Page 38 of Omega's Faith

Ricky's already there, efficient as always, directing staff to move things inside. I notice Jonah's entire life appears to fit in two modest suitcases. My closet alone could swallow them whole.

"I can bring those in," I offer, reaching for the cases. Some pathetic attempt at being a good alpha, at apologizing for last night without actually saying the words.

"Never mind," Jonah says, pulling them back. "I can manage."

Of course he can. He's made that abundantly clear.

Mrs. Atkins appears in the doorway, the housekeeper who's been here since I was a kid. Her face is carefully neutral as she takes in our obvious discomfort with each other.

"Mr. Colborne, Mr... Colborne," she says, stumbling slightly over Jonah's new name. "Welcome home. I've prepared the master suite."

The master suite. One bed. The assumption that we'll be sharing it like normal newlyweds.

Jonah's cheeks flush pink, and I catch him glancing at me sideways. We both know what's supposed to happen.

"Actually," I say, "Mr. Colborne will be taking the blue room."

Jonah’s made it more than clear he doesn’t want me. I’m not going to force him to share a bed with me. I have many failings. Forcing unwilling omegas isn’t one of them.

Mrs. Atkins blinks. "The blue room, sir?"

"Yes. The one in the east wing."

As far from my room as possible while still being in the same house.

Something flashes across Jonah's face but he just nods, following Mrs. Atkins inside with his two small suitcases.

I give him the tour because it seems like what I should do. We walk through rooms after room, dead Colbornes watching usfrom portraits on the walls.

"This is the library," I say, gesturing to walls of leather-bound books no one's touched in years.

Jonah's eyes light up for the first time all day. "Can I...?"

"It's your house too now." The words come out colder than intended. "Do whatever you want."

We continue through the formal dining room (seats thirty), the conservatory (my mother's, once), the game room (vintage everything), the pool house (heated, rarely used). Each room seems to make Jonah smaller, more out of place.

"It's very... large," he says finally.

"You'll get used to it."

But looking at him standing in the middle of the grand foyer, dwarfed by marble columns and crystal chandeliers, I'm not sure either of us will.

"I should unpack," he says.

"Right. Yes. I'll... I have work to do."

I don't. But we both need space, need to figure out how to exist in the same house without combusting.

I retreat to my study, pouring myself a whiskey despite it being barely noon. The burn helps settle my nerves, helps me stop thinking about how Jonah looked in those pajamas, clean and untouchable as fresh snow.

An hour later, I can't stand it anymore. The house feels different with him in it. His scent is everywhere, seeping into the air, making my alpha instincts go haywire. I need to check on him. Make sure he's... what? Settling in? Not escaping through a window?

I find him in the blue room, unpacking. He's changed out of his traveling clothes into simple jeans and a t-shirt that clings in all the right places. When he reaches up to put something on a high shelf, the shirt rides up, revealing a strip of pale skin that makes my mouth go dry.

"Need help?" I ask from the doorway.

He spins around, cheeks flushed. "No, alpha. I'm fine."