Chapter 17 Travis
Travis
"We need an activity," I announce over breakfast, watching the careful dance everyone is doing around each other.
William cuts his omelette like he's performing surgery, Knox drowns his pancakes in syrup while stealing glances at Carina, and Carina herself seems determined to butter her toast into submission. "Something fun. Outside. Together."
"What did you have in mind?" Carina asks, seeming grateful for the distraction.
"Sledding." I pull out my phone, showing them the website for the local hill. "They have rentals, a lodge with hot chocolate, and according to reviews, the best apple strudel in town."
"Sledding?" William looks at me like I've suggested we take up professional wrestling. "We're adults."
"Adults who need to act like kids sometimes." Knox is already brightening. "When's the last time any of us went sledding?"
"I've never been," Carina admits. "California kid, remember?"
That settles it. Knox immediately launches into an enthusiastic explanation of sledding techniques while William mutters about insurance liability. But I catch him smiling when Carina laughs at Knox's dramatic reenactment of a childhood wipeout.
An hour later, we're piling into the Range Rover, dressed in enough winter gear to summit Everest. I drive, letting William navigate despite knowing the route perfectly. It gives him something to do, which keeps him from stressing about whatever our relationship status is.
The sledding hill is packed with families, the parking lot full of expensive SUVs. As we unload, I notice how we automatically arrange ourselves around Carina—William helping with her gloves, Knox adjusting her hat, me making sure her boots are properly laced.
"I feel like I have three mother hens," she laughs, but there's a pleased look on her face.
"We have to make sure you're safe," William says seriously, which makes Knox mime gagging behind his back.
The rental process is smooth and soon we're trudging up the hill with our sleds. I watch Carina take it all in: the families laughing, kids shrieking with joy, the pristine snow against the blue sky. Her eyes are bright with excitement.
"Okay," Knox says when we reach a good starting point. "Sledding 101. Feet forward, hands on the ropes, lean back to slow down, lean forward for speed—"
"Lean into turns," William adds. "Keep your center of gravity—"
"Will, it's sledding, not Formula One." Knox rolls his eyes. "Just have fun, Carina. That's the only rule."
She settles onto her sled, looking adorably nervous. "What if I crash?"
"Then you laugh and try again," I tell her. "We'll be right behind you."
Her first run is cautious, with lots of leaning back to brake. But when she reaches the bottom safely, the joy on her face is radiant. By the third run, she's racing Knox down the hill, shrieking with laughter when he wipes out trying to show off.
"Careful," William calls after them, then catches himself. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"
"Being protective? Yes. But we knew what we were signing up for." I bump his shoulder companionably. "She can handle it."
"She can handle a lot," he says quietly, watching Carina help Knox up from his spectacular crash. "More than I gave her credit for."
We sled for two hours, until our faces are numb and Carina declares she can't feel her toes. The lodge is warm and crowded, smelling of chocolate and cinnamon. We squeeze into a corner booth, Carina tucked between William and Knox while I take the opposite bench where I can watch all three of them.
It's there, surrounded by families and tourists, that I notice the looks.
Women—and more than a few men—keep glancing at our table.
At first I think it's recognition—William's been in enough business magazines to be vaguely familiar to the wealthy set.
But then I realize they're looking at all of us.
At how we're arranged around Carina like satellites orbiting their sun.
"We're attracting attention," I mention quietly.
Knox grins. "Because we're devastatingly handsome?"
"Because we're obviously all with her," William corrects, and there's something in his voice—not embarrassment, but a kind of cautious pride.
I watch Carina process this, see the moment she notices a particularly bold woman at the bar openly staring at Knox.
Instead of shrinking or showing insecurity, Carina does something unexpected.
She reaches over and wipes whipped cream from Knox's nose with her thumb, then turns and says something low in William's ear that makes him actually blush.
When she catches my eye and winks, I understand.
She's claiming us. Publicly. All of us.
