Chapter 48
forty-eight
It’s difficult to tell when I stopped dreading this and started to hope for it.
Was it the first morning, in the garden? The afternoon she found me in the hallway? Or any of the half dozen other times I’ve not-so-randomly found myself walking into any room Violet’s in.
It happened once in the downstairs parlor, when I caught her trying to rearrange the furniture by herself. Then again, when she chased Pascal into my boxed-up study. Yesterday, too, in the laundry room…
I used to hate it, didn’t I? The bolt of alarm? The gut-punch of loyal guilt, followed by a deeper, worse shame when her scent reached me?
This time, when I step into the kitchen and realize she’s the only one here, my first reaction is relief.
Because the pain in my middle instantly ebbs. But, also? I know as soon as Gideon comes downstairs, he’ll be happy.
It’s impossible for me not to notice the effect she has on him. After they spend time together, he’s more centered. He smiles instead of smirking—and seeks the affection he needs without the usual thread of shame.
Last night, when he came to me in a heat-spike, he didn’t have one whiff of hesitation in his perfume. Just the purest, deepest need I’d ever scented on him.
I’m not sure why, yet, but having Violet around has actually made him more sure of our bond. Plus, watching her work through becoming an omega has helped him be kinder to himself about his designation and his needs.
As impossible as it seems… she’s been good for us.
Aside from the pulsing pain that pulls at the inside of my spine when I dare to wander farther than two rooms away. Of course.
I already feel the visceral unpleasantness fading into a dull throb as I step deeper into the kitchen. For a moment, Violet freezes.
That seems to be her Omega’s go-to startle response. Gideon tends to hide in some capacity—turning his face or his back so no one can see his expression, quickly leaving rooms to go bury himself in bed—but Violet simply locks up.
Was that safer in the facilities? Did freezing give her a chance at remaining invisible?
God, there’s so much I don’t know that any good mate should. The instinct to comfort her rises along with my chagrin. I thought both might start to wane by now, but they’ve only gotten stronger. Almost violent, actually; tearing at the place behind my diaphragm with wrenching tugs.
Her maddening honeysuckle warmth clings to the air, tickling my throat as I pull it into my lungs. An insistent purr immediately springs to life. I rush to clear it with a cough, ducking my head as I clip toward the coffee maker.
In my periphery, Violet finally tumbles out of her freeze response. Half of me wonders —no, worries—if she’ll turn off the stove and walk out without a word. She did that a few times, the first week she was here, before she and Gideon got more comfortable around each other.
But her big, green eyes scan the various pots simmering in front of her. Including, of course, her beloved cast-iron frying pan. Instead of leaving or stammering an apology, she slips me a small, shy smile.
“Good morning.” Her voice is quiet and sweet, but her eyes dance as she points to the food. “I’ll be done in just a minute.”
I can’t exactly admit I’m in no hurry for her to scamper off. So I simply nod and fill my mug, returning her greeting, “Good morning.” My brows arch. “I assume you slept well?”
Fucking hell. I did not mean for that to insinuate anything, but I suppose it makes sense that her perfume spikes. I know she put Ryker through his paces long into the night.
And while an insane part of me was half-crazed with misplaced jealousy—the larger part simply worried about her.
Is she used to taking knots yet? Did she need more help or practice?
Have Finn and Ryker been sufficiently careful with her?
Was she starving after, like Gideon said she was after her heat-spike?
I had no way of knowing. But I still found myself meandering into her room after I’d eased Gideon and left him dozing in our bed to make his aftercare meal. I wanted to look out her window and make sure she still seemed content in the meadow with Ryker.
I wasn’t surprised to see them happily snuggling outside. But finding a small beaded bracelet on her bed, drenched in Gideon’s perfume… That was shocking.
Did he honestly make it for her? Why? And—more importantly—did wandering into her room and scenting her arousal kick off his heat-spike?
In the end, I left his gift on her quilt and decided it was best not to pry. When Violet doesn’t mention Gideon’s hormone surge or the friendship bracelet, my earlier relief swells. I’m not sure how to explain any of it without admitting things neither of us are ready to hear.
“I did sleep well,” Violet finally answers, blushing as she bobs her head. “Is Gideon still coming?” Her eyes fly wide as she rushes to add, “Downstairs! Is Gideon still coming downstairs? I texted him, and he said he was about to, but, uh—”
I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing. Both of us clearly have our minds in the gutter this morning.
Perfectly natural, I tell myself. It would be difficult for either of us not to, really, given how we both spent the evening.
“Yes,” I manage, unable to help my slight chuckle. “He was getting out of the shower when I left. He’s actually been going for hikes, early each morning.”
If I say it with a note of disbelief, it’s only because I can’t quite wrap my head around the concept. Violet smirks, prodding at whatever is in her frying pan. “You mean walks?” she tosses back, slanting a playful look across the kitchen island.
I see her point—and it’s astute. The more I insist that Gideon seems to have changed his mind, the less likely he’ll be to admit it.
The tenderness hidden under her teasing hits my chest like a dart. She hasn’t just gotten to know Gideon—she understands him. And she seems to care about his well-being, the same way I do.
Usually, we’re lucky if Violet speaks her mind at all.
