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It’s—big.
And it’s a mess.
The structure itself is as charming and gorgeous as I ever could have dreamed. A large French-style farmhouse. With its worn stone facade, wooden shutters, and neat rows of windows, it looks like someone plucked it right out of the Provence countryside and dropped it on the Pierson pack’s lawn.
Aside from the fact that it’s falling apart.
Half of the shutters hang at awkward angles, highlighting the fact that many of their mates are simply missing altogether. The windows are covered in sawdust and pollen, a yellow film coating the crystal glass. The stone front steps and front door landing are scuffed. And there are six different patches of paint and whitewash splashed around the exterior—presumably because no one ever got around to actually choosing from the options.
I open my mouth to ask what on earth happened here, but, thankfully, I remember my manners at the last minute.
“It’s lovely,” I murmur. “So much… character.”
Damon snorts. “Is that code for ‘needs a ton of pain-in-the-ass work,’ pretty girl? Because, in that case, Cassian and Smith have a lot of character, too.”
Cassian snorts. “And you’re so low maintenance?”
Even when he frowns, Damon is too beautiful. The way his lips pout just isn’t even fair. “I am!” he protests.
Cassian makes a rough sound that sends tingles through my belly. When he notices me squirm, he raises one eyebrow. “You think I’m exaggerating?” he says, glancing at Damon. “Just wait until you see his bathroom.”
I must have subconsciously convinced myself that the inside of the house would be better than the outside.
Because once I’m in? I’m appalled.
Do these fine, successful men really live like this? Construction dust all over the floors, scratched hardwoods, furniture under tarps, and paint cans that look like they haven’t been touched in months.
I note holes in the walls where sconces were ripped out but never replaced; a stack of broken shutters from the outside in the corner of the dining room; and one whole room that’s just furniture no one ever moved all the way in.
There’s also a roach on the floor.
I’m pleasantly surprised to find that it’s dead.
So at least someone planned pest control, at the very least.
But the rest of this place? It’s a runaway steam engine with no brakes. Who started all of these projects? And why didn’t anyone finish anything?
As he watches me delicately step over the roach carcass on the threshold, Smith has the grace to look mildly chagrinned. Was all of this his doing? How could someone so polished have a house that looks like this?
My Omega huffs. And he had the nerve to call us incompetent?
Internally, I frown at her, doing my best to keep our conflicted feelings off my face.
Hush, you.
“We, uh, got a bit ahead of ourselves here,” Damon pipes. “We bought the place knowing it needed renovations, but then there was a debate about whether we should choose everything ourselves or wait for our omega…”
When Smith turns to me, he waves at the wide, arched opening at the back of the dining room. His tone is all clipped formality. “The kitchen is just through here. It’s the most finished space in the house.”
Damon bounds ahead, leading me out of the formal foyer—with its sanded-down staircase—through the dark, empty dining room, and under the cased opening. What little air I have managed to inhale instantly flies out of me on a gasp.
The rest of the house, the pack, and this day may not be anything like the fairy tale I expected—but this?
This is my kind of heaven.
The kitchen takes up the entire back half of the house, stretching from an informal living area off to the left through a charming dining nook with bench seating and curved wall of French doors, and all the way to the large collection of white-trimmed windows forming a tall arch along the back wall.
I ignore the ripped-up backyard beyond the glass, turning instead to the cooking area that occupies the center of the big wall across from the kitchen table and the windows. With the natural light beaming in, the white marble counters and polished oak floors gleam, underscoring just how bare the unpainted cabinets look.
