33. Willow
Chapter thirty-three
Willow
I check my phone for the fourth time. Alessandro didn’t show up for breakfast and hasn’t answered my texts. Mr Shares whines and lifts his head to stare at me, reacting to my anxiousness.
“I’m sure everything’s fine,” I murmur as I cling wrap the alpha’s share of breakfast and slide it into the fridge. “People get held up all the time.”
Which makes today the perfect time to start filming my next faux-travel sequence. My wonderful PA tours around and films with a vacant space in the shot while I record in front of my green screen. Then my tech guy marries the two together, and voila! I’m no longer a house bound omega.
By all appearances at least.
In the early years, it wasn’t necessary, but as my brand grew, so did the comments asking difficult questions.
Ones asking: where do I like to holiday?
Or saying I must see so much of the world.
It grew to the point where I couldn’t keep fobbing people off.
And as all influencers know, you have to keep feeding the beast what it asks for, or risk irrelevance.
And my viewers must absolutely see me jet setting around the world. I even have a ton of B roll with me getting in and out of private jets and walking across stages. A lie? Yes. But also necessary.
I dress the part in a brand-new scallop necked silk shirt and white pants before tucking my earpiece in place and calling my personal assistant.
“Hey, are you able to run me through the coffee shop scene now?”
“Yeah, okay, let me send the script over. It’s three minutes long, so that’s all you have.”
My phone lights up with her message and I click the photo. “Where are we today?” I ask.
“Luxembourg. A city called Remich . . . I looked for the easiest one to pronounce.” She giggles before continuing. “Your script is in your email. Wine tasting, walk along the river, a look at Fontaine Bacchus, and the Saint-Nicholas Spa.”
I do a quick search for the place, fixing the aesthetic in my mind.
A quick run over the script she’s prepared puts me at ease, the sheet needing only minor tweaks to make it easier to recite.
After practicing over the phone with her, I hang up and begin my set up.
A round table covered with a plain white cloth goes in front of the greenscreen, along with a chair that I hang my jacket over to completely cover its pattern.
I roll the menu around on my tongue as I fix the lighting to look more natural and make myself a coffee in a white café-style cup. I spend ages with the froth and end up starting again from scratch with a second drink, getting a pattern in it that looks like the one my assistant sent me.
I envy her freedom of getting on a plane or hiring a car and going where she pleases. Maybe it’s worse that I remember how it used to feel, the freedom, the feeling of safety.
Now I know better. Zeus—or something like him—waits out there, ready to smite me the moment I step out of the shadows.
And so I carry on filming my harmless lies in order for the omegas I serve to also experience true freedom.
Three minutes isn’t much time, once I get going, gushing about my mini holiday to Europe and how quaint everything is here in Luxembourg.
The camera gear and the fan to stir my hair are my only witnesses.
I’m used to the gear, but the solitude seems extra thick today, without Alessandro in the house.
I’m about done filming when my light gear blinks off.
“What the ef?” I get up and check all the leads are plugged in properly but can’t find anything wrong, so I tip the stand upside down. The globe inside clinks ominously.
The doorbell rings, shocking me so much I drop the light.
“Shit!” I mutter, catching the stand just in time.
Mr Shares goes barking through the house, and my pulse leaps. Maybe Alessandro’s here.
I curse my ruined hip as I limp down the hallway to check the security cameras. An unfamiliar van sits in front of the gates, but as I peer closer, Jeremy winds down his window and waves.
A thrill runs through me, full of heat and memory, and I smash the button to open the gate. The way my blood races is startling, and I rest my fist over my heart. I expected Alessandro and got Jeremy instead, but my heart’s reacting the same way.
That’s a revelation.
“You sit,” I warn my dog as I throw the front door open, and Mr Shares drops his rump on the threshold, quivering as he waits for my command. Usually he’s a good dog like this, not rushing through and breaking people’s groins.
“Now stay,” I order firmly. “Jeremy’s still on crutches and you could bowl him right over again.”
Mr Shares whines and drops down on his belly, staring intently down the drive as the van, which appears to belong to an electrician according to the logo on the side, approaches.
My stomach quivers just as much as the dog’s tail at the thought of seeing my heat-lover again.
Now that the official contract is over, will it still be awkward between us?
I hope not.
