Miles glanced up from his bread-slicing, his green eyes studying my face. "You took off the necklace," he observed quietly.
My hand flew instinctively to my bare throat, heat rushing to my cheeks. Had I made some social error? "I... yes. I hope that's not inappropriate. My mother always said pearls should be worn at all times to maintain proper appearance, but I thought perhaps—"
"Hey," Miles interrupted gently, setting down his knife to give me his full attention. "You don't need to explain or apologize. I was just noticing because you looked more relaxed without it."
Julian pulled out a chair for me at the table. "Miles is right. You seem more comfortable."
I settled into the offered seat, still clutching my soup bowl. The simple act of removing a piece of jewelry felt enormous now that they'd noticed it. "It felt... heavy," I admitted quietly.
"Emotional weight often manifests physically," Nicolaus observed without looking up from his tablet. "Symbols of control can create actual physical tension."
Christopher joined us at the table with his own bowl, his expression thoughtful. "My grandmother had a saying—jewelry should adorn you, not burden you."
I took a spoonful of soup, the rich flavor of tomato and herbs spreading warmth through my chest. "This is delicious," I said, grateful for the change in subject.
"Family recipe," Christopher explained, his smile returning. "My mother taught me when I was twelve. Said everyone should know how to make at least one thing that comforts people."
Miles set a basket of freshly sliced bread in the center of the table, the crust still warm and fragrant. "Take as much as you want," he encouraged.
I reached for a single slice, then hesitated. At home, my portions were carefully monitored—not too much, but enough to show appreciation. The bread looked so inviting, steam still rising from its golden crust.
"It's not a test," Julian said softly, as if reading my thoughts. "If you want three slices, take three slices. If you want none, that's fine too."
The casual permission felt revolutionary. I took two pieces, tearing off a corner of one to dip in my soup. The combination of flavors made me close my eyes briefly in pleasure before I caught myself.
"You don't have to hide when you enjoy something," Christopher said gently. "We like seeing you happy."
Nicolaus finally looked up from his tablet, his blue eyes studying me with clinical interest. "Your parents monitored your food intake?" he asked bluntly.
"Nicolaus," Julian warned, his tone carrying a gentle rebuke.
"It's alright," I said quickly, setting down my spoon. "They didn't... restrict me, exactly. My mother just had very specific ideas about proper portions for an Omega. 'Delicate appetites reflect delicate sensibilities,' she always said."
Nicolaus's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened. "Controlling food is a common method of maintaining psychological dominance," he observed. "It creates a dependency on external validation for even the most basic biological needs."
The clinical accuracy of his assessment made my stomach tighten. Put that way, so many of my mother's "lessons" suddenly appeared in a different light.
"I apologize," Nicolaus continued, surprising me. "My analytical nature sometimes overrides social tact. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"You didn’t.” I told him, which was true. He didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. His directness was jarring, but not unkind, and there was something oddly comforting about having my experiences analyzed with such clinical precision. It made them feel less personal, less shameful somehow.
"Actually," I continued, surprising myself, "it's helpful to have a name for it. I always thought I was just... difficult. Too interested in food, too enthusiastic about things I should approach with restraint."
Miles reached across the table, his fingers stopping just short of mine. "May I?" When I nodded, he covered my hand with his warm palm. "You weren't difficult. You were human."
The simple statement hit me with unexpected force. Human. Not an Omega to be trained, not a daughter to be perfected, not a commodity to be prepared for market. Just human, with human desires and responses.
I took another spoonful of soup, letting the warmth settle my nerves. "What's a normal day like here?" I asked, genuinely curious. "I realize I don't know anything about your routines or schedules."
Christopher brightened at the change of subject. "We don't keep rigid schedules, but as athletes we do have training regiments. You know we are each athletes, correct?”
I nodded, “Only the bare minimum.” My parents didn’t tell me a lot, I know they’re athletes, Julian being tennis and that is only because I was forced to attend his game.I knew because of their advanced degrees and the business they all owned, they were highly sought after Alphas.
Miles gave me a small smile, “You know Julian is a tennis player. But I play soccer, Chris is a boxer and Nico is a swimmer.”
I tried to picture each of them in their respective sports, the image of Christopher boxing particularly difficult to reconcile with his gentle, nurturing demeanor. "Boxing?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise.
Christopher laughed, his gray eyes twinkling with amusement. "I know, I don't look like much of a fighter. But there's something about the discipline, the precision required. It's almost meditative."
