Page 14 of A Promise of Forever
"Why are you hiding?" he asks, the soothing edge to his tone a surprise that catches me off guard. "I told you that you were allowed anywhere in this house."
The next sob comes out unexpectedly as I try to wrap my head around his words. I was expecting anger, punishment, tobe thrown out for overstepping boundaries. Instead, he sounds genuinely concerned about why I felt the need to hide. "You were having a meeting," I whisper, my voice coming out shaky. "And then you started moving around, and I came in here and I didn't know where to go."
"This is the second time I'm finding you under a desk," Forrest muses as his lips curve into a small smile. One hand grips the desk as the other settles on the armrest, those elegant fingers curving around the leather and stealing my attention for a second. And then I remember I’m hiding under his damn desk while his business associates are standing at the entrance of his office.
I curl up tighter, pressing myself further back under the desk as shame floods through me. "I'm sorry," I whisper.
Forrest sighs as he shifts back in his chair a little bit. "I'm not mad, little dove. I'm trying to understand. Why here? Why not the closet in your room? Why not just sit on the couch? Why not try to run out the door when you heard us coming? Why under my desk, Sterling?"
Little dove.
My face flames at the pet name. He called me that earlier and I was only mildly listening but I heard it this time, loud and clear. No one has ever called me nice things before. I sink back a little further, slowly meeting his gaze, finding the intensity in his eyes safe rather than terrifying.
"Because you smell safe," I sob, the words pouring out between gasping breaths. "And I don't want you to, but you do. It's why I gave you the rose. I know you don't want me and that's okay, but I'll be good, I promise. I won't come in here again, okay? I just... I didn’t mean to overhear, so I came in here and I was going to leave but then your scent and then… I..."
Forrest frowns, and I immediately stop talking, terrified that I've said too much. But instead of ordering me out or expressingdisgust at my neediness, he moves to sit on the floor inches from where I'm hiding.
"I think we got off on the wrong foot here," he answers, softening his expression. "Sterling, I can't imagine what kind of change this is for you, but trust me when I say that you aren't just an afterthought. You might have been in the moment when I offered you that rose, but I would never have brought you home if you weren't mine."
I wring my hands together in my lap, unsure of what to do with that admission. Do I say it back? Does he expect something from me? Do I pledge myself—
A soft humming sound meets my ears and I sag back against the wood, meeting Forrest’s eyes again. “Little dove, breathe for me. There you go. I don’t expect anything from you. You aren't ready for those words. I can see that. So, I won't say them again right away," he continues, his dark eyes holding mine steadily. "But I will say this. I want honesty between us. That's the only way this can work. You tell me what you need, and I'll give you the truth, as much as I can."
I stare at him, not sure how to process what he's saying. Honesty. Truth. Concepts that have been foreign to my life for so long that I'm not sure I remember how they work.
"Now tell me again how much you like this room.” It’s a mixture of a command and an offering to start out on the right foot, heat coloring my cheeks.
"I... it smells like you," I admit quietly.
Forrest laughs, a rich, hearty sound that fills the small space under the desk. It's not mocking or cruel, just genuinely amused, and the sound makes something warm bloom in my chest.
"Here's my truth," he says, settling more comfortably on the floor. "I know the basic things about Omegas, but I'm going to learn everything. All of it. Whatever you need, whatever makesyou feel safe and comfortable, I'm going to figure it out. First thing's first. The room I gave you is too big, isn't it?"
I nod, grateful for a question I can answer easily.
"And it's too bright?"
Another nod. The enormous windows that probably cost more than most people's cars flooded the space with sunlight by the time I actually left the room. It made me nauseous.
"Not enough security?”
"Yes," I whisper, amazed that he understands instinctively what I couldn't articulate.
"Would you prefer a smaller space? Cozier? Maybe with just one window, and heavier curtains you can close if you want?"
Each question makes it easier to breathe, easier to think beyond the immediate panic of being discovered. He's not making me explain my needs or justify my preferences. He's just asking simple yes-or-no questions that let me communicate without having to find words for things I don't understand about myself.
"Cold or warm?" he asks next. "Do you like being able to control the temperature, or do you prefer it when someone else handles that?"
"Someone else," I answer immediately, then flush with embarrassment at how needy that sounds.
But Forrest just nods like it's perfectly reasonable. "Soft textures or firm ones? Lots of pillows and blankets, or just a few high-quality pieces?"
I frown at first, wondering if he went on a little research binge this morning when he left me, because while the questions feel clinical, they’re so much more personal than anything I’ve ever experienced. "Soft," I say, thinking about the silk blankets I dragged to the corner last night. "Lots."
"Music or quiet? Do you like background noise, or does it make you anxious?"
"Quiet. Noise makes me..." I trail off, not sure how to explain how sudden sounds send me into panic mode.