The driver, a well-built man with spiky brown hair and a five o-clock shadow, gets out and brings crutches around to the passenger door. My heart aches as the robust man who helped me through my heat slides out and swings himself over. He hesitates at the front steps.
“You can come in through the side door, if you want,” I call. “It has a ramp.”
He beams like my voice just changed his life and shakes his head. “Let’s call it mobility training,” he quips, lifting the crutches up one step.
I smile.
He manages the obstacle course and pauses on the verandah, looking down at the retriever by my feet. “Oh, so now you’re a good boy who doesn’t run through doorways?”
Mr Shares whines and rolls over, pawing at his nose and wriggling on his back as if he understood.
Jeremy bursts out laughing, and his eyes twinkle as he looks at me. “Howdy, gorgeous!”
“Hello.” Shyness steals the rest of my words, so I step back and wave him inside.
Over his shoulder, the driver gets back into the van. “Does your . . . friend want to come in?”
Jeremy glances outside. “He said he’d wait to make sure my truck starts. But he’s not in a rush.”
My heart sinks a little as I close the front door, which is silly, because it’s not like I can keep Jeremy here or take him to bed or anything, when he can hardly walk. Guess my minx side is thirstier than I realized. To be fair, I’ve never had anyone make love to me like Jeremy did.
Make love. Now the phrase makes sense. Not just have sex, but to experience love, tenderness, and consideration throughout.
The way Alessandro would, while calling me his darling.
“Willow?”
I snap out of my daydream to find him towering over me.
He drops his head, a glint of joy sparkling in his eyes alongside a question.
His rosemary scent closes around me like a warm hug, and all my anxiety evaporates.
More confident now, I rise on my tip toes and press my lips to his mouth in answer to his silent question.
His breath catches, ghosting across my nose, and his fingers graze my waist without him releasing his crutch. It’s not awkward at all. Our lips press together, tasting but not inciting. It’s natural, and brimming with warmth, just like the alpha himself.
He straightens, a wide smile blessing his features. “Damn, I missed you, darlin’.” His nostrils wrinkle as he sniffs the air. "You cooking something?”
“No, that was breakfast.” I lift my chin toward the studio. “I was just recording some stuff, but my light broke.”
I deflate, reality invading rudely.
Jeremy hitches his brows. “Lights? Need an electrician to take a look? I know a decent one.”
His mouth quirks like he knows a good secret.
“One who does house calls?”
He chuckles and stumps back to the entrance and throws the door wide open. “Ta-da!” he says, spreading his hands toward the van parked on the gravel.
Oh, of course. I already read the logo on the side earlier, which said electrician. My cheeks heat up. “Please ask if he’ll take a look.”
“Sure thing.” Jeremy leans his pits on his crutches and sticks two fingers between his lips. The resulting sharp whistle blares out so loud I jump.
The driver’s door opens, and a head pops out, tilting.
“Hey!” Jeremy calls. “You happen to know any good electricians around here? The lady needs one, but I can’t think of anybody.”
I chuckle.
A hand waves next to the vehicle, and I’m pretty sure it comes with the rude finger.
Jeremy flaps his hand, grinning from ear to ear. “Get yer ass in here.”
The stranger disappears out of sight as he throws the vehicle’s back doors open.
“You must be good friends,” I muse.
“Friends? Fuck no.”
His bluntness surprises a laugh out of me, which is rudely interrupted by a hiccup. My eyes widen as I slap a hand to my mouth.
Jeremy snickers and swings himself closer. “Cute.”
He taps my nose and, before I can react, stumps back to the kitchen. My ears burn with heat.
“Please tell me you had more than rabbit food for breakfast today?”
I draw myself up tall. “I made eggs benedict, thank you very much.”
“Good. How do you feel about more of my veggie muffins?”
I snort and shake my head. “Go right ahead, if you can find the ingredients.”
An alpha I’ve known for less than a week just made himself at home in my kitchen, and I have zero issues with it. Did I cross over to an alternate reality?
Footsteps sound behind me and I turn.
The electrician dusts one hands on his faded jeans, a big toolkit clutched in his other fist. He steps through the doorway and stops. “Hello, ma’am. Jerry says you need something looked at?”
The nickname registers at the same time as his eyes. Brown with green flecks, sparkling; identical to Jeremy’s. Not much else looks similar, except for a brawny build, but those eyes give me déjà vu.
