Page 38 of Wisteria and Cloves
Lilianna
After they had shown me the last of the house I had quickly retreated back to my room. I curled up into the bed, letting myself just relax in the blankets around me.
The bed was softer than anything I'd ever slept on, yielding to my body like a gentle embrace. I burrowed deeper into the plush comforter, inhaling the fresh scent of laundered linens that carried no trace of the sterile, clinical detergent my mother had insisted upon. This bed smelled like... comfort. Like safety.
I hadn't meant to retreat so quickly after the tour, but the sheer volume of new experiences had left me feeling raw and exposed. Not in an unpleasant way—more like a plant suddenly moved from shade to sunlight, overwhelmed by possibilities I'd never been allowed to consider.
The violin case sat on the window seat where I'd left it, catching the late afternoon light. I studied it from my nest of blankets, still hardly believing it was mine. In my parents'home, gifts always came with expectations attached—strings that bound me tighter and tighter with each expectation that came with those gifts.
But this violin felt different. Julian had said instruments were meant to be played, even badly at first. Christopher had insisted the room was mine to arrange however I pleased. Miles had given me permission to fail spectacularly. These weren't the conditional gifts I was accustomed to—they were invitations to discover parts of myself I'd never been allowed to explore.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. I sat up quickly, smoothing my hair and checking my appearance in the mirror across the room before answering.
"Come in," I called, expecting Christopher with tea or perhaps Julian checking on my adjustment.
Instead, Nicolaus stepped through the doorway, his tall frame filling the entrance as he paused respectfully at the threshold. His dark red hair was slightly mussed, as if he'd been running his fingers through it, and his blue eyes carried that analytical intensity I was beginning to recognize as his default expression.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said, his deep voice carrying through the room. "I wanted to check if you needed anything before I head out for my evening swim."
Unlike the others, Nicolaus maintained a certain distance that was neither cold nor unfriendly—just careful, measured. His presence made me sit up straighter, though I wasn't sure if that was from the ingrained response to an Alpha or something specific to his analytical demeanor.
"I'm fine, thank you," I replied, then hesitated before adding, "The room is perfect."
He nodded once, his gaze sweeping over the space with the attention of someone who notices everything. "You haven't unpacked much," he observed, his eyes landing on my suitcases still partially filled.
"I..." I trailed off, uncertain how to explain that part of me was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I'm…taking my time," I finished lamely.
Nicolaus studied me for a long moment, his analytical gaze seeing far more than I was comfortable with. "Unpacking makes it real," he said finally, his voice matter-of-fact rather than judgmental. "Putting your belongings in drawers, hanging clothes in the closet—it's an acknowledgment that this is your space now."
I blinked, surprised by his directness. "Yes," I admitted quietly. "I suppose it is."
He stepped further into the room, his movements controlled and deliberate. "In my legal practice, I work with many Omegas who've been in situations similar to yours. The transition from controlled environment to autonomous living is rarely linear." He paused beside the window seat, his fingers barely grazing the violin case. "May I?"
I nodded, watching as he sat carefully on the edge of the seat, his tall frame making the space seem smaller, more intimate. He didn't open the violin case, just rested his hand on its surface.
"The others tend to approach emotional matters with intuition and empathy," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I find direct information often provides its own form of comfort. Would you prefer I speak plainly about what you might expect in the coming weeks?"
The question caught me off guard. No one had ever asked my preference for how information should be delivered—it was simply given in whatever manner the speaker deemed appropriate, usually with an expectation that I would receive it gratefully.
"Yes," I said after a moment's consideration. "I think I would prefer directness."
Nicolaus nodded, seemingly pleased by my response. "Good. Then I'll be straightforward. The first few weeks will likely be disorienting. You may experience mood swings as your body adjusts to an environment without constant stress hormones. Sleep disturbances are common. So are moments of unexpected emotion—crying or laughing without clear triggers."
His clinical tone was oddly comforting. There was no judgment in his description, just facts presented clearly.
"You may also find yourself testing boundaries," he continued, his blue eyes steady on mine. "Small rebellions to see if our stated permissions are genuine. This is normal and healthy, though potentially confusing for you."
I twisted the edge of the comforter between my fingers. "How do you know all this?"
"As I mentioned, my legal practice specializes in Omega rights cases. I've worked with many individuals transitioning from controlled environments to autonomy.” His words settled something tight in my chest. There was comfort in knowing my experiences weren't unique, that whatever I might feel in the coming days had been felt by others before me.
"What about the courtship itself?" I asked, surprising myself with my boldness. "What should I expect from... from all of you?"
Nicolaus leaned back slightly, considering his response with that careful precision I was learning to appreciate. "The others will likely give you space to adjust while expressing interest through small gestures—Christopher will cook your favorite foods once he learns them, Miles will probably invite you to help with garden projects, Julian will ensure you feel protected without being smothered."
"And you?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—the first genuine expression of warmth I'd seen from him.
"I observe, analyze, and provide clarity," he replied simply. "I'm not one for grand gestures or emotional declarations. I find honesty more valuable than sentiment."
