The tasting bar glowed gold,warm light reflecting off the wine glasses and the six empty bottles Colette had opened to celebrate mine and Callum’s nuptials. A dizzying lineup of rich, complex blends—deep ruby reds, buttery whites, an experimental orange—all poured without hesitation, all chosen with purpose.
Each vintage had a story, she’d told us with a wink. Aged in old oak, in steel, in grief, in triumph. It felt like a metaphor in a bottle. As if she’d paired the wines to match the wild alchemy of love and war that brought us here.
Marco and Ivy were perched at a high-top cocktail table near the window, Kimi and Lucy sitting side by side at the tasting bar, and me and Callum tucked into a half-moon booth just behind them. Almost like we’d unintentionally split into three couples.
Two of which we were all pretending didn’t exist.
Marco toasted with his whole chest, hollering, “To Mr. and Mrs.Sexcation!” before Ivy elbowed him so hard he sloshedwhite wine across his own shirt. It turned the white linen nearly transparent, plastering to his chest and revealing the edge of one of his tattoos—something script and faded and unfairly hot.
“Are all your tattoos that slutty?” I asked, raising a brow.
He didn’t miss a beat. “Only the ones you haven’t seen,” he retorted, grinning like a menace.
I rolled my eyes and leaned farther into Callum’s lap, smug and warm and full of wine and wifey energy. His arm tightened instinctively around my waist as I nestled against his chest, one hand finding its way under the edge of his linen dress shirt to splay across his ribs.
His fingers slowly hitched the side of my dress up, up, up, until his hand slipped beneath the hem. The heat of his skin branded me as he slid his hand over my hip, just enough to drag against my bare thigh and remind me what I was in for later.
Deliberately loud, just to cause the comforting chaos that only they could, I said, “Well, my husband has a slutty thigh tattoo.”
Husband.The title made my heart accelerate.
That goteveryone’sattention.
“WHAT?” Ivy gasped.
“Excuse me?” Marco said, eyes lighting up.
“Is it a quote?” Lucy called out.
“Is it a snake?” Kimi asked, completely serious.
Callum groaned against my shoulder as all of them started talking over each other, voices climbing into chaos while we just sat there snickering and sipping wine like the world’s smuggest couple.
In reality, his hand crept a little higher, fingertips grazing slowly up the inside of my thigh, all possessive and promising.
“Oh my God, Fraser, you have to show us,” Marco demanded, leaping from his chair and already reaching to unbutton his own shirt in solidarity. “Right now.”
“Absolutely not,” Callum muttered, already halfway to beet red—surprising, really, given how casually depraved we were in public.
I tilted my head and kissed his cheek, pretending innocence. His palm rested on me with maddening confidence, thumb tracing the spot where my garter sat. My body responded instantly.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “You could ask about his piercing instead.”
The room went dead silent.
Callum froze under me, which I didnotlike one bit, so I squirmed purposefully in his lap, just to bring him back to me.
“Auri—” he warned.
“I’m just saying,” I hiccupped, giggling. “The—how you say—the spice stick is also decorated.”
Lucy made a soft strangled sound, immediately burying her face in Kimi’s arm. He patted her head affectionately.
“The—thewhat?” Ivy wheezed, doubling over.
“The, uh, jewelry of the penis,” I clarified, proud and slightly slurring.
Callum groaned and dragged a hand over his face, then swiped his glass off the table to tip it back. “Fucking Christ, love, what have you done?”
