25. Mary #2
The laughter faded slowly as we sat with the sunshine moving softly over the cottage roof and the muffled sounds of Presley’s house behind us. Children, a grandmother, a life full enough to spill out of rooms.
“Maeve said you saved her,” I said.
Presley set her mug down without drinking.
Then her eyes filled. “No,” she said softly. “Your sister saved me.”
I looked down at my hands. “She did?”
“Yes.” Presley wiped her cheek with the heel of her hand, annoyed by the tear. “And I wish she’d let me in on her life back then. I wish she had trusted me.”
“It was hard on her.”
“I know.”
“Finn was horrible to her,” I said, voice dropping. “So horrible that she was afraid just speaking his name out loud would conjure him. I never blamed her for running. But I was worried she’d been murdered.”
Presley’s face tightened. She reached across and squeezed my hand.
“At least she’s happy now,” I said.
“And you? Maeve did mention that your alphas are your ex’s dads. How did he take it?”
I looked out the window. The garden blurred beyond it. “He doesn’t know yet. He’s coming on Thursday.”
Presley’s hand stayed around mine. “Messy.”
“Thank you. I hadn’t noticed.”
“Sorry. Northern instinct. We name the disaster before offering tea.”
I smiled despite the cold in my chest. “I’m petrified.”
“Of Damien?”
“Of what he’ll do to them.” I swallowed. “Of what he’ll say. Of them seeing his face and remembering all the years they loved him before they knew me. What if he makes it hurt so much they start wondering if this is worth it?”
Presley didn’t rush to answer.
That was worse.
“Do you trust the bond?” she asked.
I looked at her. “I thought you were going to tell me to trust the men.”
“That too. But men can be idiots, even good ones. Fate tends to be irritatingly persistent.”
“You’re telling me to trust the fates?”
“Yes.”
“Plural?”
“Always. If one fate is having an off day, the others can cover.”
I laughed under my breath.
Presley’s fingers tightened around mine.
“Listen to me, Mary. Damien can hurt them. He probably will. Children know where the soft places are, even when they’re grown and being little sods about it. But pain isn’t the same as regret.”
My throat tightened. “What if he makes them choose?”
“Then he’ll learn grown love doesn’t work like that.”
“You’re very confident.”
“I married three alphas. Confidence was required or they would’ve organized my entire life around their lives.” Presley leaned back, studying me. “You love them?”
The question hit cleanly, with no teasing and no wiggle room.
I could have lied. I was good at lying when cornered. I could be clever. I could be vague. I could make a joke and watch people accept the shiny thing while I hid the blade.
But I was tired, and Presley had a cottage built by men who loved her enough to give her space from them.
“I think so,” I said.
Her smile softened. “Good.”
“That wasn’t a dramatic enough response.”
“Do you want me to gasp?”
“A little.”
She gasped. Badly.
“Never mind.”
“I did my best. But I didn’t need to. You have the fates and love for two alphas who—“
“We’re scent matches. Maeve mentioned you’re a rare four scent omega with a scent matched pack.”
Her eyes widened. “What are you saying?”
“I think you know.”
She grinned. “Welcome to the matching hidden scent club. If you think your alphas are going to give you up for anything, you’re wrong.”
When I left two hours later, Presley hugged me at the garden gate. “Text me when Damien arrives,” she said.
“So you can be supportive?”
“So I can be nosy in a supportive tone.”
“Honest. I like that.”
“You’ll come again? I don’t mean to have dinner with everyone. Just us.”
I looked back at the little cottage. “Yes.”
The word surprised me by being easy.
Sienna opened the car door, and Presley leaned in to hand her a paper bag. “For the road.”
Sienna looked inside. “Scones?”
“Security scones.”
“That’s not a category.”
“It is now.”
Sienna nodded once. “Appreciated. But we are literally ten minutes away.”
“That’s all it takes.”
I climbed into the car smiling. The smile lasted most of the way home.
Hudson and Lincoln arrived just after six.
I knew it because I’d been pretending not to wait near the kitchen island for seventeen minutes.
The private elevator opened. Hudson stepped out first, tie loosened, coat over one arm, his face tired in a way that made me want to put my hands on him and smooth the day away.
Lincoln followed with two bags of groceries and a third bag from the bakery I liked but refused to admit I liked because the woman behind the counter called me sweetheart and it reminded me of Ireland.
Lincoln lifted the bakery bag. “Preventive medicine.”
“For what condition?”
“Evening fatigue.”
“Serious.”
“Often fatal.”
Hudson came straight to me, with no hesitation. He kissed my forehead, then my mouth, soft and thorough enough that my knees went weak.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello.”
Lincoln set the bags down, came around the island, and kissed me too. His hand settled at my waist, thumb brushing the curve of my stomach through my dress.
“How was Presley?”