"You're not bothered?" I ask her later, when Knox and William are arguing about the check—William insists on paying, Knox wants to split it, the usual.
"By people staring? A month ago, yes. I would have been mortified. But now?" She gestures at the three of us. "I'm having hot chocolate in Switzerland with three incredible men who all want me. Why should I be bothered by jealous looks?"
The confidence in her voice, the easy way she owns her choices—it's a far cry from the nervous woman who could barely make eye contact during her interview. This Carina knows her worth, knows she deserves to be desired, knows she can handle whatever issues arise with our arrangement.
"I love seeing you like this," I tell her honestly. "Confident. Happy."
"I feel happy," she says, then laughs. "God, when did that happen? When did I start feeling happy again?"
"Gradually," William says, having won the check battle. "Then all at once."
Knox throws a napkin at him. "Did you just quote young adult fiction?"
"It's Hemingway, you philistine."
"Pretty sure it's John Green."
"It's both," Carina interrupts their brewing literary debate. "C’mon, let’s get going."
The drive back is nice, Knox filling the silence with stories about past sledding adventures while Carina dozes against William's shoulder. I catch his eye in the rearview mirror, see the soft wonder there as he watches her sleep.
Back at the chalet, I suggest takeout from the Thai place in the village. "You deserve a night off from cooking."
"But I love cooking," Carina playfully argues with me.
"And we like spoiling you," Knox counters. "Let us."
She yields gracefully, and soon we're surrounded by containers of pad Thai and green curry, eating directly from the boxes like college students.
It's perfectly imperfect, casual in a way William usually won't tolerate but seems to be embracing now.
My bet is Carina is causing him to loosen up a little bit.
"Movie?" Knox suggests as we clean up. "Something terrible that we can mock?"
"Nothing with subtitles," William requests. "I'm too tired to read."
We end up on the massive sectional sofa, a complicated process of negotiation that ends with Carina in the middle, her legs across Knox's lap, her head on William's shoulder, her hand in mine.
It should feel awkward, this careful distribution of affection.
Instead, it feels natural, like we're all pieces of the same puzzle finally fitting together.
Knox picks some action movie with explosions and questionable decisions. We're twenty minutes in when he pauses it abruptly.
"Okay, this is terrible," he announces. "Like, offensively bad."
"Agreed," William says. "The plot holes are large enough to drive a truck through."
"So..." Knox gets that look that means he's about to suggest something that will make William uncomfortable. "Remember what we talked about last night? About ethical adult content?"
William stiffens. "Knox—"
"Hear me out. We had a whole long discussion about it. Why not actually explore what's out there?"
"Because that's—" William stops, clearly struggling to find an objection that doesn't sound prudish.
"I'm curious," Carina admits quietly. "I've never really watched... I mean, Dylan said it was degrading, but if there's content that's actually ethical and focused on real pleasure..."
"We don't have to," I assure her. "But if you're interested, there are some really well-produced sites that focus on authenticity and connection."
"You've researched this?" William asks, and I can't tell if he's offended or impressed.
"I research everything." It's true. I approach all aspects of life with the same thorough analysis I bring to financial reports. "There's actually fascinating data on how ethical pornography is changing the industry—"
"Oh my god, he has spreadsheets," Knox crows. "Travis made porn spreadsheets!"
"I made informed consumer choices," I correct dignifiedly, which sets Knox off again.
But Carina's smiling, and even William looks more intrigued than appalled. "Show us," she says. "I trust your research."
I pull up the site on the smart TV, grateful for the chalet's excellent internet. The homepage is tasteful, artistic even, with diverse couples and a focus on intimacy over performance.
"This is... not what I expected," William admits as I navigate to their featured content.
"What did you expect?" Carina asks.
"I don't know. Less... tenderness?"
We settle on a video featuring a couple who've been together for years, the description emphasizing their genuine connection. As it starts, I'm aware of every shift in the room's energy.
