Re Episode Love… Always
Florence
“Babies are so weird,” Tristan says, even as he holds Lyla in the crook of his arm, tickling her soft round stomach with his other hand.
She giggles and kicks her feet in delight, before latching on to one of his fingers with her tiny hands.
“I mean look at her. I’m a complete stranger and she’s just smiling at me like I’m the best thing. ”
I shrug, not looking up from where I’m making a final alteration to the suit I designed for him. “Lyla is a good judge of character.”
The other omega tsks, sending me a disappointed look. “Pack life has made you soft, jalapeno.”
I laugh. “What? How?”
“Before you would have said something quippy like, ‘there’s no accounting for taste’ or ‘she’s only four months old she doesn’t know any better.’”
I shrug again and lift the jacket I’ve just finished, eyeing the seams, the cut, the little detailing Tristan demanded of me.
Looks pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. I stand from my machine and stroll over to him. “Here. Give me the baby, you take the jacket and go put it on. Actually, let's do the whole suit. I want to make sure it’s perfect.”
He rolls his eyes, but does as I ordered, swapping the baby for the fabric. I turn my attention to my goddaughter, tickling her tummy in the same way Tristan had as he strips out of his clothes.
Downstairs, I hear the front door of my studio open letting in the sounds of the traffic outside.
There’s a heavy tread on the stairs that has Tristan cursing and trying to dress faster.
I’m not really sure why, it’s not as though I’d ever let any of my pack hurt him, and besides they know I’m not even remotely attracted to the male omega.
They do have a hard time with understanding that when I do a commission piece, I frequently have to get up close and personal with other people’s nearly naked bodies for measurements and tailoring.
A familiar head pops up at the top of the stairs, damp blond hair pulled into a bun telling me he showered before leaving the gym—his gym—and coming to see me.
He always does, ever since taking over a rundown boxing studio just down the street, he always pops up midday freshly showered and smelling like a dream to make sure I’ve eaten.
“Why are you stripping in front of my omega?” There’s a thread of possessive menace in Grieves’ voice that has both of us pausing. My mate sends a teasing wink in my direction through our bond and I relax the slightest bit, but Tristan remains frozen with one arm out of his shirt and one arm in.
“He’s actually in the process of getting dressed in front of me, bruiser.”
Grieves glances around. “I thought Petal and Haven were gonna be here with you. I didn’t think you were gonna be here alone with another male.”
Stop it, I mouth at him at the same time I chide him through our bond.
My alpha just grins and shrugs. The little shit.
“Tristan, it’s fine. He’s just fuc-messing with you,” I correct, glancing down at the squirming baby in my arms. She’s too young to understand words at this point, but I’m not going to risk having her first word be ‘fuck’ because Auntie Ren can’t keep her mouth clean.
The male omega relaxes, but only marginally. And I can’t blame him. Grieves seems to have only gotten bigger in the last few months and I don’t know how the hell that’s possible.
“I’ll just… duck behind the screen, shall I?”
“You do that,” Grieves growls, still glowering. But it melts as soon as Tristan disappears, and he turns his attention to me. Then it’s all softness and light. “Hi, baby.”
I quirk a brow. “Me or Lyla?”
“Both.” Another glance around before he ducks down and steals a kiss. “But seriously, I thought Haven and Petal were going to be here?”
I bounce Lyla as she starts to get a little fussy. “They were here, and so was Creed. They went to grab food for us. I finished with Petal’s fitting and she was starving. You’re being overly protective again.”
He shrugs unrepentant. “You can’t blame me, can you? After what we’ve been through. What you’ve been through.”
I soften a little at that, shifting Lyla higher on my hip. “No,” I admit. “I can’t.”
Not when I still remember what it felt like to almost lose everything.
Not when I know how hard we all fought to get here.
Grieves hums, satisfied, and presses another kiss to my temple before reaching out to brush his knuckles over Lyla’s cheek. She grabs for him instantly, little fingers curling around his, and he melts—completely and utterly undone.
