Chapter 32

An engine rumbled to life.

Gravel crackled beneath slow-moving tires.

Luke opened the door to watch Kathryn drive away.

It was already late morning, and though he didn’t necessarily count on seeing her today — after a week of “reconnecting” with Bill, and especially after yesterday’s epic confrontation, it was understandable that she’d desire some physical and emotional space — it was atypically anxiety-inducing to see her depart, knowing that, at this point, any turning away could well be their last.

Everything she said yesterday — every lacerating criticism, every pointed self-recrimination, every incisive question about our present or future — was correct and necessary. I needed to hear every word. That it was so unpleasant to endure might, in the end, be a blessing; dropping a stick of dynamite in the room might be the only way we’ll ever get this infernal conversation started. For at least the twentieth time since waking up, he sighed heavily, staring at the empty road. I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.

The problem, he thought as he closed the door and wearily trudged upstairs, all hope of productivity having departed with his lover, is that, while I think I agree in theory with almost everything that everyone is telling me, even when it’s contradictory, I’m not only no closer to an answer, I don’t even know how to approach the problem. He glanced at the laptop sitting on the table. Open but idle, its screensaver — pictures from myriad trips to far-flung wine regions — mocked his inaction and inertia by showing him images of a life burdened by neither. I didn’t used to be like this. I was organized, disciplined, and focused. In fact, until a little over two months ago I would’ve scorned the person I’ve become. Sex with Kathryn is majestic, and being in love with her surpasses any dream, but how and when did I give up my identity? My will? My drive? Sure, I still dole out wine expertise and cooking skill, but those are a way to make a living or impress a date, not any sort of basis for a relationship. So who was I? What would the old Luke do, other than high five me for my sexual adventures and then smack me across the back of the head for thinking exclusively with my dick?

Acting on instinct, he sat down at the computer and opened a blank document, naming it “KLM” before he realized what he was doing. In the unlikely event that anyone goes snooping through my computer, I guess they’ll think I’m planning a trip to Amsterdam. Suddenly, he laughed out loud. Am I really gong to do this? It’s too early for a list of pros and cons. I need to dig into the fundamentals. His brow furrowed. I’ll treat it like my wine studies. Begin with the raw data, then organize it. Look for correlations and contradictions. Then I can start asking important questions, hopefully arriving at a sensible answer or two. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. But what counts as data in this case? The two or three obvious futures between which I can’t decide? My own infinitely circling indecision? I’ve got all that memorized.

Leaning forward again, his eyes and fingers alive with inspiration, he started with a list of names. No reason to structure this in pretty tables and lists, I just need everything written down.

The room echoed with the furious pace of his typing.

I wrote straight through lunch. Well, I’m not all that hungry anyway.

He moved to the sofa to reread everything he’d produced. It was a technique he’d often used during his studies for the Master Sommelier exam and its predecessors; even the simplest shifts in perspective could lead to fresh insights. What he’d created was a list of people who knew of their relationship and their accumulated opinions, criticisms, observations, and advice. It was a short list of names, but as he typed he realized that their friends hadn’t exactly been shy about offering wisdom, no matter how withering. It’s a pity that it’s taken me until now to start seriously contemplating what everyone’s been telling me. Hopefully, late’s better than never.

He’d briefly considered adding Liz — pending a yet-to-be-made phone call — but quickly dismissed the notion; Liz’s aversion to emotion or commitment meant that, even if he spoke to her and laid out the whole convoluted tale, she’d be uninterested in anything except sexual details. It did, however, highlight a surprising and dismaying problem: with the exception of Kathryn’s therapist, there wasn’t a single objective and uninvolved friend or confidant to whom he could reasonably turn. Every other person who knew about their relationship was also involved with one or both of them sexually.

