CONNOR POV
If smugness would have been an Olympic sport, I’d have taken gold, silver, and bronze that night.
I’d done it. I’d actually done it.
Sitting at Grace’s family dinner table, with her sitting right across from me, glaring daggers and looking like she was debating between stabbing me with her fork or flipping the table—yeah, that was victory.
Cain was grumbling inside my head, restless, pacing, his growl a low rumble of annoyance. “Everything smells like a damn flower shop,” he muttered for the twentieth time.
He wasn’t wrong.
Between the hydrangeas, azaleas, and roses I’d bought—half of the florist’s inventory—the entire house reeked of pollen, sweetness, and whatever the hell humans called “fresh spring scent.” It masked my mate’s scent, and I didn’t like it, but it gave m
