Page 89 of Wisteria and Cloves

"That's not what my mother would call it," I said softly, focusing on the swirl of my spoon in my tea. "She'd say I was being difficult. Ungrateful."

"Your mother was wrong about a lot of things," Julian replied, his voice gentle but firm as he repeated the words he and the others have said to me on more than one occasion. "Especially about you."

I looked up to find all four men watching me with various expressions of quiet support. It was still strange sometimes—having people listen when I spoke, care about what I thought, and encourage me to have opinions. I'd spent so long trying to be invisible that being seen, felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I'm starting to believe that," I admitted, meeting Julian's gaze.

Our food arrived then, steam rising from plates arranged with care. My pancakes were golden and fluffy, topped with a light dusting of powdered sugar and fresh berries. Julian cut into his omelet, but his eyes flicked to me, watchful in that way he always was—protective without being overbearing. I took a small bite of my pancake, and the lemon hit my tongue in a burst of brightness I wasn’t prepared for. The ricotta made it rich, but not heavy.

“Oh wow,” I said around my next bite, “This is so good.”

Miles chuckled slowly beside me. “Should we be offended the food is beating us in affection today?”

“I’ll take second place to lemon and ricotta,” Nicolaus said, sipping his coffee like a man entirely unbothered. “They’re excellent rivals.”

“I’ll have you know I helped convince the chef to put that dish back on the menu last season,” Christopher added proudly. “I should get partial credit.”

I gave him a dry look, but I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth. “Then thank you, Christopher.”

He bowed his head as though I’d knighted him, dramatically noble, and I shook mine with a laugh, surprised by how easily they could pull joy from me. I didn’t have to pretend. I didn’t have to be on edge, weighing every word or bite.

It was... freeing.

The conversation flowed naturally as we ate, punctuated by comfortable silences and shared laughter. Christopher regaled us with stories from his latest cooking experiments, while Miles described his plans for expanding the herb garden in the spring. Nicolaus mentioned a particularly challenging case he'd consulted on, and Julian shared an amusing anecdote about a difficult client who'd finally agreed to a reasonable settlement.

I found myself contributing more than I ever had before, asking questions and offering opinions without the constant fear of saying the wrong thing. At one point, Miles pulled out his phone to show me a ridiculous photo of Christopher trying—and failing—to climb a rock wall during a charity event last summer.

“I didn’t fall. Idescended rapidly with style,” Christopher argued. I nearly choked on my tea, laughing at the photo of Christopher dangling sideways on the wall, his expression a perfect mix of shock and indignation.

"You were upside down," Nicolaus pointed out dryly. "I fail to see the style in that position."

"The photographer simply caught me at an inopportune moment," Christopher insisted, reaching across to steal a berryfrom my plate despite my playful slap at his hand. "Two seconds later, I was the picture of athletic grace."

"Two seconds later, you were on the ground," Julian countered, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "I have the subsequent photos to prove it."

Their easy banter wrapped around me like a warm blanket, inviting me into their shared history without making me feel like an outsider. Miles's arm had settled comfortably on the back of my chair, not quite touching me but close enough that I could feel his warmth. Julian had somehow migrated his chair closer to mine during the meal, close enough that our knees occasionally brushed under the table, sending little sparks of awareness through me each time.

"What about you, Lilianna?" Christopher asked, his gray eyes sparkling with mischief. "Any embarrassing stories you'd like to share about your newfound freedom? First attempts at rebellion?"

I considered the question, twirling my fork through the last bite of pancake. "Does eating ice cream directly from the container at midnight count as rebellion?"

"Absolutely," Miles said solemnly, though his green eyes danced with humor. "Especially if it was the strawberry shortcake flavor Christopher brought home."

"It was just plain vanilla. It had been the leftovers from a dinner party my parents had the night before so It hadn’t been thrown out yet. And I didn't even use a bowl," I admitted with a small grin. "Just the spoon."

Christopher gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "The scandal! I've never been more proud."

Julian's eyes crinkled at the corners, and I felt his knee brush mine again under the table, this time lingering. "Midnight ice cream raids are a time-honored tradition of independence," he said, his voice warm with approval.

"Next thing you know, she'll be staying up past bedtime to finish a novel," Miles added, his fingers finally making contact with my shoulder in a gentle, casual touch that sent warmth spreading through me.

"Or wearing jeans," Nicolaus contributed with a rare smile. "The ultimate rebellion against proper omega attire."

I laughed, shaking my head. "I've never actually owned a pair of jeans."

The table suddenly went quiet before Nicolaus spoke up, “We can always get you some when we go shopping again?”

I laughed at the offer but shook my head, “I like my dresses and the slacks and shorts I got today. I don’t think I need to go shopping anytime soon.”

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