Page 8 of Wisteria and Cloves

"Let's try something simpler," Christopher suggested, his voice gentler than before. "Are you hungry, Lilianna?"

Such a basic question, yet I found myself struggling. Was I hungry? I hadn't eaten since breakfast, too nervous about this meeting to manage lunch. But admitting hunger might seem demanding.

"Take your time," Julian said, noticing my internal conflict. "There's no wrong answer."

"Yes," I finally said. "I am hungry.”

"Good," Christopher smiled, reaching for a platter of small sandwiches. "That's a start."

He offered me the tray, and I carefully selected the smallest one, placing it on my plate with deliberate movements. Four pairs of eyes tracked the action, and I felt suddenly self-conscious about how even this simple choice might be judged.

"You can take more than one," Miles said, his voice softer than before. "We're not counting."

I glanced up, uncertain if this was some kind of test. My mother would have called it unseemly to appear too eager about food. But the genuine encouragement in Miles' expression made me reach for a second sandwich.

"Good?" Julian asked.

I nodded, swallowing carefully before speaking. "Yes, thank you."

"See? That wasn't so difficult," Miles said, leaning back in his chair. "A simple question with a simple answer. No coaching required."

Julian shot him another warning glance before turning back to me. "I apologize for the directness of my pack. We don't usually stand on ceremony."

"Or pretense," Nicolaus added, reaching for his wine glass.

I set my water glass down carefully, uncertain how to respond to such bluntness. These men were nothing like the Alphas who'd visited our home before—those who spoke around me rather than to me, who assessed me like a prized thoroughbred while discussing bloodlines with my father.

"Your parents presented you as a potential mate," Julian said, his voice measured and calm. "I assume you're aware of that much."

"Yes," I replied, keeping my voice steady.

"And how do you feel about that?" Christopher asked, his head tilting slightly.

The question hung in the air between us. How did I feel? No one had ever asked before. Feelings were irrelevant to duty.

"I..." My voice faltered. "I understand my responsibility to my family."

"That's not what he asked," Nicolaus observed, his blue eyes sharp as ice.

Julian, again, leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent but not intimidating. "Lilianna, we're not interested in what you understand. We want to know what you feel."

The distinction struck me like a physical blow. What I felt? The concept seemed so foreign I almost couldn't grasp it.

"I don't know," I admitted, the words barely above a whisper. "I've never been asked to consider my feelings about... any of this."

Christopher's expression softened. "That's honest, at least."

"When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?" Miles asked, reaching for a grape from the fruit platter. "Something small. Something that had nothing to do with pleasing your parents or fulfilling expectations."

I searched my memory, trying to find even one example. The silence stretched uncomfortably as I came up empty.

"I..." My voice trailed off, the confession hanging in the air between us. "I can't remember."

The admission felt like stepping off a cliff. My heart raced as I waited for their judgment, for the disappointment that would surely follow such an inadequate response. Instead, Julian nodded slowly, as if I'd confirmed something he already suspected.

"Your medical file mentions heat suppression," Nicolaus said, his clinical tone softening slightly. "Was that your choice?"

I lowered my eyes to my barely-touched plate. "No. My parents arranged it with our family doctor. They said it was necessary to... prepare me properly."

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