“It’s our time out room.” I pant, sinking lower as his talented fingers start on my calves. “When you have multiple designations and especially omegas living in the house, sometimes we just scrape on each other's tempers a bit. Dad and Pops came up with it when Mum started butting heads with Sebastian. I’m hungover and stressed and-”
He looks up at me. “And?”
“And I don’t know who I am anymore, and I really, really hate starfish jellies.”
“Ah, that’s okay.”
“Why is it?”
“Because I know who you are, I’ll help you remember, and I won’t make you eat starfish jellies."
Elijah bundles me up with even more blankets and wanders the room looking at all the materials while I look at him.
“What are the books for?”
“Shredding.”
He does a double take. “Shredding?”
“Mmm,” I say from my mound of pillows. The tightness in my chest is easing, but the guilt remains.
He reaches for a light switch, and the room goes dark, only to be filled with rippling colour from a lamp that has a frosted glass shadeon it. The colours move like the ocean and change from calming blues to green, pink, purple, and then back again.
It’s a big room, but it is filled with everything an omega could want. It’s a nest for the house, for anyone who needs it.
Elijah turns back to me, and there’s a look on his face that has me squirming on the spot.
He opens his mouth, but the door opens slightly.
“Elijah, sorry, but we need to go to work now.”
“Oh, of course. Sorry, Franco, I’ll be right there.”
He looks at me, and I think he’s just going to leave, but instead, he marches over to me, leans down, and kisses my forehead. He pulls out his phone.
“What’s your number, Sofia?”
I stare up at him, regret and embarrassment hit hard. “I don’t have a phone anymore.”
For a moment, his mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to figure out what to say.
“I’ll see you tonight, Sofia.”
He likes saying my name, and, honestly, I enjoy hearing the way he says it.
I can’t answer him; all I can do is stare, in confusion and alarm, as he turns and disappears. Why is my chest so tight? Why is my stomach fluttering so wildly?
There’s a knock on the door, and Mum sticks her head in. “Can we talk?”
She smiles, and that smile is one I recognise. She’s calling a truce.
“Yes, Mum, about anything but the last few years? Deal?”
She hesitates. “Deal.”
Chapter 7
Mack
