Chapter Twenty-Four
Nobody said anything for what felt like a very long time.
Mo broke first. "I'm just getting my bag," she said, already pushing past Iona into the flat. "I forgot it this morning when I left."
"Right," Iona said. "Of course."
Maeve stood on the doorstep like she wasn't sure if she was allowed inside. Which was ridiculous. Except last night had changed things. Iona could see it in the way Maeve was holding herself, shoulders tight, jaw set. She’d been thinking all night and all day and knew what she’d done wrong.
"Come in," she said, stepping back. "It's Shepherd's night. Mo's just grabbing her things and then she's off."
Maeve nodded and crossed the threshold like a vampire being invited in. Iona breathed.
They stood in the living room, not quite looking at each other. Iona could hear Mo banging around in her bedroom, probably taking her time on purpose because teenagers had a sixth sense for adult tension and loved to marinate in it.
"Tea?" Iona offered.
"No, thank you."
"Water?"
"I'm fine."
"Right." Iona clasped her hands together, then unclasped them. "Good. That's good."
More silence. Somewhere in the flat, Mo dropped something heavy and swore.
"Language," Iona called automatically.
"Sorry," Mo called back, not sounding sorry at all.
Maeve's mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Iona felt something loosen up in her chest, just slightly.
Mo emerged with her overnight bag slung over one shoulder and her phone already in her hand. "Dad's outside," she said. "I'm going."
"Have fun. Text me when you get there."
"It's a ten-minute drive."
"Text me anyway."
Mo rolled her eyes but kissed Iona on the cheek as she passed. She paused at the door, looked back at Maeve. "Thanks again. For the limo thing."
"Anytime," Maeve said.
"What limo thing?" Iona asked, confused.
Mo grinned at Maeve. "Nothing. Just… a thing." And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
It was the first time Iona had seen Mo grin in what felt like forever, so she didn’t probe too deeply.
The flat went quiet.
Iona took a breath. She'd been rehearsing this all day, running through different versions in her head while she threw pots she'd later have to destroy because her mind wasn't on them.
None of the versions had felt right. But maybe that was the point.
Maybe she just had to say it badly and hope it landed anyway.
"My reaction last night was unfair," she said. "I saw that bottle and I panicked, and I treated you like you were still the person you were fifteen years ago. But you're not. That's not who's standing in my living room right now."
Maeve didn't say anything. Her expression was unreadable.
"I'm asking for your forgiveness," Iona continued. "Honestly. Directly. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."
The silence stretched. Iona resisted the urge to fill it with more words, more apologies, more explanations. She'd said what she needed to say. Now it was Maeve's turn.
"It hurt," Maeve said finally. Her voice was quiet. "I won't pretend it didn't. Fifteen years of work, and one look from you made me feel like none of it mattered."
Iona's throat tightened. "I know."
"But I understand where it came from." Maeve met her eyes. "I gave you years of reasons to be afraid of me. I can't be angry that you learned the lesson I taught you."
"That doesn't make it fair. What I did."
"No. But since when has any of this been fair?"
Iona let out a shaky breath. "So where do we go from here?"
Maeve's mouth curved. Not quite a smile, but something close. "Did you notice," she said, "how I didn't run away?"
Iona blinked. Then laughed, the sound surprised out of her. "That's a good start, isn't it?"
"I thought so." Maeve stepped closer. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that nothing happens overnight. Things take time. Trust takes time. I'm not expecting you to just forget fifteen years of history because I showed up with a limo and good intentions."
Iona raised an eyebrow. "Nothing happens overnight?"
"That's what I said."
"Interesting." Iona closed the distance between them, reached up, and kissed her. Because she knew things happened overnight, and she knew what kind of things happened overnight, and she’d been waiting fifteen years for this and now… now she didn’t think she could wait a second longer.
Maeve was right, she was still here, and that alone was enough to show Iona that things had changed, that Maeve had changed.
Maeve made a small sound of surprise against her mouth, and then her hands were on Iona's waist, pulling her closer, and Iona stopped thinking about apologies and forgiveness and started thinking about how Maeve's lips were softer than she remembered and how her own heart was hammering against her ribs like it was trying to break out of her chest.
"Bedroom," she said against Maeve's mouth. "Now."
"Bossy."
"You love it."
Maeve laughed, and Iona pulled her down the hall. Because they weren’t waiting longer, no matter what else happened. There were things that needed to be done, not just said.
???
Maeve had imagined this moment approximately ten thousand times over the past fifteen years, which meant she was completely unprepared for the reality of it.
Iona's bedroom was small and cluttered with half-finished craft projects.
There was a loom in one corner that was being used as a clothes hanger.
A stack of pottery books on the nightstand.
Fairy lights strung haphazardly around the headboard, which Iona switched on before turning back to Maeve with a look that made her forget how to breathe.
"Hi," Iona said.
"Hi."
"We're really doing this."
"Apparently."
Iona laughed, and something in Maeve's chest opened. This was the thing she'd been afraid of for fifteen years: wanting something this much. Wanting someone this much. The risk of it. The way it made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff with no guarantee of a soft landing.
But Iona was looking at her like she was something worth wanting back, and Maeve was so tired of being afraid. She was tired of being alone.
She took a breath and reached for Iona's shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons. "I'm nervous," she admitted, because apparently she was just saying things now. "Which is ridiculous. I'm forty years old."
"Thirty-four."
