Page 116 of Better When Shared
Tristan rolled his eyes. “I know that. You say it every time you’re about to orgasm.”
Marco laughed and kissed him roughly, meeting his eyes. “I know it’s not a thing we can do, but in our hearts, she’s my wife, you’re my husband. She’s your wife, and I’m your husband. And we do love you, so much, sweetheart.”
Tristan beamed at us, trading kisses with each one of us for a long moment, his eyes a little damp, if I wasn’t mistaken. “Thank you both for seeing me. For knowing what I needed.”
“And thank you for making us whole,” Marco said.
The moment was absolutely perfect, until Tristan’s phone rang, sharp and jarring in the soft moment. I groaned. “Why do you have Green Day as your ring tone?”
“I like to think about whether or not I have the time to listen to people whine. I’ll silence it.” He fished it out of the pocket of the coveralls he’d discarded earlier, frowned at the screen, and answered it instead of silencing it.
“Yes, Gemma.”
He paused, eyes widening.
“Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry,” he said, sitting up. The conversation went on for a while, and he kept saying things like that. “So sorry.” And, “If there’s anything we can do.”
Marco and I stared, waiting. What had happened?
Tristan closed his eyes rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment, then looked at us. “Wedding’s off. Her fiancé skipped town.”
There was a moment where none of us quite knew what to say. I felt awful for Gemma, obviously, but I also felt… weirdly relieved? We’d never met Jake. I’d always assumed he was a placeholder. A prop. Gemma was too sharp, too in control to ever let anyone really in. Maybe this was her way of staying safe.
“Should we drive to Bath?” Marco asked, voice gentle.
Tristan shook his head. “She’s already at the pub with her bridesmaids and three bottles of wine. She said, and I quote, ‘Tell the Americans to have a weekend off for once in their lives.’” His mouth twisted into a sad, affectionate smile. “She’s fine. She always is.”
“Hmm.” I snuggled closer, running a finger down his arm. “Maybe it’s her turn next.”
“Her turn?” Tristan asked, amused.
“Yeah,” I said. “To break the rules. To go after something reckless, or maybe someone. To figure out what she actually wants, instead of what’s expected.”
We sat there, all three of us, thinking about the future—ours, Gemma’s, the Inn, the world outside. For once, I wasn’t worried about what came next. Not with the two of them on either side of me, holding me in place, loving me so hard I thought I might never fall apart again.
Let the world spin. We were ready for anything.
