The question of my preferences still felt foreign, but I was beginning to appreciate how consistently they asked. "I'm normally awake by seven," I admitted. "My parents insisted on early rising."
"Perfect," Christopher said immediately. "We could start around nine? That gives you time to have breakfast and wake up properly."
"And gives Christopher time to organize his baking station," Miles added with a knowing look. "He gets very particular about ingredient placement."
"Organization is key to successful baking," Christopher defended, though his cheeks flushed slightly.
"Everything in its place," Nicolaus agreed, his tone carrying fond amusement. "Though I seem to remember you reorganizing the spice cabinet three times last month."
"The alphabetical system makes more sense than grouping by frequency of use," Christopher protested, but he was smiling. "Besides, you reorganize your legal briefs constantly."
"That's different. Legal documents require precise organization for—" Nicolaus was cut off.
"For the same reason spices do," Julian interrupted smoothly. "Because you both function better with systems." He turned to me, his expression gentle. "Fair warning—living with two people who have strong organizational preferences means occasional debates about the 'correct' way to arrange things."
I found myself smiling at their easy familiarity, the way they teased each other with obvious affection. "What about you and Miles? Do you have organizational quirks too?"
Miles laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm the chaos agent in this house. My organizational system is 'I'll remember where I put it,' which drives everyone else crazy."
"Especially when you 'remember' putting your soccer cleats in the oven," Julian said dryly.
"That was one time!" Miles protested. "And they weren't in the oven, they were on top of it. Completely different."
"Still took us twenty minutes to find them," Christopher muttered, shaking his head. "And don't get me started on your gardening tools scattered across three different rooms."
I watched this exchange with growing wonder. The easy way they ribbed each other, the obvious care beneath the teasing—it was unlike anything I'd experienced. My parents never joked, never showed this kind of casual intimacy. Everything had been formal, measured, proper.
As I watched them I couldn’t help but feel my chest warm with affection, and I hoped that this feeling stayed. Yes, I had onlybeen here not even a day but I liked it better than living with my parents and I really do hope one day to be able to fully call it home.
Chapter Sixteen
Lilianna
We'd talked for a while before I headed back to my room for the night. Despite my earlier nap I slept well for most of the night. But here I was at five in the morning wide awake. I stared at the ceiling for another twenty minutes, watching the shadows shift as early morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains. The silence felt different here than in my parents' house—not oppressive or watchful, but peaceful. Still, my body seemed programmed for the rigid schedule I'd maintained for years, regardless of my actual need for sleep.
I slipped out of bed quietly, padding to the window to peer out at the street below. The city was just beginning to wake—a jogger passed beneath the streetlights, and I could see lights flickering on in windows across the way. The normalcy of it struck me as profoundly beautiful. People living their lives without ceremony or performance, just... existing.
My reflection caught my eye in the window glass—hair still loose and wild from sleep, wearing my forbidden star-patterned pajamas. I looked like someone I didn't recognize, but in the best possible way.
A soft thud from downstairs made me pause. Someone else was awake—footsteps moving through the house with careful precision. My first instinct was to hide, to retreat to my bed and pretend I was still sleeping. But curiosity won over conditioning, and I found myself opening my door to listen.
The scent that drifted up the stairwell was familiar now—Nicolaus, with his clean, analytical fragrance touched with chlorine from last night's swim. I heard the quiet hiss of a coffee machine, the gentle clink of ceramic against granite. He was in the kitchen, probably preparing for his early morning training routine.
Before I could second-guess myself, I was moving down the stairs in my bare feet, drawn by the promise of coffee and perhaps conversation with the most enigmatic member of this pack. The kitchen was dimly lit, only the under-cabinet lights casting a warm glow across the room.
Nicolaus stood at the counter, his back to me, measuring coffee grounds. He wore loose track pants and a fitted long-sleeve shirt that accentuated the lean muscle of his swimmer's build. His hair was neatly combed, though slightly damp as if he'd already showered.
I hesitated at the doorway, suddenly unsure. Would he consider this an intrusion on his morning routine? Would he prefer solitude before his training?
"Good morning, Lilianna," he said without turning, his deep voice quiet in the pre-dawn stillness. "You're up early."
"I couldn't sleep anymore," I admitted, taking a tentative step into the kitchen. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
He turned then, his blue eyes soft as he looked at me, his lips twitching into a small smile. "Not at all. Coffee?"
"Umm” I never had coffee before, it has always been tea. I bit my lip glancing at the coffee machine.
Nicolaus must have caught my hesitation because his expression shifted to one of gentle understanding. "You've never had coffee before have you..," he observed, it being a statement more than a question…and his tone carrying no judgment. "Your parents restricted that too?"