As with Kathryn’s angry denunciations the day before, the revelation opened a disturbing new window on just how convoluted, concentrated, and corrupted their union had become. I certainly don’t regret one moment of my time with Wendy, with or without Kathryn’s involvement, but wouldn’t it be nice to have her as a neutral observer? She was that for me way back at the beginning, except that I stupidly ignored all her most pointed advice. And now she’s had sex with both of us and Irina, so there’s no hope of neutrality any longer. Irina’s involved up to her eyeballs, which makes her a less effective sounding board for Kathryn. Alejandro and Faith are the most neutral, but they also know the least about our situation, and it’s not like we did much except screw our brains out when we were with them. But I wonder if we haven’t lost something that would be really valuable right now: an objective voice of reason. The closest I’ve gotten to that of late was Sevinay, though I’m certainly not about to get her involved in the whole sordid affair.

And maybe Wendy was correct about something else, too. She suggested that we flew too high, too far, too fast, and that it destabilized us. If she’s right, then it’s even worse than she thought, because we’ve brought everyone along for the ride. Both she and Irina have repeatedly expressed the fear that, no matter what happens, they’re going to suffer collateral damage. Unfortunately, I’m increasingly convinced that they’re right. If Kathryn and I decide to be together, Irina will have to look for work. Maybe Sevinay will too, though it sounds like Bill will take care of her no matter what. Irina losing her job might endanger any hope she and Wendy have for a relationship, because who knows what she’ll do or where she’ll go? And if I’m right that Kathryn and I will have to live somewhere else, Wendy and I might lose touch with each other. That’s a lot of collateral damage.

Sifting through the collection of words, Luke noticed several common strains of thought. The first was the least surprising: he’d waited too long to start confronting the consequences of their choices. On this nearly everyone had insisted form the start, but while they were right, there was nothing to be done about it now. The next was something he still struggled to understand, despite the ubiquity of the advice: that it was up to him to make the best possible case for pursuing their relationship, or ending it when his work was finished. Yesterday’s revelation that Kathryn was at least considering leaving Bill had come as more of a shock than he expected. I wonder if I was afraid to take action because, subconsciously, I never believed that this was a struggle I could win. And now I know there’s at least a chance that I can. So what am I going to do about it?

However he was failing her by being away so much, most people agreed that Bill was suffering far more than he deserved, and couldn’t be used as a tool or stepping stone to bring Kathryn closer to Luke. The primary outlier was Irina, who placed more blame on his shoulders than anyone else. Luke wondered if this was lingering resentment over Bill romancing Kathryn away from her, but he eventually dismissed the notion. Despite her feelings, she’s too clear-headed for that. I agree that he doesn’t deserve what we’re doing to him, but Irina knows him and their relationship better than anyone except Bill and Kathryn themselves; if she sees fault in him, she’s likely right. Kathryn’s defense of their relationship is probably as much about her as it is about him, and through the lens of her own guilt I can’t blame her. Still, all that does for me is point out that the fractures in their marriage are real, and that this isn’t just about our bacchanal or the excitement of someone fresh and new. But it also means that I can’t directly exploit it. His shortcomings exist, but repeatedly pointing them out isn’t how I’m going to win her.

All concurred that Kathryn’s love for Luke was obvious and strong. It was, for him, the most heartening aspect of his analysis, for it affirmed his belief that there was no lie in their professions and promises. Almost everyone observed that Kathryn viewed herself, openly or tacitly, as “his” whenever they were together ... especially Alejandro and Faith, who had a perspective on their dynamic no one else had. Still, the lone holdout was a rather important one: Kathryn herself, who had frequently expressed the sentiment in the past, but was, of late, rather forcefully resisting it. Luke wondered at the change. Was it the result of something we did, or something I said? Or was it an inevitable transition; a shift from total immersion in an exciting new relationship to the delicate balancing act we’re engaged in now? When it comes time to make a decision, will she remember all the times she told me she belonged to me, will she assign that role to her husband, or will she instead insist — as she did in the forest — that she belongs to no one but herself?