I can only imagine what he’ll be like when we have a baby of our own, if he’s this soft for our little niece.
“Yeah,” I murmur, watching the two of them. “We’re all a bit soft these days.”
“Speak for yourself,” he grunts, but there’s no heat in it. He knows he turns into a marshmallow over Lyla.
There’s a shuffle behind the screen and then Tristan steps out, tugging the jacket into place, smoothing his hands down the front as he looks at me expectantly.
“Well?” he demands, turning in a slow circle.
I hand Lyla over to Grieves without looking away, stepping forward to adjust the line of the lapel, tugging the sleeve down just a fraction.
“It’s perfect,” I tell him, meaning it, somewhat smugly adding. “I do good work.”
“Don’t go getting an ego on me, jalapeno.”
Grieves chuckles. “Please get an ego, bubbles. You deserve to be proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”
And I am. Very proud.
My first limited launch was a success. Everything sold out in three days.
My inbox has been inundated with requests for custom gowns.
Too many for me to keep up with, especially since we’re expanding my clothing line for the next launch.
I am busier than I’ve ever been, but also happier than I’ve ever been.
Even when I was dancing professionally, I didn’t feel this… fulfilled.
Tristan pulls me into a hug, looking chagrined by my alpha’s chiding. “You do do good work, Ren.”
I hum and lean back again, just to double check everything. “You’re going to make whoever you’re trying to impress very happy.”
His mouth quirks. “Not trying to impress anyone.”
“Liar.”
He grins, unrepentant and shrugs.
“Petal’s going to lose her mind,” I add, softer, testing a theory I’ve developed over the last few months.
That earns me a flush and a mumbled, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Before I can poke at that further, the door opens again, voices spilling up the stairwell—Haven’s laugh, Petal’s softer tone, Creed’s low rumble.
“Look who we found wandering the streets,” my best friend calls brightly as they make their way up the stairs, too many footsteps for just the three of them.
I know who it is before they crest the stairs.
My pack, all of them. Unable to stay away for long.
Haven arrives first, Creed on her heels, they both head directly to Grieves and Lyla in his arms. Petal stops at the top of the stairs when her blue eyes land on Tristan they widen almost comically, a flush that matches her hair colors her cheeks, before she blinks and her normal dreamy expression takes over. “Tris! You look so dashing!”
The male omega rolls his eyes like this isn’t exactly what he’d been hoping for.
“You’re causing a backup here, Petal,” Court says cheerfully, hooking his hands under the omega’s armpits and lifting her out of the way. Tristan’s lip curls in almost a snarl, but Petal laughs.
“Sorry! Sorry! I was caught up in how gorgeous my best friend looks.”
That takes some of the venom out of Tristan’s expression. But he still eyes where Court is touching Petal with distaste. I’m not even sure I can blame him, if I didn’t have a direct line to my alpha’s heart and he wasn’t pumping heaps of love toward me, I might get a little possessive too.
“Hi, Pix!” he sets Petal on her feet and bounds over to me, smelling like paint and fresh canvas and spiced cranberries. He’s still releasing artwork under that anonymous name, though some of his works are making it more and more obvious that he’s the artist.
Specifically ones of me.
He reaches for me only to draw up short when Thayer calls out.
“Are your hands clean? Don’t touch our omega if they aren’t. You don’t want to get paint on her.”
I turn my glare on the professor, even though it’s damn hard to maintain it when he comes in looking like that.
With his glasses perched on his nose and one of those slutty cardigans hugging his broad frame.
I’ve warned him not to wear them around his students, because I’m sure half of them spend his lectures daydreaming about peeling it off him, but he doesn’t listen.
I think he likes seeing me jealous.
“Excuse you? He can kiss me if he wants to. You know I’m not precious about my clothes.”
Court grins and slides his hands onto my cheeks, something wet definitely smears on my left one, but I couldn’t care less when his lips meet mine. “Missed you today, Pixie.”
I laugh and kiss him again. “It’s only been a few hours.”
“Too long. You know if I could tuck you into my pocket and carry you around with me all day, I would.”
