“So good to see you both. Go enjoy the party. There’s plenty of food. We always over cater.”
“We can’t help it,” laughs Sarah. “We’re American.”
Matt’s brows arch. “The mixologist is making killer frozen Negronis.”
Sarah squeezes Ivy's hand. “Make yourselves at home and we'll come find you a little later.”
Then they are absorbed back into the room.
We go through to find around twenty people, all dressed with intent. There is a certain energy in the room, anticipation, but the low-lying kind, deep and steady.
A woman near the window in a black corseted gown, the waist impossible, the skirt floor-length and split to the hip on both sides. A man in pale ivory jacket open over bare skin, barefoot on the heated tiles. Two women in the far corner in matching white, wide-legged trousers, nothing above the waist apart from statement necklaces.
On the chaise near the fire, two lean, athletic-looking blonde women are kissing. A man kneels at their feet, their fingers loose in his hair.
The food table runs along the back wall. Everything small, designed for a mouth that has other things to do.
Fat peach slices grilled and stuffed with goat cheese and honey, still warm. Oysters on crushed ice. Paper-thin ham draped over a marble board. Tiny saffron arancini. I pick one up and hand it to Ivy, who bites into it and closes her eyes at the molten center. Dark chocolate discs with salt and dried rose petal. Thin toasts with something blue-veined and a curl of pear.
I pick up an oyster and hand it to her. Ivy tips it back without hesitation, then licks the shell.
“You've become revoltingly good at those,” I say.
“I have a very encouraging husband.” She picks up a chocolate disc and offers it to me, and I take it from her fingers.
A waiter passes with frozen Negronis: pale gold, crystal coupes, cold enough to mist. Ivy wraps both hands around hers, sips, and sighs in pleasure. I want to put my mouth on her shoulder. I don't. Not yet.
The room has shifted by the time Sarah finds us.
The man who was kneeling is now part of the blonde tangle on the chaise. The two women in white have stripped off completely and acquired two men between them. The curtain at the far end moves in a draught and goes still.
Ivy is relaxed and close against my side. I can tell she’s horny by the way she moves her body against mine. My hand is at her waist and I am thinking about the upstairs rooms in a way that is making it difficult to think about anything else.
Matt circles back to us first, slowing for a half-second at the painting above the fireplace—a large dark canvas, a figure in a doorway—before he reaches us. The fact that he appreciates art will make Ivy like him even more. I ignore the stab of jealousy I feel, inhaling sharply through my nose. Sarah is behind him.
“You know what I almost never see?” Sarah says, quiet, looking at Ivy. “Two people who aren'tperforming,you know? You two have something real. I felt it in Spain, and I feel it here, even from across the room.”
Matt is looking at Ivy with the particular patience of a man who has learned to wait for things he wants. “We'd love to show you the upstairs. Whenever you're ready.”
Would I be able to share Ivyagain?It felt impossible, but I wouldn’t have accepted Sarah’s invitation to the party if I wasn’t open to the idea. We all had such good chemistry, it would be a shame to pass up a night of play with them. Besides, Matt’s not a threat, even though my jealousy points otherwise. They don’t even live in the same country as us. It’s the perfect hook up, really.
Ivy turns her face up to me. Her champagne face.
“Yes,” I say. To both of them.
Sarah smiles and takes Ivy's hand.
CHAPTER 34
So Fucking Pretty
IVY
The room Sarah takes us to is at the end of the corridor, past two closed doors and a small table with a lamp burning low. She opens it and steps back to let us in.
A low, wide platform bed dressed in something dark. Two tall windows onto the garden below, the string lights in the trees making the glass glow faintly. A chaise along one wall, deep green velvet. Candles flicker on the mantelpiece and on the table beside the bed, a treasure chest of sex toys and lube beside it.
And on the opposite wall, floor to ceiling, a mirror. I see myself in it immediately: the oxblood dress, Alistair's hand at my waist, and behind us Sarah and Matt framed in the amber light.
