“Yes,” he said simply.
“Yes,” Ophelia echoed. “God, yes.”
“Okay, then.” My voice came out rough.
“Okay,” Oliver repeated, and he was smiling now, that brilliant smile I’d do anything to see. “That’s settled.”
“Forever,” Ophelia said, testing the word. “I like the sound of that.”
“So do I.” I kissed her, then Oliver. Then both of them together, a messy tangle of mouths and breath and laughter that shouldn’t have been possible, given what we’d just done.
When we finally broke apart, the morning light had grown stronger.
“Sleep,” I murmured. “We have time.”
“All the time in the world,” Ophelia agreed.
I pressed my lips to the top of Oliver’s head and drew Ophelia closer.
For the first time in seven years, my mind was quiet.
I closed my eyes and let myself rest.
27
OPHELIA
Three weeks after Kiernan’s stitches came out, I woke to the sound of rain against the windows.
The bed was empty. I’d learned Kiernan liked to rise early and enjoy the quiet hours before dawn when the house was still and his mind was calm. What was new was that Oliver had gone with him. Their sides of the bed were cool, which meant they’d been up for a while.
I stretched, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles from last night. Kiernan had topped us both—Oliver first, then me—with an intensity that left us wrung out and gasping. But afterward, when we’d collapsed into a tangle of limbs, Oliver had pressed his mouth to Kiernan’s ear and murmured something I couldn’t hear. Kiernan had shivered, then nodded as I’d watched Oliver’s hand slide down Kiernan’s spine with a possessiveness that made my breath catch.
They’d disappeared into the bathroom together. I’d fallen asleep before they came back.
I pulled on a pair of joggers and one of Kiernan’s soft cotton shirts, then padded barefoot through the corridor and down the west tower stairs, toward the kitchen. Greymarch was waking up around me. Millie’s voice drifted from somewhere below, giving instructions to the morning staff.
I found my two men in the kitchen. Oliver sat at the long wooden table, laptop open, a cup of tea at his elbow, and Kiernan stood at the stove, doing something with eggs and butter that filled the room with the scent of browned butter and herbs. They talked in low voices, not noticing me in the doorway.
This was what I’d been afraid to want. Not the sex, though that was extraordinary. Not even the love, though I felt it every time they looked at me.This.Ordinary mornings. Breakfast and the rain and the quiet domesticity of two men who’d rearranged their entire lives to be together. Here. With me and with each other.
Kiernan glanced up and smiled when he caught me watching.
“There she is.” He gestured with the spatula. “Eggs?”
“Please.”
Oliver looked up from his laptop, and his eyes traveled down the length of Kiernan’s shirt on my body.
“That’s a good look,” he said. “Although it would be better with nothing underneath.”
“It’s comfortable.”
“It’s distracting.” He grinned. “Come here.”
I crossed to the table, and he pulled me into his lap with one arm wrapped around my waist. I settled against his chest and reached for his tea, stealing a sip.
“That’s mine,” he said.