She must truly feel passionate about this subject, though, because she goes on, murmuring as she turns off one of the burners.
“We should let him call it whatever he wants,” she starts.
“If it makes it easier to get through the day, it’s okay to let ourselves pretend, sometimes. ”
The air thickens as our gazes lock. Something meaningful flashes through her jade irises. And, Christ, for the first time, I want to fully open our bond. Let her in. Let her show me if she means what I think she might.
In moments like these, when our souls feel magnetized, drawn together again and again… does she pretend I could really be her alpha, someday? Or that we could all somehow become a pack?
Would that really be so tragic?
My heart pounds in my ears as emotions roil through my middle. Anguish, mostly. Tinged with misplaced anger and that ever-present guilt.
But longing, too.
And while it may not be right to admit that to her, perhaps it’s time I admit it to myself.
Because, yes, I’m keeping the person I love more than my own life.
But look what I’m giving up.
It’s that cursed duality again, invading my life from every angle. Reminding me of the simple truth Gideon’s always hated:
Two things can be true.
The words echo behind my sternum as soft morning light filters through the windows, gilding Violet’s golden ponytail. Filling the delicate dips and curves around her neck and shoulders. Lighting her angelic features and those endlessly empathetic eyes.
Fucking hell. She really is beautiful. And not just on the outside.
I wish I could know what she’s thinking as her gaze flickers across my face. Wistfulness wobbles the curve of her lips when she finishes her statement.
It’s okay to pretend, she’d said. Now, she stares into me and whispers the rest. “…as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
Gideon.
A gasp of pain doubles the guilt piercing my gut. Neither of us have to say his name—but I know Violet is thinking of him, too. Her dainty fingers reach for her left wrist, touching the small beaded bracelet I found in her room last night.
It suits her. Purple crystals, white daisies. Her name spelled out in pink letters. A tiny gold paintbrush charm.
Gideon’s gift.
Her meaning is clear. I nod slowly, swallowing the pain wedged in my throat. Because, “I agree.”
Pride sifts over our bond and fills her verdant eyes. A small smile curves her lips—and although I can’t hear her thoughts, I’m pretty sure she’s saying, Good. You’re still the man I believed you were.
Someone admirable and safe. Someone her Omega trusted enough to bite.
She wants that for Gideon, even if it means she’ll never have it. Me. And I’ll never have her, either.
Grief tightens my throat, but she shrugs the moment off, carefully resealing our boarded-up bond. Respecting my boundaries. Accepting my rejection with the utmost grace. Putting another sting in my stomach.
Some of the saltiness flakes off her honeysuckle essence as she begins taking food off the stove. My eyes climb over her work, hunting for a subject other than the lump pressing into my airway. Surprise curves my brows. “You made enough for all of us?”
She also, somehow, prepared my favorite brunch. Eggs Benedict. Along with a platter of… French toast?
“Something like that,” she demurs, not meeting my eyes.
Instinct tells me to glance at the one spot in the room she refuses to look at—our kitchen table. I must have been more distracted than I thought, earlier, because I didn’t notice; it’s beautifully set. Laid with a soft blue-and-silver tablecloth that matches the manor’s best china and flatware.
I’m still absorbing the scene when Gideon appears, wearing my favorite knit, periwinkle polo. The one that makes his stormy eyes glow.
He flounces down the staircase and shoots me one of his sassy smirks before his expression changes. Warming into a genuine, reassuring curve.
“Violet,” he says, sliding into the space behind her and peering over her shoulder. His gaze sparkles. “You made French toast?”
Because that’s his favorite brunch food.
A fresh sting rises to block my trachea as Violet smiles back at him. “Mm-hmm. Will you help me carry the plates?”
Gideon nods and balances the two largest platters on his palms. While Violet scurries to the table and rushes to arrange things, he pauses to kiss me, clearly oblivious to what she’s done. His brows crease when I barely manage to lean in. “You okay?”
I understand his confusion. Violet is here with us—and based on the half-true explanation I gave him weeks ago, that should mean my “temporary” pain is better. I refuse to tell him this is a different kind of ache altogether.
“Yes,” I husk, “Of course.” I turn to rub my scent over his cheek. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
I’m devastated that, one day, Violet won’t be.
Two things can be—
Gideon rolls his eyes, but his answering grin is genuine. “Listen, Daddy, you already got yours last night. Repeatedly. Down, boy.”
Fucking hell, I really could not love him any more. Instead of burdening Gideon with the bittersweet swirling inside me, I clasp my hand around the back of his neck and steer him toward the table.
Violet hovers there, waiting for Gideon’s plates. She takes them while he’s distracted and situates them just so, laying each on top of a runner I hadn’t noticed before.
Unlike the tablecloth, it isn’t made of fine silk. It looks like loose canvas, actually. Hand-painted with a lovely, modern interpretation of the wildflowers swaying outside the breakfast nook’s bay window.
Her light eyes scan the tablescape. Satisfied approval fills her face when Gideon slides into the padded bench on the other side of the slab.
I slowly lower myself to the spot beside him. His befuddlement returns, folding his flawless features while he glances around. “There are only two place settings.”
Violet quietly slips off her apron. “That’s because it’s a date,” she tells him, flashing her shy smile. “Just for you two.”