“Yes, but then neither of you would get anything done.” Thayer nudges him out of the way, quirking a brow at the paint smear on my cheek before he bends to kiss the other one. “Missed you too, killer.”
“Why do we need to get things done?” Court asks as Piers steps into my design space, carrying a picnic basket.
“Something about being productive members of society, I’m sure,” I tell him, fingering a button on Thayer’s sweater.
“I should have known there was no reason to get food,” Haven says, watching as Piers slides his basket onto the table I’ve designated for just this purpose. My beta smiles at her before coming over to greet me too. “Hungry, sunshine?”
I almost roll my eyes and say something about how could I be hungry when he fed me a giant breakfast this morning?
Like he does every morning? Piers has been in his element taking care of our house.
He cooks almost all the meals, makes sure the bills are paid and manages the staff.
Not that they need much managing, but what little there is he handles.
He also keeps track of all of our schedules, not because he’s our personal assistant or anything. But because he enjoys it.
Which I am grateful for since it’s not something I’m particularly adept at. Especially not now when we all have so much going on in the life we’ve built.
And Forsythe…
I smile to myself as he appears behind the others, sleeves rolled up carrying another enormous basket of food, looking relaxed and happy.
It took a while for him to get to this point.
Four months we’ve lived in Granton, four months of adjusting to not being a prince of Bravonne, of only being our prime alpha.
Four months of learning what that looks like, figuring out who he is without the weight of his duty to the crown and the Ashbourne name hanging around his neck.
He is no longer a prince, so he became something else instead.
Ours.
He manages the things the rest of us don’t want to.
Keeps us organized, funded, protected. Helps Piers navigate contracts and bills.
Helps me with my socials and branding like it’s a diplomatic campaign.
Shows up at the gym, at the university, at the studio—wherever he’s needed, he’s there providing endless support and love and care.
Honestly, I think he’s in his element.
It's the same thing he did in Bravonne, but on a smaller scale. With us as the focus and not the entire country.
At some point, I know that’s going to change.
Elizabeth is still working on forcing their grandmother to abdicate, but she swears it's going to happen by the end of the year. When it does, Forsythe--all of us--will be welcome back in the country of his birth, and I suspect he’ll be unable to stay completely out of their politics and law making.
But I’m hoping he’ll learn to balance his unwavering sense of duty for his country, with his love for us.
His gaze finds mine instantly, like it always does.
“Everything alright, cor mea?” he asks, already crossing the room, muscles bulging under the weight of the food Piers has provided.
“Perfect,” I tell him, and for once, it’s not a lie.
He leans in, brushing a kiss over my mouth like he can’t help himself.
“Babe,” Piers calls. “Bring that over here so we can lay out the food and feed our omega.”
Another kiss and he moves to do as ordered. The rest of my pack move to help as Creed saunters over to Tristan and Petal, checking my work with interest.
Haven sidles up next to me, Lyla dozing in her arms. She tips her head to rest it on my shoulder. “I called the rest of my pack and invited them to come. Moira and Ginny too, since apparently we’re having an impromptu family gathering.”
I drop a kiss to the top of her head, even as tears prick my eyes. Family.
That’s what this is. My family. Chosen and otherwise.
“Are you happy, Ren?” Haven asks, softly, though I’m sure she already knows the answer.
How could she not?
I take on the scene before me, the laughing conversations, the elbows dug into sides in an effort to get pack members out of the way. Grieves approaches and presses a sparkling water into my hand, eyes soft as he kisses my temple. Lyla coos in her sleep nuzzling into her mother’s chest.
My heart feels warm and full.
My life doesn’t look the way I imagined it, the way we imagined it all those years ago at the omega academy. I’m not a professional dancer and I never will be.
But I can’t help but think that maybe, this life that we’ve built is better than what I imagined.
“Yeah, Haves. I am so fucking happy.”
“Good,” she says smiling up at me, as Thayer approaches with a plate laden with food and the intent look in his eyes he only gets when he’s determined to feed me. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”