Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Livia
Then . . .
The next morning, I’m awake before either of them.
Probably jet lag.
Probably the fact that my body has no idea what country it’s in anymore.
Probably the sex.
Definitely the sex.
Being loved by two men all night should, by every reasonable measure, leave a woman unconscious until noon.
I should be folded into the mattress, boneless and useless and smug.
Instead, my eyes open an hour before morning belongs to anyone.
The room is dark, the city muted behind the curtains, and my body is pleasantly sore in places I am too dignified to list. My brain, unfortunately, is fully awake like an obnoxious intern holding a notebook ready to figure out the day—fucking overachiever.
I lie there for three whole minutes trying to be the sort of woman who can simply enjoy the moment.
I fail miserably.
The bed is too warm. Creed is beneath me, broad and solid and breathing deep, one arm curved around my waist like he fell asleep making sure I didn’t leave the country again.
Halston is on my other side, face half-buried in the pillow, one hand resting near my thigh, not touching, close enough to remind me he could if he wanted.
They are both asleep.
I should sleep too.
Instead, I reach carefully for my tablet on the nightstand.
This is not a character flaw. This is scholarship with poor timing.
I open a new book—okay, it’s an old book but it’ll be my read for this week.
The screen gives off a faint glow, pale against Creed’s chest, and I angle it just enough to read without blinding anyone.
His skin is warm under my cheek. His heartbeat is slow beneath my ear.
I prop the tablet on him because he is, objectively, the closest available reading surface.
He groans.
Not awake yet.
Not asleep either.
“You’re reading a book on me.”
“You are the closest reading surface.”
Halston, into the pillow on my other side, says, “Lafontaine.”
“Yeah?” Creed’s voice is rough with sleep.
“Why is she reading?”
“She is always reading,” he answers, with the calm of a man who has accepted the natural laws of our household.
“Why is she reading on you?”
“Apparently, I am the closest reading surface.”
I don't look up from the page.
Halston says, “Liv.”
“Yes?”
“Put the book down, baby.”
“In a minute.”
“Now.”
“Halston. I am at a good part.”
“The only way you’d know that is if you have read that book.” He argues.
“That is irrelevant.”
Creed laughs into my hair, low and warm, and his hand slides over my hip with the lazy entitlement of a man who has already been allowed everywhere and still chooses to ask without words. My skin responds before my pride can do anything about it.
I swipe the screen.
Creed looks at it and growls. “I might as well get out of bed and start my day.”
“It’s too early to run and do physical activity,” I complain.
He scoffs. “I’ll be starting thirty minutes early.”
“Unacceptable.”
He kisses my shoulder. One kiss. Then another, slower, closer to the strap of my tank top, though calling it a tank top feels generous at this point because it is mostly twisted fabric and poor decisions.
“I missed you so fucking much,” he says against my skin. “Tell me you’re spending Christmas with me this year—I’ll ditch the Lafontaine celebration for you. Unless you two want to join us. It’s . . . interesting.”
The heat in me changes.
Softens.
Hurts a little.
I pout because, of course, that’s not possible. My parents believe I will arrive on the twenty-third and stay through Christmas. They have a schedule. A dinner. A church service my mother claims is optional with the facial expression of a woman who doesn't believe in options.
Creed kisses my nose.
“Maybe next year?”
I put the tablet down on the nightstand.
Then I roll onto my side so I am facing him. His hair is flattened on one side. His eyes are still sleepy. His mouth is soft from sleep and kissing and everything we did last night that my body is trying very hard not to replay in full color while Halston is listening.
I want to say yes.
I want to say I will spend every Christmas with them.
I want to tell my parents today, this morning, before coffee, before fear has time to put on shoes.
I want to stop dividing myself into rooms where they exist and rooms where my parents still believe I am single, because that is easier for everyone who isn’t me.
But I can’t break their hearts with a sentence I haven’t practiced enough.
They’re older.
I’m the only person they have.
And I know that sounds like an excuse because it is one. An understandable one. A tender one. Still an excuse.
Creed’s hand closes on my hip because I am still mostly on top of him, and in this position, I am the structural support of whatever the bed intends to become next.
I say, “I have an idea.”
Halston says, “No.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“No.”
“It is a good idea.”
“Liv.”
“It is, in fact, the best idea I have had since I got off the plane.”
That gets their attention.
Creed’s thumb stops moving on my hip.
Halston lifts his head from the pillow. His hair is a disaster, which would be more satisfying if he didn’t still look criminally beautiful.
I say, “We should get tattoos. Today. The three of us.”
Halston goes still.
Creed, behind me, says, “Liv.”
I roll toward him. “Hear me out.”
“Fine, I’m listening.”
“All three of us. Same design. Inside our left wrists.”
Halston says, “Inside left wrist?”
“What design?” Creed asks.
I say, “A trinity knot.”
