Chapter 32 #2
"Good. That means it matters." Lila grins. "But you're going to be amazing. And if Margaret gives you any grief, you just remember, you're wearing cashmere that her son chose specifically for you because he knows your body and your style and your heart. You hold all the cards."
I laugh despite my nerves. "I don't think it works like that with traditional alpha families."
"Then make it work like that." She starts gathering the rejected clothes from my bed. "Now go show your pack. They're probably dying to see you in this."
I walk back to Calder's apartment still wearing the dress and boots, the cream wrap draped over my shoulders, the lavender necklace at my throat, emerald studs catching the light.
The conversation stops when I enter.
Three pairs of eyes find me, widen, darken with something that makes the bond hum warm and wanting.
Tyler notices the necklace first. His hand goes to his chest, eyes bright. "You're wearing it."
"Of course I'm wearing it." I touch the pressed lavender pendant. "It's perfect."
Julian's gaze is on the earrings. Something fierce and proud crosses his face. "They suit you. Natural beauty."
Calder just stares, taking in the whole picture, his dress, Tyler's necklace, Julian's earrings, all coming together to create something that's completely me. I see pride gleaming in his eyes.
"You all knew," I say, voice thick with emotion. "You planned this together."
"Pack secret," Tyler confirms with that sunrise grin. "We're good at those now."
"You know my size." It's not quite an accusation. More like wonder. "My exact size. How?"
"I pay attention." Calder’s hands settle at my waist over the soft fabric. "I've held you enough times to know your measurements. Watched you dress enough mornings to know your style. Know what you love and what you'd tolerate and what would make you feel like yourself."
"It's all perfect," I whisper. "The dress, the necklace, the earrings. How did you—"
"I asked Lila what colors bring out your eyes." His thumb brushes my cheek. "She said burgundy or plum. I chose burgundy because it reminded me of autumn. Of the day we met in the greenhouse."
My throat tightens. "And the jewelry?"
"Was our idea," Tyler says softly, touching the lavender pendant where it rests against my collarbone. "Wanted you to have pieces of us. Reminders."
"The lavender from where we met," I say, understanding. "And the emeralds because—"
"Because you're beautiful without needing to be polished into something you're not," Julian finishes. "Natural. Real. Perfect as you are."
I feel their combined love. They didn't just give me clothes. They gave me pieces of themselves. Pieces of us.
"The notes," I manage.
"Meant every word," Calder says. His forehead touches mine. "You're already worthy. You don't need anything else to prove it. But we wanted you to feel confident. To have armor."
"Armor that feels like being loved," I correct, touching the necklace, the earrings, the soft cashmere.
His smile is small but genuine. "Exactly."
Saturday arrives faster than I'd like.
I dress carefully in the burgundy cashmere, the cognac boots, the cream wrap. The necklace settles against my collarbone, the pressed lavender pendant catching the light. The raw emerald studs feel substantial in my ears, grounding.
Lila comes over to help with my hair, something simple but elegant, loose waves pulled half-back with the small silver clips my grandmother gave me.
"You look like an estate-visiting goddess," Lila declares, touching the lavender pendant. "And your pack? They're keepers. All three of them."
"I know," I say softly, looking at myself in the mirror.
The burgundy makes my eyes glow green, made even more vivid by the emerald earrings. The lavender necklace draws the eye without being ostentatious. Everything works together, earthy, elegant, completely me but elevated.
"Go show them what Elowen Rowan is made of," Lila says.
The drive takes forty minutes. I'm nervous despite having met the family before. I want to make a good impression.
The estate comes into view, and I gasp. Calder doesn’t live in a mansion.
He lives in a palace. The property, like something out of a fairy tale, is lit up by gleaming white lampposts, a fountain in the middle of the teardrop-shaped drive, painted gold in the glow.
I try to count the windows and guess the number of rooms and give up. It’s a lot.
Calder parks in the teardrop-shaped drive. Before we exit, he takes my hand. I’m still gaping.
"You ready?"
"No. But I'll do it anyway."
His smile is proud. "That's my omega."
The door opens before we knock.
A butler nods respectfully. "Mr. Ashford. Welcome home. Your parents are waiting in the drawing room."
Drawing room?
We follow him through hallways, expensive art, fresh flowers, the kind of quiet wealth that doesn't need to announce itself.
