Chapter 36
Ranier
The sitting room is painted with afternoon sunlight and the leftover sting of every argument I’ve ever had with my father.
Emery chose the loveseat by the window, perched on its edge as if ready to take flight at the slightest noise.
She’s in one of her blue-and-white dresses, the same shade as the clouds outside, with her hair pulled back so tight it makes her look like a smaller, more dangerous version of herself.
I sit on the couch across from her with my hands folded, pretending to read the printout of her exhibition’s write-up in the city’s largest paper.
It’s a fantastic review. The word “transcendent” appears more than once, which is better than anyone in this house has managed for a generation.
But I can’t focus on the words. I’m waiting for the door to open, for my father to cross the threshold and enact whatever ceremonial violence he’s rehearsed on the drive over.
Emery picks at the seam of a throw pillow, which is shaped like a wolf’s head. She doesn’t look up when she speaks. “Are you sure you want me here for this?”
I should lie. Instead, I tell the truth. “I don’t know.”
She makes a face—eyebrows up, eyes narrowed, the classic Emery skepticism. “Because if you want, I can be sick. Or dead. I have a range of excuses.” She chuckles after but I can tell it’s because she’s unsure about this situation, not because she actually finds any of this funny.
“You’re not going anywhere.” And that’s why I need her here. Want her here. My father needs to see our united front .
For a second the tension in the room drops. “Is it always this—” she gestures, as if to encompass the marble fireplace, the wall of books no one reads, and the single photograph of my father shaking hands with a Councilman, “—much?”
I glance at the clock. My father is ten minutes late. Very unusual for him. I have half a mind to think he’s doing it on purpose to torture me. That’d be on brand. I wish I had something to offer Emery, but I don’t.
We both want this over with as soon as possible.
Before I can finally reply, the front door slams with the kind of force that’s supposed to mean “I’m in charge.” Except Everhart Manor isn’t his anymore. Footsteps cross the hall—sharp, deliberate—and my father appears in the doorway, not even bothering to knock.
He’s in a suit, of course. Always is. He surveys the room, takes us in, and then does the thing where he smiles but only with the lower half of his face.
“Ranier,” he says. Then, after a pause, “Miss Grey.”
Emery stands. She doesn’t curtsey or bow or do any of the things that would make him comfortable. Instead, she holds out her hand. A brazen break in protocol.
To my surprise, my father takes her hand and gives her the briefest of shakes before releasing her as if she’s electrically charged. “Congratulations on the exhibition,” he says. “The Council is—well, frankly, the Council is stunned you pulled it off.”
There’s a compliment buried in there somewhere, but I doubt it’s what Emery hears. She answers him with the softest possible “Thank you,” then sits back down.
My father doesn’t take a seat. He circles the perimeter of the room, fingers tracing the spines of old law books and glancing at the windows.
“It’s a remarkable thing you’ve done,” my father says, still not facing either of us.
“Not many omegas have the… stamina. The fortitude. I can’t say I was optimistic, given your background, but you’ve managed to distinguish yourself.
That takes something.” He turns, finally, and fixes her with the blue-eyed stare that used to freeze me in place as a child.
“I underestimated you, Miss Grey. I apologize.”
Emery blinks, as if she’s having trouble processing the words.
Hell, I’m having trouble processing his words. My father doesn’t apologize.
He waits, watching her, then me, then her again.
Emery smooths her skirt. “Thank you, sir.” Her tone is careful, and I understand why. I assumed—and told her—that my father would come in here blazing and angry with me for not following through with his decision to oust Emery. Instead, he’s standing here apologizing and praising her.
My father nods, once, and I can see the effort it takes for him to keep his posture loose, his hands open. “There’s a lot of talk, you know. About the future of this pack. About what’s expected. I made some assumptions, perhaps, that were… premature.”
He stops, and for a second I think he might actually say what he means. But then he pivots and turns to me.
“Ranier,” he says, “you’ve done well. I may not have said so, but I’ve watched you handle things. Even when they weren’t ideal.”
By “ideal” my father means “his plans.”