On the other hand, there was an unwelcome counterargument — one made more than once by both Wendy and Irina — that the two of them ending up together might not be the best of all possible futures. Unfortunately, this was a doubt to which Luke was all too susceptible. There were so many barriers, so many negative consequences — even aside from the immediate and obvious pain they would cause people — that he often despaired that their love was accompanied by too much ancillary sorrow. Usually, all it took to cast those doubts aside was Kathryn’s presence. But the last two weeks had sown an entire field of fresh doubts, and he was no longer floating in a warm sea of satisfaction and surety whenever he was in his red-haired goddess’ arms. The gap between what he wanted and what he felt was right seemed wider than ever.

It’s time to put this away for now. My mind’s starting to spin, and I need a little distance and perspective. In any case, it’s time to start preparing for something about which I’m vastly more certain.

“I was beginning to think you’d fled to higher ground in hopes of escaping all the manmade disasters around these parts. Not that you could’ve gone all that far, of course, but I’ve been sitting here for a while and was starting to worry.”

“Well,” Luke responded as he ascended the steps, “I wasn’t the only one who disappeared.”

Kathryn was sitting on the sofa with a book in her lap. She was wearing skin-hugging tights with a surprisingly thin sleeveless shirt that showed, even for her, an unusual amount of cleavage. I wonder if she’s trying to seduce me back to normality. Because if so, it’ll probably work. It was also clear that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Still, something was different. Though she was as impossibly beautiful as ever, there was an impenetrability to her aura that he’d never seen before, as if she’d somehow armored herself against the probability of damage. “I needed some time to think. I imagine you did as well.”

“I did, and I took advantage of it. In fact, I did a lot of thinking, and...”

“Luke...” she suddenly cried, leaping off the couch and wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so sorry. I’m not handling any of this well.”

“Neither of us are. But now’s when that starts to change,” he said with more confidence than he felt, returning her hug and reveling in the unsurpassable satisfaction of her luscious curves pressing against him.

“How?” she asked in a tired, tremulous voice.

“By doing something we’re exceptionally good at.”

“Sex?” she asked in a tone that sounded more hopeful than seductive, though she was grinding her hips invitingly.

“No. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly hope sex is on the agenda sooner or later. And we’re going to have to eat at some point, especially because I haven’t. But no, I mean the other thing at which we’re so accomplished.”

“Which is?” she asked, running her hands up and down his back. He shuddered at the contact, which grew more intimate by the moment.

“Avoiding the problem.”

A few moments later she was convulsing in his arms. He released his hold and she took a step back, practically crying with laughter. “We really are, aren’t we?”

“Indeed. I’m going to dig around in the cellar and find something delicious and uncomplicated. Fill a Champagne bucket with ice and cold water, then grab some glasses and mosquito repellent. We’re headed to the rock.”

“Are you going to get me tipsy so we can make out by the lake, Lucas Bronson? Because I have to warn you that I’m not that kind of girl.”

“I absolutely don’t promise to keep my hands off of you, but no. We’re going to talk. Not, “ he added as her face began to cloud, “about us. About you. Me. Religion. Food. Politics. Travel. Wine. Gerbils. I don’t know, and I don’t care... anything but our relationship and our future. Tomorrow we’ll start on the hard stuff. But today I want to drink wine and talk to the woman I love. A woman I’ve missed more than I can possibly say.”

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to sweet talk your way into my unmentionables?”

“Do I need to try?”

“No. Never. Not you, Luke.”

How long is “never,” I wonder? “Alright. Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”

“ ... and so that’s how I spent the final night of my first trip to Europe: shivering in an unheated fleabag hotel in a sketchy Roman neighborhood because all the hostels were full, hoping I still had enough money to get to the airport. Which I did, but only just, and it left me with nothing for breakfast. Not even an espresso. Once I was on the plane, however, the flight attendants took pity when they saw me inhale my breakfast as if I hadn’t eaten in days. They let me hang out in the galley and fed me a spare first class meal. The ironic thing is that, if we hadn’t been on a plane and they weren’t working, they might’ve gotten lucky in the way the men from the night before didn’t. I was that grateful, and a couple of them were really hot.”