“Brothers,” I breathe out.
“Yes, ma’am, we’re twins. Did the fool not even tell you that much?”
Speechless, I step back and lift my arm in invitation for him to enter. He ducks his head and goes to walk past me just as I take a deep gulp of air to free my overtight lungs. A full inhale of his deep scent. He smells of sunshine hitting stone, terracotta, summer days, and clay fresh from a kiln.
One moment I’m pressing back into the wall, the next I’m flailing toward him on unsteady feet and flinging myself into that scent cloud like a drowning woman clasping for a life ring. I grab a fistful of his collar.
Something clangs on the tiles and one strong arm dives under my thighs to hold my weight as I dip my nose into that divine cocktail. He smells of Jeremy, and mechanical things, as well as his own unique stone-baked sunshine musk.
Metal clatters in the sink.
“Jeremy! Help!” The strangled cry rings beside my ear, freezing me in place.
I blink, lifting my head enough to discover I’ve climbed Jeremy’s brother like a damn monkey, and now I perch with my legs wrapped around his waist and my hands grasping his collar. The man holds me with one hand, his other thrown up and back like he’s afraid to touch me.
What the fuck did I just do?
And still I don’t feel like releasing my captive or putting any distance between me and that life-changing scent. A shivery, liquid feeling floods through me from head to toe, bringing a rush of tingles and blazing embarrassment.
“You okay there, darlin’?” Jeremy asks, stumping over.
Am I? I’m not sure.
“Ah, maybe now’s a good time for a proper introduction? Willow, this is my brother Joel. Joel, meet Willow.”
Joel’s cheeks turn dark red beneath his beard shadow. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
“Willow.”
“Huh?” he cocks his head, craning back to meet my gaze.
“Call me Willow. Please.”
His gaze flicks over my shoulder to his brother and back to me. “All right, Willow.”
I wish he’d put his other arm around me and hug me tight, but my human nature is starting to catch up with my omega self, and it’s roaring in with a giant scolding.
“Um.” I release his collar and unwind my legs, slithering down his body. Jeremy steadies me from behind as my feet land.
“I’m sorry about that.” Lies. “Light, ah, in the s-studio.” I point in what I hope is the correct direction. “E-Excuse me.”
I turn and flee for the safety of my bedroom.
Flinging myself through the door and into my attached bathroom, I lean on the vanity. My hands shake as mortification floods my veins. What the actual fuck, Willow? One heat, and suddenly you’re acting like a bond-sick omega with every alpha who walks through the door?
I study myself in the mirror. To be fair, a lot more alphas have walked through that door this month than in the previous seven years combined. Maybe my system got overwhelmed. I swallow down a groan.
No, this has less to do with my heats returning, and more to do with who I really am. I’ve kept people at arm’s length for so long, I forgot how good it felt to have company. Mr Shares excluded.
And that scent! What sane girl could resist getting an extra whiff of that?
If summer had a scent, that would be it in a nutshell.
I wash my face, scrubbing at my skin in an effort to wake up from the pheromone stupor.
I need to be able to go out there and face Joel.
Apologize. Talk to him about the lighting equipment.
But my hands still quiver.
Because my soul says this is something more, something I’ve never come across before, not to this extent. Scent matching was supposed to be a fantasy. One that girls like me don't get to dream about.
Scent matches? What are you, twelve, Willow? If everyone waited around for a scent-match, there wouldn’t be another fucking pack formed in the world.
That was Drew, laughing about a daydream I accidentally mentioned out loud.
But Bryson took my words far more personally. His eyes narrowed and his scent turned bitter as he grabbed my chin. “Is this your way of trying to get rid of us, omega? If so, don’t bother. There’ll be no scent matches for you, ever.”
He was wrong. One exists, an alpha whose scent seems created exactly for me.
And come to think of it, haven’t I been far too open with both Jeremy and Alessandro to say that I simply like their scents?
Sure, their alpha musk isn’t as powerful as Joel’s, but it still affects me more than other alphas.
Enough for me to overcome my alpha-aversion . . . and that’s saying a lot.
So what do I do now?
The door creaks open in the bedroom behind me. Jeremy’s reflection bobs in the mirror as he swings himself across the carpet. I tense as he reaches the doorway. He’s the one who helped me through his heat, but I climbed his brother the moment I met him?
That can’t be pleasant for this alpha.