I wait for the insult, for the twist of the knife. To me surprise, it doesn’t come. Which means the Council really was that impressed with Emery, and that they’re no longer hoping she’ll leave. It means the Council has finally accepted a commoner omega might just have a place here all along.
My father sharply breathes in. “I want you both to know that House Everhart is proud. Not just of what’s been done, but of how it was done.”
It’s the closest he’s come to a genuine compliment in my adult life.
“Are you serious?” I ask it without a single care for careful tone or respect. Because everything about this is so fucking unusual that I’m tempted to believe this isn’t actually my father.
He looks to me. “Yes, Ranier. I understand we’ve had our differences, but I see now that you’ve taken charge of your own family. That you now understand what I do, and how important it is to put family first. So yes, I am serious.”
I swallow hard. My mouth has run dry. I don’t understand. And yet… I do. But I cannot put this version of my father into place with the version I’ve known my whole life.
Maybe I don’t need to. Not just yet.
My father won’t give me the time, anyway. He steps toward the door, then pauses. “You have my blessing, for whatever that’s worth.” His eyes flick to Emery, then back to me. “Take care of her. And yourselves.”
“Thank you.” I have no idea what else to say in this moment. I was ready for a fight, not this.
He turns to leave, but Emery stands, quick as a match strike. “Sir?”
He stops, but doesn’t turn.
She’s shaking, but her voice is clear. “That’s nice and all, but I don’t think I’m the one you should be apologizing to.”
There it is.
My father finally turns, slow, with a flicker of annoyance behind his mask. “Excuse me?”
Emery takes a breath. “You have four children. Two of them could run the world with a hand behind their back. One of them already does. The other just wants to be a kid. You’re lucky. Most people don’t get half that. And you spend all your time trying to fix what wasn’t broken in the first place.”
His jaw tightens. “I raised them to succeed. I had to.”
“Maybe,” Emery says, softer now, “but you never let them see that you loved them for anything besides what they could do for you.” She glances at me, then back at him. “If you want to apologize, you could try it on Ranier. Or Helena. Or Richard and Dorothea. I’ll be fine.”
He stares at her, caught between fury and fascination.
Emery doesn’t look away. “I’m not your kid,” she says, “but I love them. All of them. Even you, a little, because you made them. But maybe it’s time you saw them for who they are, not what you want them to be.”
The silence is heavy enough to break the floorboards. I could never imagine in my life saying those words to my father.
My father is the first to move. He nods, once, almost imperceptible. “Noted,” he says. Then, to me: “You’ve chosen well.”
He turns and finally walks out, the echo of his shoes following him down the hallway and out the front door.
When the quiet comes back, it’s Emery who breaks it.
“I probably overstepped.” Her eyes are glassy and her hands knotted in the fabric of her dress.
I stare at her, not sure whether I want to laugh or cry. “You could have waited until he was at least out of earshot.”
She wipes her face, smiling through the tears. “I was afraid if I waited, I’d lose my nerve.”
I stand, crossing the space between us in two long strides. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She looks up, and for the first time all afternoon, there’s no fear in her at all. “Yes, I did.”
I pull her into my arms, and she lets herself melt against my chest, the sharp bones of her face pressed to my heart. “You’re amazing.”
She snorts. “And you’re stuck with me now.”
I hold her close, her pulse racing under my fingers, and try to remember the last time I felt safe.
Not just protected, but actually wanted.
Cherished. Every memory before this moment is gray and brittle by comparison.
I breathe in her cotton candy scent and I’m not just grateful, I’m greedy.
I want more. I want to be the one she says those things to for the rest of my life along with the rest of our pack.
The thought is terrifying, exhilarating.
“Emery, there is literally nowhere else I’d rather be.”
We stand like that, in the middle of the old sitting room, the sunlight making everything look softer than it should. I think about the way my father left, and the way Emery stood up to him, and the way the future feels less like a sentence and more like an invitation.
She looks up at me, eyes bright. “So what now?”
“Whatever we want.” Anything and everything.
Emery kisses me, soft and deliberate, and in that moment, nothing else matters.
The house, the legacy, the ghosts of a thousand failed expectations—they all vanish, replaced by this: the warmth of her and the certainty of us.