“I can’t believe you turned down not one, not two, but three separate invitations to spend your last night in Rome with a dashing young bachelor at his private villa. What’s Italian for ‘heartbreaker?’”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure I heard it more than once. Probably some less pleasant names as well, though I doubt it’s anything compared to what they called me after I left. All three of them managed to suggest that I was a ‘tease’ in perfectly clear English, though,” she chuckled. “I suppose I can’t blame them; I was flirting quite a lot, but none of the three got more than five or ten cumulative minutes of kissing.”

“So why didn’t you? I mean, from everything you just told me, you hadn’t exactly spent the rest of the trip in self-imposed celibacy. Why not have one more adventure?”

“Looking back on it, I don’t really know. At the time, random hookups in clubs and such felt like pure, innocent fun. Well, maybe not innocent, but you know what I mean. The men at that party, though ... they seemed so much more serious and significant, even though I knew that they were all spoiled and predatory man-children out for a conquest. I walked in and was the immediate center of attention — something I was already used to — and, in fact, those three suitors could easily have been thirty if I’d allowed it, but instead I deviously encouraged their attentions to deflect the others. Plus, I knew I would’ve been just another dalliance to be collected, discarded, and bragged about, and that felt more than a little hollow. Still...”

“I can hear it in your voice, you know. You wish you would’ve done it anyway.”

“You know me too well. Yes, I do. In retrospect, I think part of the problem is that there were three of them. Even after winnowing the field, I left myself with too many choices. If it’d been just one man wining, dining, and romancing me, I probably would’ve pretended to give into the seduction and taken him up on the offer, though of course I’d only ever have done it because I wanted the experience. I would’ve gotten a comfortable bed, some lovely orgasms, a nice breakfast, and a ride to the airport in a really expensive car. And since most of the sex I had on that trip involved trying to be absolutely silent in bathroom stalls or overcrowded hostels, it would’ve been refreshing to be able to be noisy for a change. Plus, I’d have a much more interesting story to tell than this one,” she chuckled, self-deprecatingly.

“All three of them were devastatingly handsome — they knew it, of course, which is yet another reason I resisted — and I distinctly remember that one of them was hard the entire time we were together. Talking, dancing, drinking ... about three hours’ worth of erection, or at least it was always that way when we were together. Isn’t that when you’re supposed to call a doctor? Anyway, it was pretty stimulating for me while we were slow-dancing, and I’ll admit that if I’d gone through with it he’d probably have been the one, just because I felt a little sorry for him,” she laughed. “I hope he took good care of himself when he got home, and that he was thinking of me the entire time. I know I was thinking about his cock while I did the only thing I could think of to keep myself warm at that horrible hotel.”

“If the same thing happened to me now I’d probably try to talk the three of them into sharing me, but I’m sure that would’ve been a disaster. Handsome and wealthy though they might’ve been, they were still man-children and would’ve spent the entire night preening at each other rather than satisfying me. And, even at that relatively tender age, I think I would’ve been too much for them if I really let myself go. By the way, what you’re doing with your fingers is making me extremely horny, so you should probably consider whether or not you’re going to do something about it.”

Three bottles of Huet Vouvray Pétillant were chilling in an ice bucket, and one was only a few ounces shy of empty. They’d started their conversation tentatively, trading amusing travel anecdotes of no real import, but whether by intention or out of some subconscious need, they’d gradually fallen into a surprisingly detailed recounting of their romantic and sexual histories. If either of them found it odd to be sharing such stories with each other, they showed no sign. Luke wondered if it was an attempt on his part to restore some sort of balance to his perception of her, which of late had veered so wildly between the relentless intensity of their relationship, her unspeakable past, their wild liaisons with others, and her inconsistently successful detachment while Bill was home.

