The set erupts into motion. Somewhere in the background, I hear a feminine gasp—the other Omega, Lily, presumably being informed that her services are no longer required. Her manager's voice rises in sharp protest before being hushed and pulled toward the exit.
I should probably feel bad about that. But honestly, I'm too busy trying not to panic about the fact that I just agreed to model in a professional D&G campaign with approximately zero preparation.
A makeup artist materializes at my side, already assessing my face with professional intensity. "Your skin is amazing," she says, pulling out a touch-up kit. "Just a little powder to cut the shine, maybe some lip color to match the outfit..."
I let her work, staying perched on Julian's lap because no one has told me to move and he certainly hasn't released his grip on my waist.
"Are you okay with this?" Julian asks quietly, his voice pitched for my ears only. "Truly? You don't have to do this just because they asked. I can shut it down right now."
I consider the question seriously. Professional modeling? Not something I ever imagined doing. Being photographed alongside Julian for a major fashion campaign? Completely insane.
But also... kind of exciting? The spontaneity of it, the unexpectedness, the way it all fell into place like some kind of chaotic destiny.
"I love spontaneous things," I tell him, and I mean it. "Life's too short for careful planning all the time." I wink at him. "Besides, I get to spend the day being paid to look at you adoringly. That's basically my default state anyway—might as well get compensated for it."
His eyes crinkle with genuine amusement. He leans in, pressing a light kiss to the corner of my mouth—careful not to smudge my freshly applied lip color—and whispers against my skin.
"Thank you, our Sweet Omega."
CHAPTER 36
Nests, Books, And Forever
~ROSEMARIE~
The snow is still falling when we pull into Tank's driveway, fat white flakes drifting down from a sky the color of pearl.
Elias's surprise hotel getaway had been everything I didn't know I needed and more than I ever dared to dream. Two days of absolute bliss: room service breakfast in bed with champagne and strawberries, bubble baths that lasted for hours in a tub big enough for two, lazy mornings tangled in Egyptian cotton sheets that probably had a thread count higher than my old apartment's rent.
We'd wandered through the Valentine's market in the town square like characters in a romance novel, collecting treats and trinkets like children on a treasure hunt, stopping every few feet to kiss under strings of fairy lights and heart-shaped decorations.
My arms are full of heart-shaped balloons that bob and sway with every step, their ribbons tangling around my fingers in a cheerful mess of red and pink and gold. There's also a bag ofartisan chocolates from a little shop that smelled like heaven, a hand-knitted scarf in shades of lavender that Elias had insisted on buying when he saw me admiring it, and approximately seventeen different snacks from various market vendors that we'd been too stuffed to eat but couldn't resist purchasing anyway.
I feel light. Floaty. Like the balloons might actually carry me away if I'm not careful. Like happiness is a physical thing and I'm currently drowning in it.
The front door barely opens before a familiar blur of gray and white fur comes barreling toward me, tail wagging so hard his entire back end is wiggling in a ridiculous way that only a giant malamute can achieve. The scent of home washes over me immediately: cedar and pine from Tank's preferred candles, the lingering warmth of a fire that's been burning in the hearth, and underneath it all, the combined scents of my Alphas that has started to mean safety and belonging in ways I never knew I needed.
"Sasha!" I crouch down as best I can while juggling an armful of balloons, letting the giant malamute cover my face with enthusiastic, slobbery kisses. His happy yelps echo through the foyer, and I can't help but laugh at his pure, uncomplicated joy at our return. "I missed you too, buddy. Yes, I did. Yes, I did. Oh, you're such a good boy. I brought you so many treats from the market. So many. Fancy dog biscuits shaped like little hearts. You're going to be the most spoiled boy in all of Oakridge Hollow, I promise."
Sasha responds by attempting to lick the inside of my ear, which is both disgusting and adorable.
Elias comes in behind me, arms laden with our luggage and even more balloons. He looks like a man who's been used as a pack mule and has made peace with his fate, shopping bags hanging from every available limb. He takes one look at Sashaeyeing the floating decorations with predatory interest and sighs.
"Don't even think about it," he warns the dog, his voice stern despite the smile tugging at his lips. "These are not toys. They are romantic souvenirs from a romantic getaway. No popping. I mean it, Sasha."
Sasha's tail wags harder, his eyes never leaving the bobbing balloons. This is absolutely not a reassuring response.
I straighten up, brushing white fur off my coat, and call out into the house. "We're home!"
Tank's voice drifts down from somewhere above us, deep and familiar and immediately comforting. "We're upstairs."
I glance at Elias, curious. "What are they doing up there?"
He's already moving toward me, his hands finding the buttons of my heavy coat. The thing is gorgeous--a vintage-inspired piece with a dramatic faux fur collar that makes me feel like a glamorous snow queen from a 1940s Hollywood film--but it weighs approximately a thousand pounds and generates enough heat to power a small village. I've been dying to take it off since we got out of the car. Elias works the closures with practiced efficiency, sliding the coat off my shoulders and hanging it on the rack by the door with the kind of casual attentiveness that still makes my heart flutter.
"Probably trying to beat each other at some video game," he says with a chuckle, straightening the coat on its hook. "You know how competitive they get. Last week Julian accused Tank of screen-peeking during Mario Kart and they didn't speak for three hours. Tank slept on the couch out of spite."
"Grown men," I say fondly, shaking my head. "Acting like children over cartoon racing games."
