Page 118 of Wisteria and Cloves
"How long?" I whispered against his chest, my voice still shaky from the intensity of what we'd just shared.
"Twenty minutes, maybe thirty," he murmured, pressing soft kisses to the top of my head. "Is it uncomfortable?"
I considered the question, taking inventory of my body. There was a pleasant soreness, a sense of completion I'd never experienced before. "No," I said softly. "It feels... right."
Julian's arms tightened around me, and I could hear the satisfied rumble in his chest. "You're incredible," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
"I love you," I whispered against his skin, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I felt Julian go still beneath me, his breathing hitching.
"Lilianna," he said softly, pulling back to look at me. His hazel eyes were intense but tender. "Are you sure? You don't have to say that because of what just happened—"
"I'm not," I interrupted, my hand coming up to cup his face. "I've been feeling it for days. Maybe it is too soon…I know I haven’t known you all long…but I know that I love you and the others. You make me feel whole. "
Julian's expression shifted, a raw vulnerability replacing his earlier intensity. His hand came up to cover mine where it rested against his cheek, and he turned his face to press a kiss against my palm.
"It's not too soon," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "Time doesn't dictate feelings, Lilianna. Some people search their whole lives for what we’ve found in weeks."
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, overwhelmed by the tenderness in his gaze. "I just... I don't want you to think I'm saying it because of what just happened between us."
"I know you better than that," Julian said, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You don't say things you don't mean."
His thumb traced the curve of my cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped. "I love you too," he said, the words simple. Julian's words settled into my heart like missing pieces finally finding their place. I reached up to trace the line of his jaw, marveling at how this powerful, commanding man could look at me with such tender vulnerability.
"I never thought I could feel this way about anyone," I admitted softly. "My parents made love seem like a transaction, something to be negotiated rather than felt."
Julian's jaw tightened at the mention of my parents, but his voice remained gentle. "What we have isn't a transaction. It's a choice we make every day—to trust, to be vulnerable, to put someone else's happiness alongside our own."
Julian's knot began to soften, and he carefully separated us, immediately pulling me close against his chest. The loss of connection left me feeling momentarily empty, but his arms around me filled that void with warmth and security.
"Stay with me tonight?" I asked softly, suddenly afraid he might leave now that the intensity had passed.
"Try to make me leave," he murmured against my hair, his voice carrying a hint of his earlier possessiveness. "I'm not going anywhere, Lilianna. Not tonight, not ever.” With those words I let sleep take me, the smell of wisteria and cloves lingering in the air around me lulling me even deeper into sleep.
Chapter Forty-Three
Lilianna
I’d been woken by Julaina giving me a quick kiss before leaving me to sleep. I don’t know how long I slept after he left, but when I awoke, I was alone and on the side of my nest was a note. I smiled, the notes they have been leaving for me since the first one I got from Julian after my panic attack filled me with such joy. I shifted holding the blanket against me as I read the note, before putting it in the side table drawer with the other notes with a big smile on my face. His sweet words of love make me feel warm and happy.
I stretched languidly in the nest, my body deliciously sore in places I'd never felt before. The sheets smelled like Julian—warm and comforting, with traces of wisteria and cloves that made my heart flutter with the memory of last night. I pulled his pillow closer, breathing in his scent as I tried to process everything that had changed between us.
The house was quiet around me, but not empty. I could hear the distant murmur of voices from downstairs, the familiar sounds of morning routine that had become so precious to me. Coffee brewing, the soft clink of dishes, Christopher's laugh carrying up through the floorboards.
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand—nearly ten in the morning. I'd slept later than usual, my body still recovering from the overwhelming sensations of the night before. A blush crept up my neck as I remembered Julian's hands on my skin, his lips tracing paths of fire, the weight of him above me. The way he'd looked at me like I was something precious, something to be cherished rather than possessed.
With a contented sigh, I slipped from the nest, wrapping a soft robe around my naked form. The mirror above my dresser reflected a woman I barely recognized—eyes brighter, cheeks flushed with a healthy glow, hair tousled from sleep and passion. I touched my lips, still slightly swollen from Julian's kisses, and smiled at my reflection.
After a quick shower, I dressed in comfortable leggings and an oversized sweater that slipped off one shoulder. My movements felt different somehow—more fluid, more confident, as if my body had finally awakened from a long sleep.
The smell of fresh coffee grew stronger as I descended the stairs, my bare feet silent on the polished wood.
I padded quietly toward the kitchen, pausing for just a second at the corner of the hallway, letting myself watch.
Christopher stood at the stove, sleeves rolled to the elbows of his gray shirt, his expression focused but content. He turned slices of thick brioche French toast in a pan with careful precision, each one golden and glistening. A bowl of fresh-cut strawberries and blueberries rested nearby, along with powdered sugar and honey. He was humming—quietly, under his breath—a song I didn’t recognize.
Miles leaned lazily against the island, shirtless and barefoot, a navy flannel pajama pant slung low on his hips. His tousled hair looked like he’d only half-escaped sleep, and the mug in his hand steamed like a lifeline. He laughed at something Nicolaus had just said.
Nicolaus—ever composed—sat at the far end of the island, sleeves unrolled, collar buttoned despite the casual morning air. But his posture was relaxed, legs crossed, a ceramic mug held gently between both hands. His tablet sat idle beside him for once. He wasn’t working—justbeing. Watching the room.
