Page 46 of Lights, Camera, Omega

“This way—we can all get some space or a little change of scenery if need be.” I gesture to the crashing ocean and Daphne pauses a moment to look out over the midday surf, her hair fluttering in the wind.

“Romantic gestures look different for the fabulously wealthy, I guess,” she laughs, her whole body visibly loose and easy with her enjoyment of the oceanfront.

While the comment would have made Cosmo or Sol squirm, I let it roll off me. Old money doesn’t invoke that kind of shame response.

“Right you are.” I pull my sunglasses from my face and fold them into the breast pocket of my button down.

“You better start getting used to getting spoiled Daphne Dale,” I warn her as we ascend the cut stone steps to the front door with its whimsical driftwood handle.

She audibly gasps once the large cedar portal swings open to reveal the interior of Tern’s Nest.

We step into the huge, circular living room—the mid-century modern conversation pit—complete with massive geometric fire pit is the only thing between us and the 180 degree curvature of glass windows looking out onto the deck and the ocean beyond.

“Oh, my god,” Daphne’s hushed exclamation escapes her. She unhooks her arm from mine, covering her mouth with both hands as she slowly wanders down the steps to the custom circular coffee table at the very center of the sunken living room.

“Hopefully that means that the nest has been feathered to your standards,” I jab playfully.

She spins back on me—her eyes wide as saucers.

“If the living room is this perfect, I’m almost scared to see the rest of the house.”

I extend my hand to her from my place on the top stair to the conversation pit, she takes it and we make our way around the bend into the kitchen, looking into the small enclosed atrium—complete with several small stained glass windows, a bistro table, and of course, a spray of tidily kept plants in the lush garden.

“Julian is a genius,” she breathes, darting a glance back over her shoulder. Her eyes run along the circular vaulted ceiling from the glass enclosed atrium to the bank of ocean facing windows.

“Almost like having a forest or meadow right at the ocean’s edge.” She shakes her head slowly in disbelief.

“You haven’t even seen the upstairs yet.” I grin, leading her to the spiral staircase tucked just behind the far end of the atrium’s glass enclosure.

She follows me up the steps to the second level. A mostly open circular room wreathed by built-in wood shelving and tabletops, several large drafting tables and a cluster of incredibly expensive sewing machines sit between swaths of beautiful fabric and vellum pattern cutouts.

“This is Julian’s atelier. We went so long without any prospect of an omega match—he figured he’d make use of the space.” I gesture to his domain.

“Of course, if you need to reclaim the space we can always—” I begin, attempting to make the assurance Julian has time and time again, that he would surrender the space at the slightest word.

Daphne won’t let me finish though, she interjects fervently, “Absolutely not! I wouldn’t dream of taking such an incredible workspace from him—plus I quite like the idea of having him here.”

She blushes a little beneath her coy, pursed heart shaped smirk, and I lead on.

“I suppose one would say:‘This is where the magic happens’ or rather, where it will happen,” I announce coolly as we climb the stairs into the true nest portion of the property.

I am rewarded by a soft cooing whine Daphne makes as soon as she rises into the space.

She spins around, the circular room much smaller than the living room and the studio below. The bank of windows are drawn with thin gauzy curtains, with much heavier blackout drapes tied back at either side of the incredible ocean view. In the center of the room sits a massive circular bed, custom made to fit five. An en-suite bathroom is tucked behind a half height crescent wall. The plush carpeted floors give way to sparkling teal and gold tiles laid like a mosaic around the pedestal sink and huge round soaking tub, also custom built to fit five.

“Heat or not, I don’t think y’all are ever going to get me to leave here,” she marvels, running her fingers over the crisp white bed linens, drifting to the bathroom to get a better look at the enormous tub.

“And we’re not even at the end of the tour my dear.” I collect her again, towing her up to the final floor—the smallest of the circular rooms—the clerestory windows allowing beautiful sunlight to spill into the empty room, the hardwood floors gleam in the gilded afternoon light.

“Julian left this space intentionally unfinished, so that we might furnish it specifically to your needs and desires.”

I watch as she pads, barefoot to the windows, looking out onto the sea below.

She says nothing, but I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I can smell her scent, sweet-juicy and floral as her mind inevitably turns itself toward imagination.

“I almost feel sorry that I’m the one to show you, instead of Julian, really,” I admit as we descend the sets of spiral staircases back to the living room.

“I’ll have plenty of time to thank him, I’m sure,” Daphne beams—drifting to the great glass sliding door onto the deck.

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