Chapter 28: The Aftermath
The kiss Catriona placed on Lucia’s lips was soft, lingering, a seal pressed upon a transaction. Lucia’s dazed eyes widened slightly, then fluttered shut. When Catriona pulled back, Lucia’s tongue darted out, unconsciously tracing her own bottom lip, tasting the dual residue of her husband and this unfamiliar woman.
“Beautiful,” Catriona murmured again, her thumb stroking Lucia’s cheekbone. “Now you understand.”
Jenny watched, her hand still on her sister’s back. A flicker of something complex passed behind her eyes—protectiveness, jealousy, a strange pride—before it was banked beneath her usual composed service. “Come on, Luce,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She helped Lucia slide off Aidan, who grunted at the sudden, slick emptiness. Lucia’s legs nearly buckled. Jenny caught her, bearing her weight, and guided her toward the hallway powder room. The soft shuffle of their feet receded.
Aidan lay motionless on the rug, the elaborate pattern of vines and flowers pressing into his back. The room felt cavernous without their warmth. He heard the tap run in the distance, the low murmur of Jenny’s voice in Spanish, soothing.
Catriona stood, brushing invisible lint from her trousers. She picked up the camera again, scrolling through the display screen, her face illuminated by its cold blue glow. “The composition in the third shot is exceptional,” she said, as if reviewing photos from a gallery opening. “The light from the window catches the sweat on your abdomen perfectly. Very raw.”
Aidan propped himself up on his elbows. “Cat…”
She looked at him, her green eyes calm and clear. “Hungry? The food’s probably a bit gluey now, but the microwave exists for a reason.” She walked to the kitchen, her heels precise on the floorboards.
He couldn’t move. His body felt like it belonged to someone else—a well-used instrument put back in its case. The scent of sex was overpowering, mingling sickly-sweet with the distant curry. He finally pushed himself up, finding his boxers and pulling them on. The damp fabric was cold and uncomfortable.
In the kitchen, the microwave hummed. Jenny led Lucia back into the living room. Lucia was wearing one of Aidan’s old college sweatshirts, which drowned her slight frame. Her hair was damp at the temples, her face scrubbed clean. She looked younger, shell-shocked. She didn’t meet Aidan’s eyes, but she didn’t shy away from him either. She just sat carefully on the very edge of the sofa, as if her body was newly unfamiliar and might break.
Jenny busied herself with plates and cutlery, setting the coffee table with a domestic efficiency that felt surreal. Catriona brought over the steaming containers. “Dig in,” she said, taking a seat in the armchair, crossing her legs. She ate a bite of rice with elegant detachment.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were forks scraping cardboard. Aidan forced down a mouthful of chicken that tasted of nothing.
“So, Lucia,” Catriona began, dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin. “You’re pre-med, Jenny tells me.”
Lucia nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes. First year.”
“Intense. You’ll have a unique perspective on human anatomy now.” Catriona took a sip of water. “Practical experience is invaluable.”
Lucia’s cheeks flushed a deep red. Jenny shot Catriona a look that was almost a glare, but Catriona only smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips.
“It wasn’t… clinical,” Lucia whispered, her eyes fixed on her plate.
“No,” Catriona agreed softly. “It never is, when it’s done right. That’s the point.” She turned her gaze to Aidan. “You were very quiet. Everything okay?”
All three women looked at him. Jenny, concerned. Lucia, curious and vulnerable. Catriona, analytically probing. He was the center of a solar system he no longer understood.
“Just thinking,” he managed, his voice rough.
“About?”
He gestured vaguely around the room—at the rug, the discarded camera, the three of them. “This. What it is.”
Catriona put her plate down. “It’s honesty. It’s desire without the tedious packaging. It’s a family choosing its own shape.” She said it with such serene conviction that for a moment, it almost sounded sane. “You wanted surprise, Aidan. You wanted to lose control. You have it. The question is, can you handle what you wished for?”
The challenge hung in the air, mingling with the scent of reheated basil and chili.
Lucia pushed her food around. “I should… probably go. I have an early lab.”
“Of course,” Catriona said, gracious hostess once more. “Jenny, see your sister out. Get her an Uber.” She fished a fifty from her wallet and handed it to Jenny.
The sisters left the room, Jenny’s arm around Lucia’s shoulders. Aidan heard the front door open, the low exchange of words, the quiet click as it shut. The house felt both emptier and more crowded.
Catriona stood and walked to the sofa, sitting beside him. Not touching, just close. She picked up the camera, turned it on, and angled the screen so he could see.
There he was. His face contorted in a rictus of agonized pleasure. Lucia above him, her back arched, her mouth open in a silent cry. The afternoon light was indeed perfect, carving their joined bodies in gold and shadow. It wasn't pornographic. It was worse. It was intimate, artistic, a fossil record of a specific, shattered moment.
“Look at your eyes,” Catriona whispered, zooming in. “You’re not here. You’re completely gone. That’s what I wanted to capture.”
Aidan stared at his own obliterated expression. He felt a deep, shuddering vibration in his core, a fault line groaning under pressure. It wasn’t disgust. It was a terrifying recognition.
She swiped to the next photo. Jenny, guiding Lucia’s hips, her face a mask of fierce concentration and longing. Another. The moment of his release, Lucia’s body clutching his, a physical truth so stark it felt like a violation to see it.
“This is our life now,” Catriona said, echoing his earlier thought but without his dread. She said it with possessiveness, with triumph. She leaned in, her lips close to his ear, her breath warm. “And you love it. You just haven’t found the courage to say it yet.”
Outside, a car door thumped. An engine purred away. Jenny would be back in the house soon, the third point in their collapsing triangle.
Catriona placed the camera carefully on the table, the evidence sitting there between them like a centerpiece. She rested her head on his shoulder, a gesture of mundane affection that now felt like the most transgressive act of all.
“Wait until you see what I plan for next weekend,” she said, her voice drowsy with contentment.