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He releases my mouth, but I lock him in a hug. "You didn’t have to do that, Iggy."
"I wanted to, okay? I don’t need much. I’ve got a bed, some drawers, and now, no fucking windows, so I can sleep. It's great. Besides, I’ll probably spend most of my time with you, anyway."
He’s right. The bed is massive, the biggest one I’ve ever seen.
I love what he represents. He doesn’t need a lot, he just wants his omega happy. And I feel the same. We don’t need more things to make us happy, we have each other. Before I can start crying at the sheer amazingness of it all, Cass grabs my attention again.
Opposite the half wall, they built a custom closet, and though it’s not a walk-in, it’s huge and fits all of my things with even more space to spare. I ignore the embarrassment that I like so many pretty things, knowing they don’t judge me.
Red pulls me into the bathroom, and they replaced everything. There’s a massive tub with jets, a small shower stall, and a vanity with a long countertop and multiple sinks. I run my hands along the tile, feeling the cool material, marveling at all this work. They built all this, just the three of them, with their own hands, just for me. I must be the luckiest omega alive.
Cass pulls me back into the bedroom side of the nest. Gone is the nasty carpet, replaced with thick wide, light-colored hardwood planks and plush rugs covering the space. The bed, also custom-built, has more drawers underneath.
The walls are neutral, and all the windows have blackout curtains. Red said they were handmade by the woman who made all my lingerie, and I laugh.
The bed is covered in pillows—in fact, everything I touched when Red and I went to the nesting store is here, not just the things I settled on. He catches me staring at all the bedding and plush materials.
"We can provide for you, Im." Red smirks, daring me to counter. But how could I?
"I know. You didn’t have to do all this—"
"We can provide for you. You weren’t asking for a lambo. You wanted pillows for your nest. A soft space that you chose. Not your mother, not the OFA, and not us. This space is yours. It should have everything you need. Trust us to provide. Okay?"
I nod because I can’t bring myself to say anything more.
Then Red lifts me again and tosses me in the center of the bed. "Now, what’s say we christen it?"
My mates spend the next two hours showing me all the perks of the room and how we can have fun together with enough space to sprawl out.
They fuck me senseless, and when I nearly pass out in cries for mercy, they show off the new bathroom and the tub with the jets. Red joins me in the bath while Cass makes dinner, and Iggy calls the Constantine Pack to prepare for tomorrow.
The reminder of what’s coming, that I have to pretend with Stevens one more time dampens the mood, but Red keeps running cups of water through my hair, massaging my shoulders, trying to get me to relax.
He can tell I'm tense and eventually says, "Your folks will regret their choices someday. I’m sorry, it likely won’t be anytime soon."
"It won’t be… and it’s okay. I’m making peace with it."
"Will be weird to meet your folks while we’re dressed like caterers tomorrow," Red laughs.
I bury my face in his shoulder. Even clean, sitting in the tub, the scent of his skin, his essence, that masculine leather and oil, lingers, making me feel safe in his embrace.
"I’ll call Ophelia later. They’re supposed to come pick me up."
"But you’ll leave with us." It wasn’t a question.
"Yes, Red. Finally, I'll leave with you. No more hiding." Not that we’ve done a great job of keeping our relationship a secret in the last two weeks, but we haven’t bonded, and we haven’t gone anywhere outside of South Loop. Besides, I only need to convince Stevens Pack that I’m their fiance for a few more hours.
When my fingers are pruned, and my body relaxed, we climb out of the tub. Every nook and cranny of this new space, all the way down to the cubbies they built, the caddies for my towels and products, my pajamas, all of it screams permanence.
"What will we do when we have kids?" I ask, thinking about space. Cass and I were too preoccupied to bring it up with Red and Iggy the other night.
"What do you mean?" Red runs a towel through his wet hair, showcasing his few chest tattoos, his biceps casually flexing overhead. I sigh, taking in all his beauty, when he laughs, reminding me I asked a question.
"Oh, yes, of course. I meant, well… I guess, for starters, do you want kids? Cass said, conceptually, you guys did but hadn’t thought much about it."
"Arms up." I do as he says, and he slips a t-shirt—one of his, by the scent of it—over my arms. Fully dressed, we go downstairs, finding Cass plating dinner and Iggy hanging up the phone in perfect timing.
"Guys, Imogen wants to know when we can have kids."
