Page 39 of Knot Their Starlet

I let her voice wash over me. This is the version of my mom that I dream about. Sometimes, in moments where I feel like living is just floating through an empty void, I remember the phantom touch of her, light against my skin from when I was a child, before the unbonding changed her.

“Hi Mom,” I say, my voice a little too thick with real and genuine emotion for my liking.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve been such a busy, busy beaver these days.”

If only her affection for me were real. I’ve long since come to terms with the idea that I’ll never be a good enough daughter for her to actually care about me when the cameras are off, but moments like these always feel like such a cruel reminder.

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “I have been. I was just wondering if we could rain check our Sunday night dinner?”

“Oh? Of course! You never miss our dinners, want to share what’s so important that you need to reschedule?”

“I um, I have a date. With a pretty special someone.”

There’s a muffled noise on the other end of the call, like she’s covering the microphone with her hand to talk to the camera. Probably something about how babies grow up so fast.

“Exciting! You’ll have to bring him around to one of our dinners sometime soon then. I’d like to meet this special someone. Alright, I won’t keep you. I know you’ve probably got plenty of things you want to do other than talking to your mom.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Andromeda.”

The phone falls to my lap as she hangs up the call.

I don’t know when the last time she said she loved me—actually loved me—was. It’s always in front of a camera or important people who need to see the image of the perfect mother-daughter duo.

Because of the press that follows her due to her past, she has to cling to the image of a dedicated mother who left an abusive situation to protect her daughter. It’s the only thing she has.

I don’t know how anyone buys it. I don’t think I’m a very convincing actress.

“Here’s your phone back,” I mumble to Stuart.

I’m saved from having to have a conversation with the beta when Beckham Knight comes in.

He freezes at the sight of me in the chair, his eyes going wide.

“Am I late?” he asks, spinning in a circle.

Leo pops his head into the room, offering me a nod in greeting.

“No, we’re on time.”

“My schedule is a bit different; I had to get here earlier because it takes longer for me to get ready. You’ve only got to get airbrushed, really. Your face and hair are so perfect you won’t need much work.”

The compliments slip out before I can stop them. They’re true, but it’s definitely a lot more forward than I normally am.

There’s a faint pinkish tint to his cheeks. The sight of it has my lower belly doing things that it probably shouldn’t.

He has no right looking that fucking perfect.

“Airbrushed?” he asks.

“Have you ever done any modeling before? They airbrush our bodies. It’s also got some de-scenter so things aren’t overwhelming on set.”

De-scenters are available at every drugstore in tons of different forms. The commercially available ones never erase an omega’s scent enough to completely hide their designation, but it definitely takes the edge off.

It’s honestly polite, because when an omega gets pissed or upset, it can be a pretty unpleasant experience to be around. Especially if you’re another omega or alpha, who react to scents and perfumes stronger.

“Oh wow,” he says, his eyes going wide as the other makeup artist starts to guide him towards a changing station in the room.