But I was right that he’d come around. Now Helena’s gone from leaving the family home to landing a book deal set for publication in the late spring.
“That’s something,” I say.
Helena’s eyes light up. “Ranier called this morning, by the way. He wants to see the house and all of us. He said he’d fly out this weekend with his whole pack.” She smiles, like the prospect is terrifying but necessary. “I think I want to show him the solarium first. The view from there is—well, you’ll see. I’ve been busy while you were out working.”
She pulls up a 3D modeling program where she’s been messing around with virtually staging and decorating our house in preparation for actually getting to decorate it once we have the keys.
Helena filters through the views until she finds the one with the solarium and holds the laptop up to me. “See? Mirrored décor and windchimes across the board. It’ll reflect light like a disco ball and brighten the whole space.”
There are also dozens of plants in this image and comfortable-looking couches that are a far cry from the abomination at our second rental flat here in Seamuse Village.
I smile softly. “This looks amazing, Helena. Send me these plans and I’ll make sure it’s done before Ranier gets here.”
She grins. “You always are the best at making things happen.”
I shrug. “Executing plans used to be my job.”
She pulls me in for a long kiss that steals my breath. It’s as though every kiss is our first one over and over again. “And now we protect each other.”
Moving day is one of those rituals no one enjoys but everyone remembers. Even when you hire people to do the heavy lifting, there’s always a moment—watching the truck idle in the drive, or carrying the last box over the threshold—where you realize there’s no going back.
We unload in two waves. Cole takes kitchen duty with Lucas, their arms loaded with crates of flour and spices and a pair of battered coffee mugs with the bakery’s name. Helena flits between rooms, first trailing her fingers along the window glass, then darting off to inspect a shadow or chase a flash of color outside. I keep to my assigned task: ensure the place is secure and then fade into the background.
It would be easier if anyone else in this pack understood the concept of “background.” Lucas leaves a line of muddy footprints up the main staircase and doesn’t notice. Cole whistles as he fits the mugs into the glass-front cabinet, ignoring how each sharp note bounces off bare walls. Even Helena, who was raised with servants trained to move in silence, can’t seem to avoid the little clatters and giggles that make a brand-new house sound instantly lived-in.
Somewhere around midafternoon, Lucas declares a lunch break and the kitchen erupts in a chaos of flour dust, honeyed bread, and roasted tomatoes. We eat on the floor because the table hasn’t arrived yet. Helena folds into a cross-legged pretzel and smiles at everyone, even when she’s got a mouthful of sandwich.
When she catches me looking, she tilts her head. “You’re overthinking.”
“I always overthink,” I remind her, but she’s right. I am cataloguing every exit and every window that still doesn’t have blinds. And this isaftercasing this place before we got the keys.
Some habits never die.
“Maybe you should try underthinking,” Lucas suggests. He’s sprawled on his back with his arms behind his head. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling.
Cole winks at me. “He means relax, boss. You’ve earned it.”
I give them all a half-smile. “I’ll consider it.”
Helena pushes her plate away and wipes her fingers on her thigh, heedless of crumbs. “Can we see the solarium now?”
Cole asks, “Why not?” at the same moment Lucas starts to get up, sandwich still in hand.
Helena leads the way down the hallway. She wears confidence like a second skin, but every so often, she glances back at me, seeking the comfort of being watched.
The solarium is brighter than it was when we first got access to the place. I’ve had the workers in here setting it up how Helena planned, but she’s been good about not sneaking early peeks before it’s been finished. Now, it is.
Mirrors. Everywhere.
Little disco balls in the corners. Mirrored windchimes flitting between hanging plants. The floor is white stone and cool underfoot, and the walls curve out over the cliff. It look like you could step through the glass and drop straight into the sea.
Helena stands in the center with her arms held wide. “This is my favorite room,” she announces.
“That’s obvious,” says Cole, moving in behind her. “You could host a garden party in here. Or…” He lets the sentence hang, glancing over at me.
I catch his drift. Lucas does too. He’s already prowling the perimeter, checking for sight lines and making a show of it. A man after my own heart. He presses his palms to the glass and gives me a look. “Anyone with a telescope can see right in.”
Helena grins. “Good.”
