Afterward, we lie tangled together, a mess of limbs and sweat-dampened skin. Matthew plays with my hair while Trenton's hand rests possessively on my hip.
"Worth the wait?" Matthew asks, a hint of his old cockiness returning.
I laugh softly. "What do you think?"
Trenton kisses my shoulder. "That was just the beginning."
"Promise?" I ask.
"Promise," they say together.
Sleep claims Matthew first. I watch his face relax, years younger in repose. Trenton stays awake, vigilant even now.
"What are you thinking?" I whisper.
His dark eyes meet mine. "That I'd kill anyone who tried to take you from us."
The words should terrify me. Instead, they make me feel safe. Protected. Loved.
"No one could," I assure him, touching his face. "I'm yours. Always have been."
He catches my hand, kissing my palm. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow won't last long enough."
He's right. Morning comes too quickly, sunlight streaming through cheap hotel curtains. I wake sandwiched between them, Matthew's arm thrown across my waist, Trenton's chest warm against my back.
For a moment, I just breathe them in, the scent of hotel soap and their skin. I focus on the solid weight of them on either side of me, trying to burn the feeling into my memory for the lonely months ahead.
Matthew stirs first, greeting me with a sleepy smile and wandering hands. Trenton wakes instantly, fully alert in seconds, a soldier's habit.
"Morning," I murmur, stretching between them.
"Sore?" Matthew asks, concern creasing his brow.
"A little. Worth it."
Trenton checks the time. "We have six hours before we need to meet everyone for dinner."
Six hours. Then dinner. Then one more night. Then goodbye again.
"Then we shouldn't waste a minute," I decide, pushing aside thoughts of our inevitable separation.
Matthew grins, already reaching for me. "I like how you think."
We spend the day learning each other's bodies. Talking about the future. Making promises we intend to keep. By the time we dress for dinner, my legs are shaky, my lips swollen, my body marked by their possession.
In the elevator, Trenton adjusts the collar of my dress to hide a particularly vivid mark. "Your father will kill me."
"Worth it," I say, echoing my words from this morning.
Matthew laughs, squeezing my hand. "Definitely worth it."
At dinner, our families pretend not to notice how we've changed. How the three of us lean into each other's space. How Trenton's hand rarely leaves my leg under the table. How Matthew's eyes linger on my mouth when I speak.
Dad clears his throat during dessert. He glances at my mom, who gives him a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Morgan," he says, "your mother and I thought you might want to stay another day. We can drive back without you."
My heart stops. "Really?"
Mom reaches across and squeezes my hand, her eyes full of understanding. "The boys ship out Monday. You should have every minute."
