels she’d chosen tonight add several precious inches to her height, though she still barely reaches my chin.
She’s still so tiny compared to me, and somehow she sees me more clearly than anyone ever has.
“Everyone who’s coming tonight already loves at least one of us.”
Fuck. I hadn’t expected that.
“They’re not coming to judge us, Si,” she says. “They’re coming because they’re excited for us.”
She rises onto her toes, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“They’re coming because they want to be part of our lives—a part of our future.”
“I know,” I say, leaning my forehead against hers and letting myself rest there. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. This is going to go very well,” she whispers. “Trust me.”
For the first time all day, I believe this might actually become the night I’ve imagined.
The doorbell rings sharply through the house before I can answer her, cutting across the music, and I’m not the only one who immediately snaps to attention.
Evander sits up properly, and Isaac gets off the armchair to switch on the candles. Harlan puts his phone in his pocket.
Cassidy startles in my arms, her scent sharpening into fresh strawberry before she reins it back beneath the familiar vanilla musk.
There it is. The nerves she’s been hiding beneath all that soft confidence.
I press a kiss to her forehead. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”
“I can come with you.”
“You can,” I agree because telling Cassidy she doesn’t have to do something is often the fastest way to convince her she should. “But you don’t need to greet every person at the door. Instead, you should be in here and save them from these fools.”
Her lips purse, and she hesitates, rocking on her feet as she tries to decide.
Evander stands and takes her hand, rubbing slow circles over the inside of her wrist where her scent runs strongest.
I give them a reassuring smile, remind Harlan to grab the wine, since he’s the only one not busy, and go to the front door.
My nerves are rattled, not because I’m anxious about their reactions, but because every person I love is under this roof, and I want tonight to go well for them.
I open the door, and a blade of cold air cuts across the warm entrance hall as my eyes land immediately on one of Cassie’s fathers. I smile, using the practised businessman expression I know so well, and step aside.
“Please, come in,” I say.
The first of her dads barrels through the door, all unruly dirty-blond curls, broad shoulders and barely contained alpha energy.