His tales were fewer and much shorter than hers. Part of that was the difference in their ages, but most of it was because of Kathryn’s extremely active past; a quantity and variety of experiences that quite frankly stunned him, even though he’d justifiably surmised that she’d had a fair number of adventures. He also felt that the majority of his stories were terribly prosaic compared to hers. Yet she seemed interested in them anyway, so he pressed on.

After filling in the few remaining blanks regarding Liz — theirs wasn’t a relationship with much complexity, aside from the intricacies of sexual choreography — he jumped back and forth through his relatively tender years. Kathryn was especially delighted by the unexpected threesome after his Savoy retirement party, and assured him that, given his reputation, they’d likely gotten more mileage out of that story than he had; a supposition that made him blush as he recalled the night. I hope I performed well enough to make myself look good in the recounting.

But the only liaison that really seemed to grab her attention was one he didn’t talk about very often: a year-long, off-and-on relationship with a French pastry chef named Véronique. Kathryn listened with great interest as he recounted their slow ascendancy, their frequent difficulties and many temporary breakups, and their abrupt end. It was an outcome that he regretted to this day.

“Unlike everyone else you’ve told me about,” she observed as her head settled into his lap, “that was a real relationship. She liked you more than she let on. A lot more.”

“That’s what I always thought, and that’s exactly what Wendy said after they met. Though she never agreed to return to BTG, which I always found frustrating. Anyway, you remember what I told you about how most relationships work these days, right? I made a pretty concerted effort to ... well, it’s an archaic word, but it fits ... court her. Or maybe woo her, as long as we’re speaking in Old English. But it was always Véronique who vehemently insisted that we continue to see other people. At first I didn’t think she was serious, so I didn’t. But when I realized that she was actually doing it herself, I figured it was stupid to wait around for her to change her mind. That’s the period during which Liz and I got together the most, because there was never going to be any commitment involved, and Liz wouldn’t be bothered in the slightest if I suddenly told her that we had to stop because Véronique and I were going to make a serious go of it. And, given what I’ve already told you about Véronique and her hangups, Liz was the perfect sexual partner at that time. She really didn’t say no to anything.”

“Smart girl. Still, I can’t believe you broke up because she wouldn’t agree to anal sex. Although...”

“ ... although that wasn’t why we broke up. That’s what you were about to say, right? And you’re correct: it was the argument that grew out of her refusal that broke us up. Anal was just the catalyst.”

“You’re turning me on.”

“I know,” he grinned. “It was, like her periodic assertions that we shouldn’t be monogamous, something that ebbed and flowed. I’d like to blame it on her being French and moody, except that she wasn’t moody about anything except our relationship. Sometimes she seemed to really enjoy me playing with her ass ... only during sex, though, and a fingertip was the most she’d usually allow. But there were exceptions. For example, it eventually became a regular accompaniment whenever I went down on her, and it got to the point that I could play around for a while, pull out and circle her entrance, then trigger a louder-than-normal orgasm by slipping my entire finger inside.”

“Seriously, you’re really turning me on.”

“Patience, love,” he teased, though he didn’t object when she moved his hand from her stomach to her breast, at which point he discovered that her arousal was indeed quite elevated. “At other times, though, she’d absolutely freak out if I touched her there. If she sensed the approach of anything else, no matter what sort of mood she was in — more fingers, my tongue, toys, me — it was a sure way to bring an immediate end to sex.”

“So, anyway, one night we’d had what I thought was a pretty spectacular few hours of sex, and it was one of those times when she seemed to be particularly into me fooling around back there. She was on top of me, I was inside her but not moving, and the full length of my finger was slowly thrusting in and out of her ass. She’d been experimental and frisky all night, and her moaning suggested that she was enjoying the finger, so I decided to be bold and just barely brushed her entrance with the tip of a second.”

