Page 115 of The Slug Crystal
The absurdity of it all, being naked in an Italian villa kitchen, held between two men while discussing the scientific principles of bath sex, strikes me suddenly, and I burst into genuine laughter. The sound echoes in the quiet kitchen, startlingly loud but wonderfully freeing. Marco and Luca join in.
As my laughter subsides, my gaze catches on Alex's terrarium, still sitting where I placed it when I first entered the kitchen. The blue snail has retreated into his shell, perhaps seeking privacy from our activities. A pang of guilt shoots through me, sharp and unexpected.
Marco notices the shift in my expression, his perceptive eyes following my gaze to the terrarium. His arm tightens slightly around my waist. "You're allowed happiness, Emma," he says quietly. "Even now. Perhaps especially now."
Luca nods in agreement, his usual playfulness temporarily set aside. "Finding Sarah is still the priority," he assures me. "But torturing yourself in the meantime doesn't help Alex. Or you."
Their understanding, the way they read my thoughts without judgment, pushes the guilt back to manageableproportions. I lean into Luca’s embrace, drawing strength from his warmth.
"It's late," I say finally, aware of the exhaustion beginning to settle into my bones. "We should sleep."
"Practical as always," Luca murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I’ll carry you there.
Marco chuckles, already gathering all of our clothes with his typical methodical care. "The nearest bedroom would be more efficient," he suggests. “If it would be acceptable for us to all spend the night together.”
"More than acceptable," I agree. I watch as Marco picks up Alex's terrarium with careful hands, bundling it into our clothes. "Lead the way."
We leave the kitchen in a mostly nude procession, with Luca carrying me and Marco carrying everything else. We must look like survivors of some delightful disaster, disheveled and dazed but thoroughly unrepentant.
The nearest bedroom turns out to be Luca's, a space as elegantly masculine as the man himself. Alex's terrarium is placed on the dresser, positioned so he can see out the window when morning comes. Luca pulls back the covers with a flourish, while Marco discreetly switches on the small lamp beside the bed.
There's no discussion about arrangements, no awkward negotiation of space. I slide into the middle of the bed as if it's the most natural thing in the world, Luca settling on my left while Marco takes the right. Our bodies find their places with intuitive ease, Marco's arm drapes protectively across my waist, Luca's legs tangle with mine, and my head finds the perfect spot on the pillow between them.
"Comfortable?" Marco asks, his breath warm against my ear.
"Perfect," I murmur, feeling my eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion catches up with me.
Luca reaches across to switch off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness broken only by slivers of moonlight through the partially open curtains. "Sleep well, tesoro," he whispers, his hand finding mine beneath the covers.
“Goodnight,” I murmur, barely able to form the sleepy response before sleep claims me.
26A FACETIME CALL CAN CHANGE YOUR LIFE
Wednesday,11:23AM. I sink deeper into the couch cushions, letting my body become one with the furniture as early afternoon light streams through the villa windows. I watch Alex through the glass of his terrarium on the coffee table, his blue shell catching the light as he methodically explores his lettuce leaf. At least one of us seems content with our circumstances.
Jake approaches with a soft, cream-colored blanket draped over his arms. His eyes hold that particular look I've come to recognize. It’s a gentle but determined expression, as if my comfort is a mission he's personally responsible for ensuring.
"You looked cold," he says, though the Italian summer heat makes this patently untrue. He unfolds the blanket with precise motions and lays it carefully across my knees, his fingertips brushing my legs through the fabric. The weight of it is somehow comforting despite the warmth.
"Thanks," I murmur, pulling the edges around me like armor against my own despair.
All of us are tiptoeing around the topic of Bali. I know we need to discuss what’s next, if anything, as a group, but I’m just… not ready yet.
Marco circles the couch, arms laden with an assortment of pillows collected from various bedrooms. His forehead creases with concentration as he assesses the space around me.
"The proper arrangement of cushions can significantly affect both physical comfort and psychological well-being," he explains, placing pillows with scholarly precision on either side of me. "I'm creating what might be termed a 'comfort fortress'. It’s a semi-enclosed space that produces feelings of security while maintaining optimal lumbar support."
Despite everything, I feel my lips twitch. "Is there research on comfort fortresses, Professor?"
"Extensive," he replies seriously, though a spark in his eyes betrays his attempt at lightening my mood. "Though my current methodology is admittedly more intuitive than empirical."
Ben emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with olives, cheese, and sliced bread. He sets it on the coffee table with a flourish, then immediately plucks three olives from the bowl.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announces, adopting the tone of a circus ringmaster, "prepare to be amazed by talents that have impressed dozens, okay, well, maybe half-dozens, of bar patrons across two continents."
His choice of food on the platter brings memories of last night, and with them a rush of heat to my cheeks. Marco catches my eye and winks, making my flush burn hotter.
Ben seems oblivious as he tosses the olives into the air one by one, catching them in a rhythm that would be impressive if his hand-eye coordination were slightly better. One olive veers off course, threatening to land directly in Alex's terrarium. Jake lunges forward, snatching it from the air inches above the glass top.
