Chapter 22: The Unexpected Visitor
The kitchen smelled of lemon polish and espresso. Aidan stood at the island, scrolling through work emails on his tablet, trying and failing to anchor himself in the mundane. It was Friday. The dinner at Le Marais two nights prior had been a surreal affair of linen napkins, exquisite wine, and Catriona discussing aperture settings and ambient noise between courses as if reviewing a film shoot. Jenny had nodded along, her hand on Aidan’s thigh under the table. Normalcy had been redefined, its borders expanding to encompass things that still made his stomach clench with a thrilling, guilty heat.
The click of high heels on hardwood echoed from the hall, too brisk to be Catriona’s measured stride. Jenny appeared in the doorway, but she wasn’t heading for her cleaning cart. She was wearing the sheer, dove-grey silk robe Catriona had bought her last month. It was tied loosely, doing little to conceal the swell of her breasts or the dark triangle between her thighs. Her hair was damp from a shower, her skin glowing. She padded over to the fridge on bare feet.
“Hey,” she said, her voice still a little husky from sleep. She pulled out a bottle of orange juice.
“Hey yourself.” Aidan’s gaze drifted over her. The routine of it, the comfortable ownership in his look, was its own kind of shock. “No classes today?”
“Late start. Anatomy lab at two.” She took a long drink directly from the bottle, a small rebellion Catriona would have chided her for. A drop escaped the corner of her mouth. She caught it with her thumb, then, eyes holding his, slowly sucked it clean.
The front doorbell rang.
They both froze. It was 10:17 AM. Catriona was at a supplier showroom. No one was expected.
Jenny’s eyes widened slightly. The robe. Her state of undress. Aidan, in just his sleep pants and a t-shirt. “Uh,” she said.
The bell rang again, insistent.
“Get upstairs,” Aidan said, his voice low. “I’ll get it.”
But before she could move, the lock clicked. Someone had a key. The heavy door swung open and a young woman’s voice, bright and familiar, caroled out. “Jenny? Surprise! I was in the neighbourhood for a seminar and I thought—oh, my God, this house!”
Jenny went very still. “Lucia,” she breathed, a cocktail of panic and affection in the word.
Aidan watched as a younger version of Jenny breezed into the kitchen. Lucia was perhaps nineteen, with the same dark, luminous eyes, but her hair was cut in a sharp bob, and her style was all downtown edge—ripped jeans, a band t-shirt, a leather jacket slung over one arm. She carried a bulky backpack. Her smile, wide and genuine, faltered as she took in the scene.
Her eyes skipped from Aidan, to Jenny in the transparent robe, and back to Aidan. The math was simple, devastatingly so. The easy intimacy in the air curdled into something else.
“Hi,” Lucia said, the word smaller.
“Lu, what are you doing here?” Jenny’s voice was too high. She instinctively pulled the robe tighter, a futile gesture.
“I told you. Seminar. At the conference centre.” Lucia’s gaze was analytical now, scanning. She saw the orange juice bottle on the counter, the two used espresso cups in the sink. The absence of anyone else in the quiet, opulent house. “I texted. You didn’t answer.”
“My phone’s upstairs.” Jenny took a step forward, then stopped, as if unsure whether to hug her sister or run. “This is Mr. Walters. Aidan. My… employer.”
“Hey,” Aidan said, summoning his easy-going mask. It felt brittle. “Nice to meet you, Lucia. Jenny’s told me a lot about you. The pre-law star.”
Lucia’s nod was curt. Her eyes were back on the robe. “Nice… place.” The pause was heavy. “You’re cleaning early.”
Before Jenny could fashion a lie, another set of heels sounded in the hall. Catriona appeared, a portfolio under her arm, her auburn hair a perfect sweep. She took in the tableau with a single, sweeping glance—the frozen sister, the nearly-naked live-in, her husband in his pajamas. A micro-expression flickered across her face: calculation, then pure, unadulterated delight.
“Well, hello!” she said, her warmth filling the awkward space. “You must be Lucia. Jenny’s brilliant sister. I’m Catriona.” She set her portfolio down and offered a hand, which Lucia shook, stunned by the force of her charm. “What a wonderful surprise.”
“I was just… in the area,” Lucia repeated, her confidence clearly shaken.
“And you found us in a state of domestic disarray, forgive us,” Catriona laughed, a light, musical sound. She glided over to Jenny, not with reproach, but with a casual intimacy that made Lucia’s eyes narrow further. She adjusted the lapel of Jenny’s robe, her fingers lingering. “This one was probably up all night studying. We keep telling her not to burn the candle at both ends.” She turned her smile back to Lucia. “You’ll stay for dinner, of course. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Nonsense. It’s settled. Aidan, darling, put on a shirt. We’ll have drinks by the pool later. Jenny, why don’t you show Lucia to the guest room? The blue one, I think.” She picked up her portfolio. “I have to make a quick call. So lovely to have you here, Lucia.”
With that, she was gone, leaving a vacuum of tense silence.
Lucia looked at her sister. “The guest room?”
Jenny’s cheeks were flushed. “Come on,” she said softly, avoiding Aidan’s eyes. She led her sister out of the kitchen.
Aidan stood alone, listening to their footsteps recede up the stairs. He could hear the low, urgent murmur of Lucia’s voice, a staccato burst of Spanish, and Jenny’s hushed, pleading replies. He looked at the espresso cups, the juice bottle. The facade of their carefully curated world had just developed a hairline fracture, and someone from the outside was now pressing on it.
He walked to the sink, rinsing the cups. Through the window, he saw Catriona already out by the pool, arranging lounge cushions, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. She caught his eye through the glass and gave a little wave. This wasn’t a problem for her. It was a new variable. A new dynamic to observe, to direct.
Upstairs, the murmuring stopped. A door closed firmly.
Aidan leaned against the cool marble counter. The taste of espresso was bitter on his tongue. He wondered what story Jenny was weaving in the blue guest room, and how long it would be before the whole, intricate tapestry began to unravel.