Julian took the seat across from me, his movements fluid and controlled. "How are you feeling? Truly?"
The directness of the question caught me off guard. My instinct was to offer the polite answer, the expected one—I'm fine, thank you for asking—but something in Julian's steady gaze made me want to be honest.
"Overwhelmed," I admitted. "But... hopeful? It's strange being in a place where I don't know the rules yet."
"That's understandable," Julian said, his voice warm with understanding. "And as for rules—there aren't many, at least not the kind you're used to."
Christopher returned, balancing a tray with a teapot, cups, and a plate of what looked like freshly baked scones. The rich aroma of butter and vanilla filled the air as he set the tray on the coffee table.
"The only real rule is communication," Christopher said, pouring tea into delicate blue cups. "We talk to each other. We ask questions. We listen to the answers."
Miles sat up to make room for Christopher on the couch. "And we respect each other's boundaries," he added, reaching for a scone. "Which means if you need space, you say so. If something makes you uncomfortable, you tell us."
"What if I don't know how to articulate what I need?" I asked, accepting the cup Christopher offered me. The warm porcelain against my fingers grounded me as I inhaled the fragrant steam. "I'm not used to... asking for things."
Julian leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. "Then we'll help you learn. No one expects you to transform overnight, Lilianna. This is a process."
"A journey," Christopher added, settling beside Miles with his own cup of tea. "With plenty of room for mistakes and discoveries."
I took a careful sip of tea, the rich bergamot flavor washing over my tongue. It was perfectly brewed—strong but not bitter, with just the right amount of brightness.
"This is wonderful," I murmured, surprised by how much I meant it.
Christopher beamed. "Secret family recipe. Well, not really secret—I just add a touch of vanilla to the leaves before brewing."
"Try a scone," Miles urged, his expression unexpectedly earnest. "Christopher's been up since dawn making them."
I reached for one, noticing they were still warm to the touch. Taking a small bite, I found myself closing my eyes involuntarily as butter and vanilla melted on my tongue.
"These are incredible," I said, forgetting propriety as I took another, larger bite. My mother would have been horrified at such enthusiasm over food, but the smile that lit Christopher's face was worth the momentary lapse.
"I'm glad you like them," he said, looking genuinely pleased. "I wasn't sure if you'd prefer sweet or savory, so I made both. There are cheese ones in the kitchen if you'd rather—"
"These are perfect," I assured him, surprising myself with my decisiveness.
Julian watched me with quiet attention, something like satisfaction in his expression. “Thanks to Miles your things are in your suite.” he smiled."Would you like to see your rooms? Take some time to settle in before lunch?"
I nodded, setting down my teacup with reluctance. The warmth of the moment—the casual conversation, the genuine smiles, the simple pleasure of good tea and better company—felt precious and fragile. I didn't want to break the spell by moving too quickly.
"Your suite is on the third floor," Julian explained as we stood. "Complete privacy, but close enough that you can find us if you need anything."
Christopher bounced to his feet. "I'll show you the way. Fair warning—I may have gotten a bit carried away with the decorating."
Miles grinned from his position on the couch. "He bought out half of the store and then rearranged everything three times."
"It needed to be perfect," Christopher protested, leading us toward a graceful staircase that curved up from the foyer. "First impressions matter."
I followed Christopher up the stairs, Julian a reassuring presence behind me. The staircase was beautiful—dark wood with an ornate banister that felt solid beneath my hand. So different from the cold marble of my parents' house.
The second floor held what appeared to be the main bedrooms, doors spaced evenly along a wide hallway with more bookshelves built into the walls between them. Christopher pointed as we passed. "Julian's suite is there on the left, mine's across from his, Miles is at the end, and Nicolaus is on the right."
We continued up to the third floor, where the staircase opened onto a small sitting area with a comfortable window seat overlooking the street. Christopher gestured to a set of double doors. "And this," he said with barely contained excitement, "is your space."
He pushed open the doors with a flourish, stepping back to let me enter first. I hesitated at the threshold, my heart beating so fast I could feel it in my throat. This moment felt significant—stepping into a space that was mine in a way nothing had ever been before.
Taking a deep breath, I walked through the doorway and stopped, stunned into silence.
Sunlight poured through tall windows draped with gauzy curtains that diffused the light into a soft glow. The room before me was spacious and airy, painted in the palest shade of lavender that seemed to change with the light—sometimes silver, sometimes the barest hint of purple. Unlike the cream and gold prison of my bedroom at home, this space felt alive with subtle color and texture.