Creed looks at me for one long second. “That is a very specific answer for a thing you just thought of.”
“I might have been thinking about it for a few days.”
Halston’s eyes narrow. “I bet it was since she decided to get the other tattoos.”
“Yes. Fine,” I admit, because honesty is apparently a hobby we are all overcommitting to now. “I have been actively considering this option.”
Halston closes his eyes.
He says, “There it is.”
Creed’s hand flattens over my stomach, holding me lightly against him.
“We knew those tattoos were the beginning,” he says.
“It’s part of our commitment,” I say, and my voice comes out less airy than I intended. “To each other.”
The room goes quiet.
Halston sits up against the headboard, sheet low on his hips, his attention fixed on me in that devastating way he has, like every word I say is evidence, and he intends to honor it by understanding it completely.
“We are committed,” he says. “But you want us to get tattoos.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I look at his hand around my wrist, his thumb resting exactly where the ink would go, and for once, I don’t reach for the clever answer first.
“Because I can’t give you everything yet,” I say. “Not the way I want to. I can’t give you Christmas with my parents. I can’t give you public appearances. I can’t give you an easy version of me that stops being afraid because love is asking nicely.”
Creed’s arm tightens around my waist.
I keep my eyes on Halston.
“But I can give you something I don’t take off. Something I don’t put in a drawer when I go to Greenwich. Something that says I know what this is, even on the days I’m scared to say it where other people can hear.”
Halston’s face changes.
“The inside left wrist,” he says.
I nod. “Where I’ll see it. Where you’ll see it. Where Creed will see it. Where anyone could see it if they were paying attention.”
His thumb moves once over my pulse. “And the trinity knot?”
“One shape,” I explain. “No beginning without the other two. No part of it makes sense alone.”
Creed goes quiet behind me.
Halston looks at me for a long moment.
Then he says, “Okay.”
I blink. “You agree, just like that?”
“Yes.”
“You always said you’d never mark your skin.”
He smiles, small and dangerous and so tender it almost hurts to look at him.
He watches me.
Creed’s hand moves once against my stomach.
Halston’s mouth curves, barely.
“I said that before I understood that some marks don't happen to the skin first.”
My breath catches.
He reaches for my left hand.
Slowly.
Like the question is in the movement.
I let him take it.
His thumb rests against the inside of my wrist, right where the tattoo would go.
“I let you mark my soul, baby,” he says. “For you, I’d commit to anything. Even ink. Even waiting until you’re ready to tell your parents that there is an us.”
My eyes burn.
Of course they do.
Because Halston can say something like that in bed, hair ruined, wearing nothing but the morning and his control, and still make it sound like a perfect verdict.
Creed shifts behind me, sitting up enough that I am held between them. His chest warms my back. Halston’s hand holds my wrist. Two men, one on either side of me, both too careful and not careful enough.
Creed’s arm tightens around my waist.
Halston’s thumb moves once over my wrist.
“The hawk is Creed,” I say. “The key is Hal. But the trinity knot is us. Not one of you. Not me choosing a symbol for each man like this is a collection of souvenirs.” I swallow. “Us. Three lines. One shape. No beginning I can point to without touching the other two.”
Creed exhales behind me.
Halston looks at my wrist like he can already see it there.
Then Creed lowers his mouth to my shoulder. He doesn’t kiss it at first. He only rests there, breath warm against my skin.
“You really thought about this,” he says.
“I do occasionally think.”
Halston’s eyes lift to mine. “Occasionally.”
“Do not gang up on me while I am being emotionally available.”
Creed laughs softly, but his mouth finally presses to my shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”
Halston lifts my wrist and kisses the place where the tattoo would go.
My entire body goes still.
That kiss is nothing.
That kiss is everything.
A mouth on bare skin, a promise on a place where a pulse can be found.
“I’ll find a place,” Halston says.
Creed’s voice comes from behind me, lower now. “Make sure to check my game calendar because I want to do it at the same time as you two.”
I turn my head to look at him.
“You’re sure?” I ask.
He leans in and kisses me.
Not fast.
Not playful.
A deep, slow kiss that makes my hand tighten around Halston’s without meaning to. Creed’s mouth moves against mine with tenderness and heat, with last night still living in him, with the kind of care that makes me feel less like falling and more like being caught on purpose.
When he pulls back, he stays close.
“I have never been more sure of anything that scared me,” he says.
Halston’s hand tightens around mine.
Creed kisses my temple, then says, “We should probably find a tattoo artist who won’t be horrified by three people showing up before coffee.”
Creed’s hand slides over my waist.
Halston’s thumb stays on my wrist.
This is what I missed while I was away, but it was a good semester. Also, I learned that being away doesn’t mean losing the people I love. They hold my heart, I hold theirs and no matter the space and time, nothing will ever tear us apart.
Nothing.