Page 155 of The Other Omega

My heart melted all over again. At this rate, I really wasn’t sure I was going to survive until the girls were born.

“Both our daughters should hear you,” Leon said.

Caius looked at him. “I am aware.”

“I'm sure the other one won't hold it against you,” I told him.

I reached for another strawberry, then remembered something. “Don't forget your mothers are coming for dinner.”

“All of them?” Caius asked, returning to his place at the table.

“Yes.”

Darius lowered his cup. “They're expected before nightfall.”

The mothers had become one of my favourite parts of being pregnant. They hadn’t exactly offered to help; they’d basically taken over.

Within days of finding out about the babies, they had filled an entire sitting room with fabric samples, catalogues, lists and enough information about Omega pregnancy to make me wonder why I’d ever bothered trying to work any of it out myself. They knew which fabrics were good for newborn skin, what I might find comfortable as my stomach grew, and which furniture was useful instead of just pretty. They knew what an Omega might need in the last months of pregnancy and what newborn Alphas and Betas needed after birth.

Omega babies were harder. Nobody expected to advise someone carrying two at once, but the mothers never made it scary. If they didn’t know something, they said so, then found out, discussed it between themselves and came back with enough information for me to decide what I wanted.

Every time I asked a question, they answered it, and if there were several choices, they showed me all of them. Nobody told me what kind of mother I had to be. They told me what they knew, explained what they’d done with their own children and always asked what I wanted.

I loved that.

“I think tonight we'll finally decide which rug to get for the nursery. We narrowed it down to three options last time they came.”

I was reaching for a slice of nectarine when Caius spoke. “The second.”

I looked at him. “Hmm?”

“The second rug sample,” he said. “It is the better choice.”

“Do you think? Because I actually like the third one.”

“The third is too pale.”

I frowned. “That's why I like it.”

“It will show every mark.”

“They're babies, Caius. How many marks can they possibly make?”

He gave me an incredulous look. “The second is darker, the weave is tighter, and the material will withstand repeated cleaning without losing its softness.” He stirred his porridge again. “It's also less likely to snag once they begin grabbing at it.”

“You checked the weave?”

“Yes. The colour is preferable as well.” He glanced at me as though this were obvious. “It is calming.”

My chest did that funny little squeeze again. “I thought you didn't care about choosing rugs.”

“I care about our daughters.”

I just stared at him while he went straight back to his breakfast as though that settled everything, which, for Caius, it probably did.

“Then I pick the second one.”

His jaw stopped moving, though he kept his eyes on his plate.