Page 30 of Wisteria and Cloves
"We suspected as much," I acknowledged, "but hearing it directly from her... seeing how those words affected her..." I trailed off, the protective rage rising again.
"So what's our approach?" Nicolaus asked, his analytical mind already working through possibilities. "Standard deprogramming techniques won't work here—they're too obvious, too clinical. She'll recognize them as manipulation, just a different kind."
"We've already started," Christopher said, some of his usual energy returning. "By giving her space that's truly hers. By offering choices without judgment. The violin was a good first step—something she wanted but was denied."
Nicolaus nodded thoughtfully. "Small steps. Building trust through consistency. It's going to take time," he concluded, settling back in his chair. "But we need to be careful not to make her recovery our project, she's not a case study to be solved."
"Agreed," I said firmly. "This isn't about fixing her—it's about giving her space to heal herself."
Miles glanced toward the ceiling, where we could hear the faint sounds of movement from Lilianna's suite. "She's unpacking. That's good, right? Means she's accepting this as her space?"
"Or she's following ingrained habits about proper behavior," Nicolaus observed with his characteristic bluntness. "Her parents would have trained her to be the perfect houseguest—organized, unobtrusive, grateful."
Christopher's expression fell. "I hadn't thought of that. What if she's just doing what she thinks we expect her to do too.”
The question hung in the air, highlighting the complexity of our situation. Every action Lilianna took could be genuine preference or learned behavior, and distinguishing between the two would require careful observation and patience.
"We watch," I said finally. "We pay attention to the small moments when her guard drops. When she forgets to perform." I thought of how she'd closed her eyes while tasting Christopher's scone, the unconscious pleasure on her face before she remembered herself. "Those glimpses of authenticity—that's who we're trying to reach."
Nicolaus leaned forward, his analytical mind engaging. "We should also be prepared for regression. She might have moments of genuine connection followed by periods where she retreats into conditioned behaviors."
"Especially when she's stressed or uncertain," Miles added, his voice thoughtful. "Fight or flight.”
"Which is why consistency matters more than grand gestures," I concluded, glancing around at my packmates. "She needs to know that our acceptance isn't conditional on her performance."
Christopher shifted restlessly in his seat. "Speaking of which, should one of us check on her? She's been up there for almost an hour."
"No," Nicolaus said firmly. "She needs time to process. To exist in that space without feeling observed or evaluated." He paused, considering. "Though we should make sure she knows lunch is available whenever she's ready. No pressure, just information."
Miles nodded toward the kitchen. "I'll put together something light. Sandwiches, maybe some of that soup Christopher made yesterday. Things she can eat whenever she feels comfortable."
"Good thinking," I agreed. "And we should discuss logistics. Her parents will expect contact—"
"Which they won't get," Miles interrupted sharply. "We already agreed—no ongoing obligations."
"I know," I said, raising a hand to calm him. "But they'll try. Phone calls, unexpected visits, social pressure through mutual acquaintances. We need to be prepared."
Nicolaus's expression turned calculating. "I can handle the legal aspects. Restraining orders if necessary. But the social pressure will be more complex—they move in influential circles."
"Let me worry about that," I said, my voice carrying the authority that had served me well in business negotiations. "The Wycliffes aren't the only family with connections. And frankly, their behavior toward their own daughter won't reflect well on them once it becomes known."
"You'd expose them publicly?" Christopher asked, his eyes widening.
"If they force my hand, yes." I met each of their gazes in turn. "We’ll already be under media scrutiny when things get out to the public….” I trailed off already feeling the stress.
“Comes with our jobs unfortunately.” Christopher muttered, “Should we be the first to make a press statement or should we wait.”
"We wait," I decided after a moment's consideration. "Let them make the first move if they choose to involve the media. But we should prepare a statement—something that focuses on our happiness with the arrangement while keeping Lilianna's privacy protected."
Nicolaus pulled out his phone, already making notes. "I'll draft something neutral. Standard language about respecting the courting process and asking for privacy during this time."
Miles stood, stretching his arms above his head. "I still think we're overthinking this. Her parents got what they wanted—money and prestige. Why would they risk that by causing problems?"
"Because they're control addicts," Christopher said darkly, his usual optimism nowhere to be found. "They spent twenty-three years micromanaging every aspect of her life. You think they're just going to let go?"
A soft sound from upstairs made us all freeze—the gentle creak of floorboards just outside the range of normal hearing. I exchanged glances with my packmates, noting the sudden alertness in their postures. Lilianna was moving around upstairs, I didn’t want her to hear us talking about her like this.
"Enough," I said quietly, pitching my voice low enough that she wouldn't overhear. "We'll continue this discussion later. For now, focus on making her comfortable."
