Page 37 of The Boss Omega
Graham clears his throat. “Of course. I would never, I mean, not unless you know.”
“We know you want time to get to know us,” Silas says. “And we’ll try to give you that.” His voice lowers slightly. “But if easing isn’t enough… we’ll do whatever we have to.”
Graham
It’s almost five when we make it to the pack house. Lark had meetings she couldn’t miss. Then the conversation with Silas’s dad. That plus packing took nearly all day.
I try to control my nerves as we pull up to the house. Three stories of dark siding and glass. Would she like it? Would she be comfortable? If not, we’ll figure something out. Redecorate? Remodel? Sell it and buy something else? I mentally start pricing the cost of moving Silas’ custom workshop.
Silas guides the car into our drive, his hand still clasped with Lark’s. Yeah, he’ll find a new workspace. He’d grumble, but he’d do it. He’s as committed to our omega as I am.
When the car comes to a stop, I jump out and open Lark’s door. "My lady." I bow like a courtier from one of those historical romances she mentioned liking when we were talking last night. I filed that away immediately.
She giggles. “How gallant you are.” I bend a little so she can kiss my cheek. She smells like salty caramel and underneath it, already, the faintest thread of chocolate and hazelnut. My scent. On her. I have to physically restrain myself from pressing her against the car and kissing every inch of her.
She turns and takes her first full look at the house. “Wow,” she says. “This is much larger than I expected.”
“Your view only gave you a partial view. There’s over seventy-five-hundred square feet. Technically a mansion.”
She chuckles. “Do mansions have specific size requirements?”
“Well, the rules aren’t strict, but, generally, size is the most important factor. Extensive grounds are also considered important. We can’t claim that, though. Most of our gardens were bulldozed to make way for Silas’ workshop. There used to be a maze.”
She nods and turns back to the house. I can’t tell if she’s disappointed about the maze. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Why did I mention it? She didn't ask about the grounds. I just volunteered that information completely unprompted. Now she knows we had a maze and destroyed it. For a workshop. What kind of person destroys a maze?
Silas, mostly. But still.
Seriously though, why would I draw attention to the house’s inadequacies? Maybe she wants to host tea parties or something. Our yard won’t be good for that.
“Oh, you have a stained-glass window! I couldn’t see that from my apartment.”
“It’s original to the house. Silas restored it.”
She tightens her fingers, now linked in mine. “I love it.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. If she loves the window, maybe she’ll also love the arched doorways and original winding staircase. There’s also a stupid number of fireplaces that we’ve retrofit to run on gas.Perhaps when she sees the way we’ve mixed the original features with modern touches, our house will rise on her favorites list.
“Does that move it up in rankings or is it still number two?”
She swats my arm playfully with her free hand. “I said it was in the top two. We could never agree on which one was best.”
“Were you a fan of the wedding cake house, or this one?” Silas is holding a suitcase in each hand. I should probably grab some boxes, but I don’t want to unlace my fingers with Lark’s.
“Cammie insisted on wedding cake, but I liked the colors and lines of this one. The green and charcoal are stunning.”
My heart swells. A purr starts in my throat, low and embarrassingly audible. Silas glances at me. I clear my throat. The purr does not stop.
Of all the things she could have mentioned. The colors were my choice. I spent hours researching the town’s records to discover the original colors of our home’s exterior. A short article in the East Rock Gazette indicated the color, but the exact shades were trickier. I even cornered a historic architect at the university until he helped me narrow down the likely shades. He seemed annoyed at first. By the end he was as invested as I was. I still get emails from him about Victorian exterior paint.
Judging by the smile on his face, Silas also seems pleased with Lark’s answer. “Let’s show our girl in,” he says.
Our girl.I've been waiting my whole life to hear someone say that.
I lead us up the sweeping front steps to our double front door and punch in the code. When it swings open, I try to see everything through Lark’s eyes. A tall foyer opens before us, a large crystal chandelier throwing shards of light across the walls, and a winding staircase of dark wood curving toward the second floor.
Her nose twitches, just slightly, before she can stop it. The house smells like us. Chocolate and whiskey and the ghost of Saint's gingerunderneath everything. And now it will smell like her. Rich caramel woven between all our scents.
I guide her to the right which opens into a large living room that’s always felt too big for our pack. There’s enough space for at least twenty people to sit comfortably. I briefly wonder if twenty people is too many or not enough. Does she entertain? She runs a company so she must entertain. Right? Would she want a bigger space? We could knock through to the dining room. I make a mental note to look into load-bearing walls.