“She absolutely exploded with rage. Completely out of the blue. Yelling at me for always pushing her to do anal, and so forth. The thing is, though, I never did. Never once did I verbally campaign for it, because it seemed far too fraught. I always let her tell or show me where her limits were, I never deliberately brought my dick any nearer her ass than her other hole, and I never asked her if she’d like to try, much less cajole or push her into acquiescence. Usually, she’d be mad for a while and get over it, but that night the argument just went on and on — I never raised my voice, but she certainly couldn’t say the same — and so I finally just came out and said what I was really thinking, hoping that it would somehow defuse the situation. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘it’s something I’d obviously love to do with you, and if you agree I’ll take as much time and care as necessary to make it good for you, but I’m perfectly content if you don’t want to. I just don’t understand all the mixed signals.’ And then I made my big mistake, adding, ‘I don’t just mean when it comes to anal, either.’ She stared at me for about a minute, as stunned and disbelieving as if I’d struck her, and then she got dressed and stalked out without another word. I haven’t talked to her since. Every time I see her, she glares at me for a while and then turns away. Anyway, I hear she’s got a new boyfriend, so however it ended between us, it’s definitely part of my past.”

“Commitment.”

“Hmmm?”

“Her ass represented commitment.”

“Her ass was a lawyer? Isn’t the reverse usually true?”

“So clever. My amusement is infinite. I assume she wasn’t a virgin when you met her?”

“No way. She was skilled and eager when it came to everything else we did, though I wouldn’t necessarily call her adventurous.”

“Right. So let me explain something about women that you may or may not fully understand. There are women who hold on to their virginities for religious or moral reasons, of course, and there are those who wait until they’re experiencing ‘true love’ or whatever else they require to unlock the holy hymen, but even for those of us who are horny and unwilling to wait, sexuality is still laden with symbolism in a way I don’t quite think it is for men. Your first kiss, the first time someone touches or kisses your breasts, the first person to see you naked, your first handjob, your first finger-fuck, your first blowjob, the first time someone comes in your mouth, the first time you swallow, the first time someone goes down on you, your first orgasm, the first time someone else makes you come without having to be told how — for women, that’s a really, really big one that often leads to relationships, healthy or otherwise — and so forth. All milestones. Obviously, I don’t have many left to offer given my cluttered sexual history, but even I’ve eagerly given you three extremely important ones: my first group experience involving a man, all my double-penetrations of any sort, and my first fully immersive submissive experience with someone I’m deeply in love with. Which was everything I always hoped it would be, by the way. Of course, this means I’m just about out of cherries,” she added with a laugh, “unless you want to get really kinky or call in the Marines.”

“Anyway, I think she was physically willing to try — no one lets their partner keep poking and prodding back there without being at least theoretically open to the idea, whether or not they end up liking it or wanting to do it again — but she saw it as representative of a huge step in your relationship. Agreeing to try anal sex was giving you something entirely your own, which would mean that you were special. I bet she struggled in a similar way with her actual virginity, or perhaps she regretted surrendering it to someone with whom she didn’t have a committed or stable relationship. She used anal as a convenient excuse to avoid a commitment she wasn’t prepared to make. That, by the way, is also why she wouldn’t go back to BTG. She knew Wendy would see right through her. Or, more likely, that she already had.”

Luke nodded, deep in thought as he stared across the lake. The late afternoon sun rendered its waters an intense, brilliant blue, though with Kathryn at his side, all colors seemed especially vivid. He wondered if that was a result of the light or his mood. And I wonder how much of her analysis should be added to my accumulated data regarding our relationship. She’s “given” me so many things, and all of them were given because she was ready. As Wendy suggested, she’s been sure of her footing from the start. Whereas I’ve given her so little in return, and the one thing I tried to give her turned out to have unintended but dire consequences. Does that mean that I was the one who wasn’t ready? If so, am I finally ready now? Because if I’m not, I need to figure it out damned soon.

It was at that point that Kathryn took over the conversation, recounting story after story from her romantic and sexual pasts. To his surprise, none of them caused him a single twinge of jealousy, though quite a few led to a stirring in his shorts. He’d been softly circling her erect nipple with his thumb as she arrived at the end of the Roman narrative, and her declaration of heightened arousal spurred him into mischievous inaction.