Page 48 of Daisy
He looks up from his own cards with a grin. "Ooh, going for royalty. I like your style, princess."
The nickname should bother me. Should remind me of Uncle's world, of being treated like a political chess piece. But the way Hawk says it—warm and playful instead of condescending—makes it sound different.
Like maybe being a princess doesn't have to mean being powerless.
"She's getting good at this," August observes as I collect another set.
"Too good," Hawk grumbles, but he sounds pleased rather than annoyed.
I duck my head, trying to hide my smile. But it's getting harder to contain the happiness bubbling up in my chest. When's the last time I felt proud of myself? When's the last time I felt... fun?
The game continues as the van winds through mountain roads, and something shifts. The tight knot in my chest starts to loosen. I catch myself watching their faces instead of staring at my cards. Notice the way Dante's eyes crinkle when August makes a joke. How Hawk throws his head back when he laughs at his own stories.
They're not performing for me. Not putting on careful faces to manage the delicate omega. They're just... themselves.
"Dante," I say during my next turn, then pause. I've been watching him, noticing the way he holds his cards, the slight tells in his expression. Building courage. "Do you have any aces?"
His eyebrows rise slightly, and something that might be pride crosses his face. "Good catch." He hands over three cards.
I can't help the small triumphant sound that escapes me.
"She's getting dangerous," August says with a grin.
"I'm creating a monster," Hawk declares dramatically, clutching his remaining cards to his chest. "She's going to clean us all out."
The casual way they tease me, like I'm one of them instead of something fragile that might break, makes warmth bloom in my chest.
We play a few more rounds, the conversation flowing easier now. Hawk tells a ridiculous story about a customer at their garage who tried to pay for repairs with a live chicken. August shares a funny incident from the library involving an elderly woman and a romance novel that was "too spicy." Even I manage a small laugh.
The sound surprises me. When's the last time I laughed? Really laughed?
"That's a good sound," Dante says quietly, and when I look at him, there's something soft in his expression.
"What?" I ask.
"Your laugh. It's... nice to hear."
Heat floods my cheeks, but it's the good kind of heat. The kind that makes me feel seen instead of scrutinized.
"Dante," August says after another round, his tone shifting slightly. More serious. "Can I ask you something?"
I tense automatically, but Dante just nods. "Sure."
"What made you become a guard? At the Omega House, I mean."
The question hangs in the air, and I realize I'm holding my breath. I've wondered the same thing but never had the courage to ask.
Dante is quiet for a long moment, his fingers straightening his cards. "I thought I could make a difference from the inside. Make sure the omegas were actually protected."
The honesty in his voice surprises me. "Did you?" The question slips out before I can stop it, and I immediately want to take it back.
But Dante doesn't look offended. If anything, his expression grows sadder. "Not as much as I wanted to."
"But you tried," I find myself saying, my voice stronger than before.
"I tried. I failed you, though." His ice-blue eyes meet mine. "Should have done more."
The quiet pain in his voice makes my chest ache. "You saved me."