The content is beautifully shot, focusing on faces and reactions rather than just body parts. The couple laughs, communicates, takes their time. It's intimate in a way that feels almost voyeuristic, but in a good way—like we're witnessing something real.
Carina's breathing changes first. She shifts slightly, pressing closer to William while her fingers tighten in mine. Knox's hand starts moving on her calf, absent touches that grow more intentional as the on-screen couple's passion builds.
"This is..." Carina starts, then stops, swallowing audibly.
"Different?" I supply.
"Beautiful," she finishes. "They obviously care about each other's pleasure."
"Novel concept," Knox murmurs, his voice rougher than usual.
The tension in the room ratchets up as the video continues. William's breathing has changed, the way it does when he's fighting for composure. Knox is less subtle, shifting to adjust himself while trying to look casual about it.
When the woman on screen orgasms—real, not performed, with genuine trembling and gasping—Carina makes a small sound. William's arm tightens around her.
"We should stop," he says, but makes no move to reach for the remote.
"Why?" Knox challenges. "We're all feeling it. Why pretend otherwise?"
As if to prove his point, he leans over and kisses Carina's neck, making her gasp. William watches with dark eyes, not protesting when Carina turns to capture Knox's mouth properly.
This is new territory. We've all been intimate with her separately, but this—watching each other, being present for each other's desire—this is uncharted.
"Is this okay?" I ask, needing to establish consent before we go further down this path.
"Yes," Carina breathes, pulling back from Knox. "If everyone's comfortable?"
Knox nods immediately. I voice my agreement. We all look at William, waiting.
"I don't know how to do this," he admits quietly. "Share like this."
"We go slow," I suggest. "Communicate. Stop if anyone's uncomfortable."
He nods slowly, and something shifts in the room. Permission granted, boundaries expanding.
Knox kisses Carina again while William watches, his hand moving to her hair. I shift closer, my lips finding the sensitive spot on her wrist that makes her shiver. We're careful, tentative, feeling our way through this new dynamic.
The video continues playing, forgotten but providing a soundtrack of genuine pleasure that seems to encourage our own exploration. Hands wander—Knox's under Carina's sweater, William's on her thigh, mine tracing patterns on her arm. She's making these soft sounds that go straight through all of us.
"So beautiful," William murmurs, watching her arch into Knox's touch. "How are you real?"
She reaches for him, pulling him down for a kiss while Knox moves to her neck. I watch them together, my own arousal secondary to the fascination of seeing how they fit together, how naturally this polyamorous tangle is evolving.
When Carina's hand finds me, pulling me closer, I go willingly. The four of us exist in this bubble of shared need, taking turns kissing her, touching her over clothes, watching each other with curiosity rather than jealousy.
"I want," Carina starts, then stops, biting her lip.
"Tell us," Knox encourages. "Whatever you want."
"I want to see you all together," she admits. "Want to watch you touch each other the way you touch me."
The request hangs in the air. Knox looks intrigued, I'm calculating possibilities, and William... William looks mortified.
“Absolutely not,” he says.
We return to focusing on Carina, on making her gasp and arch and clutch at us with increasing desperation. When she comes—fully clothed but shaking apart under our combined attention—it's with all of our names on her lips.
We hold her through the aftershocks, the four of us tangled together on the couch like a many-limbed creature. The video has long since ended, leaving us in silence.
"Unbelievable..." Carina starts.
"Intense," William finishes.
"Good intense?" Knox asks hopefully.
"So good," she confirms, pressing kisses to whatever skin she can reach—William's jaw, Knox's hand, my wrist.
We stay like that as night falls outside, four people becoming something new together. It's not perfect—William's still tense, Knox is vibrating with unused energy, and I'm mentally cataloguing all the conversations we need to have.
But it's progress. It's possibility.
It's four broken people choosing to build something together, one careful touch at a time.
And from where I'm sitting, watching Carina smile while surrounded by men who adore her, I'd say we're doing pretty damn well.