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After only a few hours with Sylvia, he felt as if he knew more about her, her dreams, her hopes, than he did of his younger sister or his mum. His dad had taught them to be wary and distrustful of men. He hadn’t recognized just how much until now, until Sylvia. And for the first time in his life, he hated his father, hated how his drinking had ruined not only his life, but those of the people he should have loved more than the booze.
Sylvia lit a candle on a tall dresser near the bed, and then another on her dressing table. She didn’t bother to turn on any lights. The candles and the bright moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains created the perfect atmosphere.
She turned to face them, her head tilting as her eyes landed on Lancelot’s face. “Are you okay with this?”
He realized his thoughts showed on his face, so he worked to school his features, to put the past away. It had no place here.
“I’m exactly where I want to be, Sylvie.”
She smiled. “My grandmother used to call me Sylvie. My mother disapproved, said if she wanted her daughter called Sylvie, she would have named me that. Of course, saying that to Grandma only ensured she doubled-down and did it more. She was the only person brave enough to cross my mother on that front, however.”
“You miss her,” Hugo mused, reaching out to take Sylvia’s hand, lifting it to kiss.
She nodded, even as she blushed. “Very much. She would have been very taken by the two of you. She was a sucker for accents as well.”
They fell quiet. Hugo held Sylvia’s hand, flat against his chest, the two of them looking at each other as Lancelot remained apart from them, the observer.
The moment was steeped in hunger, yet none of them moved to the next level. They stood on the threshold of her dream.
Hugo lifted his other hand, drawing the backs of his fingers over her cheek. She smiled, turning her face toward his touch, kissing his knuckles at the last second.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asked.
Hugo, ever the academic, took her question far too seriously. “There have been countless articles written about the subject, with arguments ranging from those who take an epistemic approach, claiming there isn’t enough information available to make such a claim. Then there’s the existential reason that—”
“I do,” Lancelot interjected. If he let Hugo speak much longer, the moment would be ruined. Lancelot didn’t know what most of those words meant, though it was clear from the way Sylvia’s eyes lit up that she did. And she’d be more than happy to dive into a debate on the subject. While he didn’t consider himself a stupid man, he’d spent a fair part of the day struggling to follow everything Hugo and Sylvia discussed.
But this wasn’t the time for talking. There was so much more to explore without words.
Sylvia glanced Lancelot’s way. For a moment, he thought perhaps she was reading his face, trying to discover if he was lying.
Truth was…he wasn’t. He did believe in love at first sight.
Something that must have been evident because she smiled. “So do I. Today has been an unexpected surprise. When I woke up this morning, I anticipated routine. And instead…you’re both here. And we’re…”
Hugo reached for her, gripping her waist, pulling her against him. “We’re going to be lovers.”
Sylvia ran her fingertips over Hugo’s lips. “Lovers,” she repeated.
Hugo kissed her as Lancelot watched, surprised by the passion behind the embrace. Hugo’s outward appearance was that of an academic, a staid, serious man, ruled by reason rather than emotion.
His kiss defied that.
Hugo’s arms slid around her back, pulling her even closer as he pressed her lips open. Lancelot caught quick glimpses of their tongues touching, tasting.
Lancelot was not, had never been, the type of man to hang back. If anyone threatened a friend in a bar brawl, Lancelot was the first one rising to stand next to him, ready to defend. When his father came home drunk and violent, Lancelot stepped between him and his mother. And when he took a woman to his bed, he held back nothing.
But this was something different. For one thing, he’d never shared a woman before. That would probably surprise Hugo, given the fact they were both members of an organization built on trinity marriages. Secondly, and most shockingly, Lancelot didn’t feel separate from them.
Hugo and Sylvia might be sharing the kiss, but they were both very aware of Lancelot’s presence. Lancelot wasn’t sure how he knew that. He just did.
“Take off her blouse,” Lancelot said, his voice thick with need.
Hugo lifted his head, glancing in Lancelot’s direction. Then he nodded.
Turning his attention back to their lover, Hugo stepped to the side, wrapping one arm around her waist and turning Sylvia’s body until she was facing Lancelot. Reaching around her, Hugo began unfastening her buttons, sharing the experience. Hugo would touch. Lancelot would see.
Hugo slid her blouse over her shoulders, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Then, he unhooked her bra, sliding it from her arms and adding it to the chair.