Margaret and Robert are waiting for us, Margaret in pearls and a dove-gray dress. Robert in a suit without a tie, more relaxed than before.
Uncle Marcus stands near the fireplace, whiskey in hand, warmth in his eyes when he sees us.
"Calder." Margaret rises, her movements precise and elegant. Her eyes sweep over all of us, landing on me last.
I see the moment she notices the dress. The quality of the cashmere. The way it fits. The fact that I'm not trying too hard but clearly made an effort.
She blinks, a small smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "Elowen." She extends both hands, a gesture I didn't expect. "Thank you for coming. All of you."
I take her hands, let her assess me up close. Her eyes sweep over me, the dress, the jewelry, the way I hold myself.
Robert moves forward then, shaking hands with each of my alphas before turning to me. "It's good to see you again, Elowen. In our home this time. Properly."
"Thank you for having us."
"It's overdue," he says simply. "We should have done this sooner. Before—" He glances at Margaret. "Before things got complicated."
Marcus crosses to us, pulling Calder into a brief hug before greeting the rest of us. When he gets to me, his smile is genuine.
"The dress suits you," he says quietly. "Calder has excellent taste."
"He does," I agree.
Margaret clears her throat. "Shall we have drinks before dinner? I thought we could talk. Get to know each other properly. Without…" She pauses. "Without surprises or misunderstandings."
It's as close to an apology as I suspect Margaret Ashford ever offers.
"That would be lovely," I say.
Drinks turn into genuine conversation.
Margaret asks about my studies, real questions, not surface politeness. When I mention working with Mira on herbal medicine, she listens with actual interest.
"My grandmother used to keep a herb garden," she says, surprising me. “She said it grounded her. Kept her connected to something real."
"It does," I agree. "There's something about working with plants. Growing things. Knowing you're part of a cycle that's bigger than yourself."
"Calder mentioned you're quite talented. That you've been helping other students with remedies."
"Some. Anxiety blends mostly. Sleep aids. Things that help with stress."
I think about the blend containing digitalis that Rani didn’t take and push it from my mind. Not tonight. Tonight is about Calder. I imagine Margaret would pull her son from Elderwood at the first hint of trouble that might affect the family reputation.
A butler appears in the doorway then. "Dinner is served, madam."
Margaret rises with practiced grace. "Shall we?"
We move to the formal dining room, and I have to work hard not to stare.
The table is set for seven with a precision that feels almost military. Crystal glasses at each place, three different sizes. Silver flatware arranged in careful rows, more pieces than I know how to use. Cream linens with subtle embroidery. Fresh flowers as centerpiece, tasteful and elegant.
White-gloved servers stand at attention along the walls.
I've never seen anything like this outside of movies.
Calder moves to my chair before I can reach it, pulling it out with the kind of smooth certainty that speaks to years of training. His hand briefly touches my shoulder as I sit, grounding, reassuring.
This is who he was raised to be. Heir to all of this.
The realization settles strangely in my chest. I've seen him in the greenhouse, dirt under his fingernails. Seen him exhausted and vulnerable after the rut. Seen him laughing with Tyler and debating with Julian.
But this? This polished, formal version who moves through his parents' world with effortless grace? This is new.
He takes the seat beside me, and under the table, his hand finds mine. Squeezes once.
Margaret sits at the head of the table, Robert at the foot. Marcus across from us, between Tyler and Julian.
A server approaches with the first course, something delicate on tiny plates.
"Seared scallop with citrus foam," Margaret says, though she doesn't look at me when she explains. "Chef's specialty."
I watch the others, follow their lead with the outermost fork. The scallop is perfectly seared, caramelized on the outside, buttery soft inside. The citrus foam is bright and unexpected, cutting through the richness.
It's one perfect bite. Gone too soon. I want another immediately.
Robert asks Julian about his research as servers whisk away our plates. Julian explains pack dynamics theory with his characteristic precision, and Robert actually engages, asking intelligent questions about statistical models and demographic trends.
The plates disappear. A winter salad arrives, microgreens I don't recognize, candied walnuts, pomegranate seeds, drizzled with something that tastes like champagne and honey. Each bite is crisp and sweet and tart all at once.
Tyler tells a story about teaching at the community center, working with young omegas questioning traditional expectations. Margaret listens, though her expression remains carefully neutral.