Chapter 25: The Aftermath and the Invitation
Silence pooled in the room, dense and heavy, broken only by the ragged sound of Aidan’s breathing. He lay sprawled on the rug, a ship run aground. The cool air on his damp skin raised goosebumps. He felt hollowed out and utterly, terrifyingly full at the same time.
Catriona’s laughter had faded, but her smile remained, a satisfied curve. She looked at the three of them—Aidan prone, Jenny kneeling with a closed-mouth smile, Lucia staring at her own sticky fingers—as if surveying a completed installation. A masterpiece of her own design.
“Well,” she said, her voice slicing through the quiet. “That was a proper introduction.”
She walked to the kitchen island, her heels clicking a deliberate rhythm on the hardwood. She poured another mimosa, not bothering with orange juice this time, just straight champagne. She took a long sip.
Lucia finally looked up, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. The shock was returning, lapping at the edges of her arousal. “I… I should go.”
“Don’t be silly,” Catriona said, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re covered in him. Use the guest shower. Upstairs, first door on the left. Fresh towels in the cabinet.”
It was such a normal, hostess-like instruction, so bizarrely juxtaposed with the scene, that it left Lucia stammering. “I can’t just…”
“You can.” Jenny stood, her movements fluid and unselfconscious. She offered a hand to her sister. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
Jenny’s touch seemed to ground Lucia. She took the hand and let Jenny pull her up. They stood facing each other for a second, a silent conversation passing between them. Jenny gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Lucia bit her lip, then nodded back. Without another glance at Aidan or Catriona, they walked out of the living room, their footsteps soft on the stairs.
The absence of the sisters changed the air pressure in the room. Aidan pushed himself up onto his elbows. He felt raw, exposed. Catriona leaned against the island, sipping her champagne, watching him.
“So,” he said, his voice sandpaper. “That happened.”
“It did.” She set her glass down and came toward him, stopping to pick up his discarded robe. She held it out. “You’ll catch a chill.”
He took it but didn’t put it on, just bundled it in his lap. “Cat… what are we doing?”
“Living,” she said simply. She knelt in front of him, a mirror of Jenny’s position but emanating a completely different power. She placed a cool hand on his knee. “We were in a rut, my love. A comfortable, tasteful, dead rut. You were bored. I was bored. We were just… curating our lives. Now?” She glanced toward the staircase. “Now it’s vivid.”
“It’s insane.”
“It’s life,” she corrected, her green eyes sharp. “It’s desire, unabridged. And it’s ours. Do you want it to stop?”
The question hung there. He saw the first time Jenny had taken him in her mouth in this very room, the secret thrill that had threatened to crack him open. He felt the ghost of Lucia’s clumsy, curious tongue. He remembered the look on Catriona’s face when she’d watched—pure, unadulterated possession and pleasure. His body, traitorously, stirred again against the soft robe.
“No,” he whispered. It was a confession.
“Good.” She leaned forward and kissed him, her mouth tasting of expensive champagne and a victory he didn’t fully understand. “Then here’s the new rule. Every Sunday. This room. Our time. They are part of our life now, Aidan. A necessary part. We integrate them. We enjoy them.”
“A ritual,” he said, echoing her earlier word.
“Exactly. Something to look forward to.” She ran a thumb over his lower lip. “And you, my darling, are going to learn remarkable things about your own endurance. Starting today. The afternoon isn’t over.”
Upstairs, the shower was running. Jenny stood outside the steamed-up glass door, leaning against the sink. She could see the blur of Lucia’s shape inside.
“You okay in there?” she called.
The water shut off. A moment later, the door opened, a cloud of herb-scented steam billowing out. Lucia emerged wrapped in a plush, grey towel, her hair dripping dark spots onto the marble tiles.
“I don’t know,” Lucia said honestly. She met Jenny’s gaze in the mirror. “What is this, Jen? What are you doing?”
“Living rent-free in a beautiful house,” Jenny said with a weak smile, trying for levity.
“Don’t.” Lucia turned, her expression serious. “You’re in love with him.”
Jenny looked down, picking at a cuticle. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“It’s not. I saw your face. And her face. She likes it. She directs it.” Lucia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “This isn’t some affair you’re hiding. This is… a family arrangement.”
“And you just joined the family,” Jenny said, looking up. Her eyes were bright, a little desperate. “Was it so terrible?”
Lucia was quiet for a long time. She thought of the weight of him in her hand, the taste, the dizzying loss of balance, the way Catriona’s voice had felt like both a command and an absolution. The way Jenny had guided her, not judging, just showing.
“No,” Lucia admitted, her own voice small. “It wasn’t terrible. That’s what scares me.”
Jenny stepped forward and hugged her, towel and all. “It’s okay to be scared. I was. For months. But it’s also okay to feel good. To take something that feels good.” She pulled back, holding Lucia by the shoulders. “We look out for each other, okay? Always. Even in this.”
Downstairs, Aidan had put his robe back on. He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the garden, but seeing nothing. He felt Catriona come up behind him, her body warm against his back, her arms slipping around his waist.
“They’ll be down soon,” she murmured into his shoulder. “You should be ready for them.”
He turned in her arms. “Catriona, this can’t be… sustainable. Someone will find out. They have lives. We have a life.”
“This is our life now,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “And as for sustainability…” Her hand slid down, finding him through the soft fabric. He was already half-hard, responding to her touch, to the memory, to the terrifying promise of the afternoon. She smiled, that sly, knowing smile. “See? The body knows what it wants. The mind just needs to catch up.”
Footsteps on the stairs. Light, hesitant.
Catriona didn’t remove her hand. She just turned her head, keeping her hold on him, as Jenny and Lucia re-entered the room. They were dressed again, their hair damp. They looked clean, fresh, and utterly transformed. The afternoon’s evidence was washed away, but the knowledge was in their eyes, a shared secret that hummed between all four of them.
Lucia’s gaze went directly to where Catriona’s hand was resting. She didn’t blush this time. She just watched.
“Feel better?” Catriona asked, cheerful.
“Yes,” Lucia said. Her voice was clearer now.
“Excellent.” Catriona finally released Aidan, giving him a gentle push forward. “Now, where were we? I believe we were discussing endurance.”
Aidan stood in the center of the sunlit room, the three women forming a loose triangle around him. The fridge hummed. A car passed outside. The ordinary world continued, just on the other side of the glass. But in here, a new world had been ratified, its rules written in desire and silence.
Jenny took the first step toward him, her luminous eyes fixed on his. Lucia, after a heartbeat’s pause, followed.
Catriona settled back onto the sofa, reclaimed her champagne, and took a slow, savouring sip. The director. The curator. The wife.
“Show your sister what you’ve learned, Jenny,” she said, her voice a velvet purr. “And Lucia, darling, pay close attention. There will be a test.”