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And then Rune blinks, and the thoughtful look melts away. “Ready for breakfast?”
I nod.
“This meal is Nancy’s doing,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him to the dining room. “It should go down a little better than that sorry excuse for an étouffée.”
He’s smiling at me as we enter the dining room, and I return it, not leaving as much space between us as I did before. He suddenly doesn’t seem so intimidatingly…largethat drives me to shy away.
Cian and Kylian are already at the table, observing me with an expectant look I don’t understand. “Good morning.”
“You look like you slept well,” Cian says, giving me another of those sweet smiles.
“I did.” Last night, I ate three slices of pepperoni pizza, refused the salad Rune ordered with it, and fell asleep in my nest with a smile on my face. Even now, as I remember all the fun we’d had making the worst meal in the world, I want to smile.
“Any plans for today? We have a tennis court,” Kylian flashes me a wicked smile. “Maybe I could convince you to play.”
“I don’t play,” I say.
He angles his head as his eyes go half-lidded. “Then maybe we could find some other way to pass the time.”
“No, thank you.”
When his smile grows, I recall he seems to have a thing about my prim way of speaking. And a very specific request.
Good boy.
Why would an alpha want those words from an omega? And from me? And why, despite my determinationnotto say them, am I so tempted to do it?
What exactly would Kylian do to me if I were to say those words?
Say it, and you’ll find out.
Cheeks flushing, I avert my gaze while crossing over to the same seat I sat in before, determined to enjoy my breakfast. I’m not with Lawrence anymore. He can no longer control me, my body, or what I put into it.
And then I see what’s occupying the space next to my breakfast.
A pencil and a brown sketchbook.
My face freezes, and my knuckles throb in remembered pain. I’m tucking my right hand—my drawing hand—behind my back before I realize what I’m doing and make myself stop.
“Everleigh?” Cian asks quietly.
My eyes fly from the pencil to the three alphas at the table. They’re all watching me.
“Everything okay?” Rune is frowning, midway through lifting a fork of eggs to his mouth.
I smile. “Fine.”
And I sit down, pick up my knife and fork, and cut into my sausage.
The pencil and the sketchpad are not there,I tell myself.They are not there, so just ignore them.
I chew my sausage and swallow. Cut into my bacon next. Another ten chews later, I swallow.
They’re still focused on me, saying nothing. But I keep my eyes on my plate and not on the pencil sitting tantalizingly close beside my plate. It almost brushes the back of my right hand, reminding me of something I haven’t done inso, so long. Taunting me.
I remember that last day in the garden one year ago. The last time I drew and loved it. After that, anytime Lawrence caught me with a pencil, it was pain.
I can’t do this.
