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GEORGIA'S POV
"Ow!" I yanked my hand back from the oven rack, noticing a fresh singe mark where my oven mitt had worn thin. "That's definitely going to leave a mark," I muttered, scowling at the red skin before rushing to the kitchen island to douse it under the cold tap.
"Did you catch yourself on the tray, Miss?" Natalia asked, stepping into the kitchen.
"It's just a sting," I insisted, though the wince on my face probably gave away how much it actually throbbed.
Natalia didn't say a word; she just rummaged through the pantry for a moment before returning to take my hand, gently coating the burn in thick, golden honey.
"My mother's old trick," she murmured, watching the honey settle. "She used to say nothing heals a kitchen mishap faster than this." I watched her, struck by the softness in her voice. It was rare for her to mention her past; her mother had been gone for years, and Natalia's world revolved mostly around her two grown children.
She was private about her family, but to me, Natalia was the maternal soul of this house. She didn't just manage the chores and the cooking; she was the one who listened when the house felt too quiet. Even though she refused any compensation beyond her salary, I tried to show my thanks through my work—designing her bespoke aprons and linens that she always wore with pride.
"Are those the potatoes?" she asked, tucking the honey jar back into the cupboard.
"They are. Jaime's favorite," I said, feeling that familiar warmth creep up my neck.
I checked my phone to see the time, my heart doing a little flutter at the sight of his face on my lock screen. He was beaming in the photo—a permanent fixture I'd never dream of swapping.
"I've got chicken thighs in there, too. Want a bite?" I offered as she began tidying up the flour and utensils I'd left scattered.
"No, you keep that for him. I'm sure it's delicious," she said, already turning to the sink to start the suds.
"I just wish we Omegas could inherit some sort of 'super-speed' cooking gene," I joked, leaning against the counter. She let out a soft laugh.
"Georgia, that man has your head in the clouds," she teased. I didn't mind; any excuse to talk about Jaime was a good one.
"Can you blame me? I feel like I've been wired to love him since the day I was born. He's everything—charming, attentive, a total classic gentleman. And Natalia, the way he looks at me? He tells me he's constantly floored by how I look." I was practically vibrating with energy now, moving closer to her as she scrubbed.
"He really says that?"
"He notices every tiny detail! A new shade of gloss, a different pair of studs—he never misses a thing. He always makes me feel like the only person in the room," I gushed, clasping my hands over my heart and staring off into a daydream.
"I'm just so ready for the wedding. Imagine having kids with him... they'd be so incredibly loved. I can't wait to be his wife!" I let out a muffled squeal and did a quick, joyous twirl across the linoleum.
"Your potatoes won't stay hot if you keep dancing," she reminded me with a grin. I gasped, rushing to the counter to carefully pack the meal into my tiered bento box.
"Everything is coming together. A few tiny details left, but I've got the final say on it all. The dress is going to be stunning—my best design yet—and Jaime's suit is perfect..." I continued to chatter about the ceremony, which felt like it was approaching at light speed.
Once the food was secure, I grabbed my coat and told Natalia to relax and enjoy her evening, since I wouldn't be returning until morning.
Outside, the evening air was crisp, blowing stray blonde hairs across my eyes. I tucked them back, walking quickly toward the main road under a velvet sky thick with stars.
"Taxi!" I waved down a yellow cab.
Sliding into the backseat, I gave the driver Jaime's address. Soon, we wouldn't be living apart. We'd be moving into the family estate—a beautiful cluster of homes where the whole lineage stayed close. I couldn't wait to start our life in our own building there.
The ride was a bit sluggish, and I checked the bento box anxiously. Jaime insisted on his potatoes being piping hot, and I hated the thought of them cooling down in traffic.
Mid-ride, my wedding coordinator called.
"Hey, Georgia. Quick question: pink or yellow silk ribbons for the pews?"
"Both! I want a riot of color. Use white roses for the base, and I want those massive LED screens on the walls—I'll send over the montage of us tonight. Oh, and heart balloons on the ceiling, but arranged so they spell out our names when people look up. Can we do that?" I asked, visualizing the dream I'd been building in my head for months.
"Got it. I'm recording this so I don't miss a single detail," she assured me.
"Perfect. Talk soon."
I finally arrived at Jaime's place, paid the fare, and watched the cab disappear. The house was glowing; every light seemed to be on, signaling he was still up. I punched in the door code and slipped inside.
I headed straight for the dining room, laying out the spread.
"Potatoes, chicken, greens..." I whispered, counting them off. I peeked into the kitchen and saw the sink was empty and the counters clean. Even if he'd already grabbed a snack, I knew he'd eat whatever I brought. Jaime was like that—he'd eat a full second dinner just to see me smile.
I straightened the silverware one last time, imagining his face when he smelled the food. I reached for my phone, tempted to call him and play a prank—tell him I left my bag in the den so he'd walk down and find the surprise.
At the last second, I shoved the phone back into my pocket.
"Surprise him in person," I whispered to myself, heading for the stairs.
I reached his bedroom at the end of the hall and pushed the door open just a crack, moving like a shadow. I wanted to jump out and startle him.
"Ahh..."
I froze. That wasn't Jaime's voice. It was high, breathless, and unmistakably feminine.
Was the TV on? I shook the thought away, my heart starting to hammer against my ribs. I pushed the door wider, stepping into the room with a smile that died before it could even form.
Jaime was there, in the center of the bed, with a woman draped over him.