"Close enough."
Iona batted her hands away and undid the buttons herself, faster and more efficiently. "Forty is a long way away, thank you very much. And I'm nervous too, if it helps."
"It does, actually."
"Good." Iona's shirt hit the floor. "Now stop talking and take off your clothes."
Maeve's brain short-circuited for a moment at the sight of Iona in her bra, soft curves and warm skin and everything Maeve had been dreaming about since she was nineteen years old.
Then she fumbled with her own shirt, got it tangled around her head, and had to be rescued by Iona, who was laughing so hard she could barely help.
"Smooth," Iona said. "Very smooth."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
Maeve kissed her, hard, and walked her backward until Iona's knees hit the bed and they tumbled onto it together in a graceless heap.
Iona's hands were everywhere, her back, her hips, the clasp of her bra, and Maeve was trying to return the favor but kept getting distracted by the noises Iona was making, small gasps and sighs that were doing things to her that should probably be illegal.
"Off," Iona demanded, tugging at Maeve's jeans. "These need to be off."
"Working on it."
"Work faster."
Maeve laughed against Iona's throat and wriggled out of her jeans, kicking them somewhere toward the loom. Iona's skirt followed, and then they were pressed together with nothing between them but underwear and years of wanting.
Iona's hand slid down Maeve's stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of her underwear. "Can I?"
"God, yes."
Iona's fingers dipped lower, and Maeve's hips jerked involuntarily. She was embarrassingly wet already, had been since Iona kissed her in the living room, and when Iona's fingers found her center she had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound that would alarm the neighbors.
"Okay?" Iona murmured.
"More than okay." Maeve's voice came out rough. "Don't stop."
Iona didn't stop. Her fingers moved in slow circles, building pressure, and Maeve clutched at the sheets and tried to remember how to breathe. It had been a long time since anyone had touched her like this. Years. And none of them had been Iona, which meant none of them had really counted.
"Look at me," Iona said.
Maeve opened her eyes. Iona was watching her with an expression of fierce concentration, like Maeve was the only thing in the world. The sight of it pushed her closer to the edge.
"I want to be inside you," Iona said. "Is that okay?"
Maeve nodded, not trusting her voice.
Iona's fingers slid inside her, two at once, and Maeve gasped. The stretch was perfect, the pressure exactly right, and when Iona began to move, slow and deep, Maeve stopped thinking entirely.
"You feel incredible," Iona breathed. "I've thought about this so many times."
"Me too." Maeve managed. "Iona, I'm close, I'm…"
"Let go. I've got you."
Maeve came with Iona's name on her lips and Iona's fingers still moving inside her, drawing out the pleasure until she was shaking with it, until she couldn't tell where she ended and Iona began.
When she finally came back to herself, Iona was pressing soft kisses to her shoulder.
"Good?" Iona asked, and the hint of smugness in her voice made Maeve laugh.
"Adequate."
"Adequate?" Iona pulled back, mock-offended. "Adequate?"
Maeve grinned and flipped them, pinning Iona beneath her. "My turn."
She kissed her way down Iona's body, taking her time, cataloging every sigh and shiver. Iona's breasts were soft and full, and when Maeve took a nipple into her mouth, Iona arched up with a moan that went straight to Maeve's core.
"Please," Iona said. "Maeve, please."
Maeve had never been good at denying Iona anything.
She settled between Iona's thighs, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, then higher. Iona was already wet, and when Maeve finally put her mouth on her, tasting her for the first time, Iona's whole body went taut.
"Oh God," Iona breathed. "Oh God, yes, right there."
Maeve focused on the spot that made Iona gasp, licking and sucking until Iona was gripping her hair and making sounds that were probably audible through the walls.
She didn't care. Let the neighbors hear.
Let the whole building know. She'd waited fifteen years for this, and she intended to make it worth the wait.
When Iona came, it was with a cry that might have been Maeve's name, her thighs clamping around Maeve's head, her hips bucking against Maeve's mouth. Maeve worked her through it, gentling her touches as Iona came down, until Iona finally tugged at her hair.
"Come here," Iona said, voice wrecked. "Come here, I need to kiss you."
Maeve crawled up and kissed her, and Iona hummed against her mouth, tasting herself on Maeve's lips.
"Not bad," Iona said when they broke apart.
"Not bad?"
"I'm being generous."
Maeve laughed and collapsed next to her, heart still pounding. The fairy lights cast a warm glow over everything, and outside the window, London carried on without them.
"So," Iona said after a moment. "Nothing happens overnight, huh?"
Maeve groaned. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
"Absolutely not." Iona rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. Her hair was a disaster and her lips were swollen and she was the most beautiful thing Maeve had ever seen. "But for the record? That was worth fifteen years of waiting."
"Only fifteen?"
"Don't push your luck."
Maeve smiled, and for the first time in longer than she could remember, the future felt like something to look forward to rather than something to survive.
Iona's phone buzzed on the nightstand. She grabbed it, checked the screen, and laughed.
"Mo," she said. "Apparently Shepherd's making his famous lasagna and she wants to know if she can have seconds."
"Tell her yes."
"I always tell her yes." Iona typed a reply and set the phone back down. "So. Shepherd has her until tomorrow afternoon."
"Is that so?"
"That is so." Iona's hand found Maeve's hip. "Which means we have approximately eighteen hours before we have to be responsible adults again."
Maeve pulled her closer. "Better make the most of it, then."