Chapter 11

# The Video

The new routine settled in like something that had always been there.

Marco would wake up early, make coffee. Frank would come into the kitchen and squeeze his shoulder or slap his ass or kiss the back of his neck. Ellie would come downstairs in her nightgown and kiss them both. They’d eat breakfast together, and it felt normal. Domestic. Like they’d been doing this for years.

At the gym, Marco cleaned and organized and helped with clients. Frank made jokes and touched him when no one was looking. A hand on his lower back, a squeeze of his bicep, a whisper in his ear that made Marco’s face hot. Ellie watched from her office, smiling. Sometimes she’d call Marco in and close the door and kiss him, quick and hungry, and then send him back to work like nothing had happened.

In the evenings, they went home. They ate dinner, drank wine, talked. Then they went to bed, and the three of them tangled together, and Marco stopped trying to understand it and just let himself feel it.

It had been two weeks since that first morning. Two weeks of Frank’s hands and Ellie’s mouth and their bodies pressed together in every combination. Two weeks of waking up in the middle of the night to find Frank’s arm around him or Ellie’s leg thrown over his. Two weeks of feeling like he belonged somewhere for the first time in his life.

One night, Ellie suggested watching a movie.

“It’s been forever since we just relaxed,” she said, pouring wine in the kitchen. “Let’s do a movie night.”

Frank shrugged. “Sure.”

“You hate movie night,” Ellie said.

“I hate your movie choices. There’s a difference.”

“You liked that one about the chef.”

“I fell asleep during the one about the chef.”

“You were snoring, Frank. That’s not the same as sleeping.”

Frank looked at Marco. “She picks the worst movies. Just warning you.”

“They’re critically acclaimed.”

“Critical acclaim means boring. Every time.”

Marco nodded, smiling. It sounded nice. Normal. Like something a normal couple would do. Or a normal trio, he guessed.

They settled on the couch. Ellie on one side, Frank on the other, Marco in the middle. Ellie had her legs tucked under her, her wine glass in her hand. Frank had his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers resting on Marco’s shoulder. Marco was still, trying not to lean into either of them too obviously.

Ellie grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. She navigated to a folder marked “Private” and scrolled through a list of files with dates instead of titles.

“Which one?” she asked Frank.

Frank leaned forward and looked at the screen. “The one from last summer. The barbecue.”

Ellie found it and pressed play.

The video started, and Marco expected to see a barbecue. A cookout. People eating burgers and drinking beer.

That’s not what this was.

The image was a living room. Their living room. Marco recognized the couch, the rug, the windows looking out at the fields. But there were other people there. An older couple, maybe late fifties, sitting on the loveseat across from the couch. The man was burly with gray hair and a thick mustache. The woman was tanned, slim, with silver-streaked golden hair and a warm smile. They were both attractive in a lived-in way, comfortable in their skin.

There was a young man on the couch. Between Frank and Ellie. Just like Marco was now.

He looked about Marco’s age. Maybe a year or two younger. Slim, dark-haired, with a shy smile and wide eyes. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and he looked nervous, like he didn’t know what he was doing there.

“That’s Sam,” Ellie said softly, next to Marco. “He was with us for a while.”