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“Yeah, well, after you showed up at my house, told me you were pregnant and walked away, sex was the last thing on my mind. I was shattered. I didn’t want anyone but you and … well, you weren’t ... Um ... Anyway, I thought watching people have sex would wake up my defective cock.” I shake my head, thinking back at the worst time in my whole life.
“And?” she whispers, fascinated but, true to her word, not judgmental.
“Then, I tried things from time to time, but … meh. A crew member from a band we toured with invited me to a private mansion when we were in Berlin. Guests were required to be naked and wear a full masquerade mask. The entire club was, essentially, one giant orgy.
“Before I knew what was happening, some chick was sucking me off while getting fucked by two guys. I glanced away for a second, when I looked back she had a third man’s dick in her ass and some random guy had my cock in his mouth. Some dude rubbed lube on my asshole. It was a flurry of random fucking. I was in over my head, truth be told.”
I shudder a bit. Though I embraced experimentation, I can’t even remember being that dude.
Sex for me has never meant sticking my cock in some hole. It’s always been her. From the time Fee and I were kids, she’s been my person. Before I comprehended what that meant. Being with her was natural. Like breathing.
Being with anyone else … isn’t.
I’ll never forget the time when we were fourteen. Making out by the campfire. My dick was so fucking hard, aching for her. Then her mom ripped us apart. Kept us apart. Stole our first time. The fallout from that night—from our parents— still reverberates to this day. I hate it. I hate what happened to us.
Hate that being married hasn’t been a magic eraser.
“Zaney?” Fee’s wiping tears from my face. I can’t help it. I’m crying.
“Don’t you get mad sometimes? About what was taken from us?” I cling to her like a lifeline. “I shouldn’t be having a conversation with you about a goddamn bullshit sex club. I shouldn’t have ever been there in Berlin. I shouldn’t have ever put my dick into anyone but …”
She presses her hand over my mouth. “Stop. I’m so sorry. I sometimes forget that you were heartbroken too. I keep seeking some sort of knowledge. Reassurance that I’m going to be enough …” Fee removes her hand and kisses me. “God, let’s just quash this. Tonight was incredible. We—I—just need to remember to stay in the present.”
“If you ask, Fee, I’m going to be honest with you. I have no secrets. I never have.” I lean my head against her chest.
Fiona strokes my hair for a while. It lulls me into a state of relaxation. My eyes are drifting shut when I hear her whisper, “I hate what they took from us too.”
“We should tell them sometime. Maybe it would help our family heal.” I’m half-asleep, but it’s a thought that occurs to me often.
She kisses the side of my head. “You’re probably right. For now, let’s take the summer to just have fun. Think about it a bit.”
“Sounds like a deal.” I snuggle in closer.
Odds are, we’ll never have a conversation with Carter. Lianne. Faye.
Still. Somehow, knowing it’s even a possibility makes me feel just a tiny bit better.
Chapter seven
FIONA
A Couple of Week Later
IcannotbelieveI’mhere.
Alinea. Recognized as one of The World’s 50 Best Restaurants, but it’s also Chicago’s only location to have earned—and kept—three Michelin Stars.
My fucking dream.
Zane used his rockstar prowess to get us coveted seats at the chef’s table. Deacon and Harper McCoy have joined us. He’s the bass player in Oblivion. She’s also a chef with a successful catering business. Juliet Reece, bass player of Warning Sign is also here with her partner, chef extraordinaire, Tristan Eves.
Over the years, LTZ has toured and played festivals with both Oblivion and Warning Sign, who are on the same record label. Of course I’m familiar with both bands, but I’ve never met any of the members until tonight.
Leave it to my husband to invite the perfect couples. The rockers talk shop. Us chefs lose our minds over the modernist cuisine. It’s a perfect night out. With perfect food. Plus, Olga is watching all of our kids, so our minds are at ease.
The five-hour experience is unbelievable from start to finish. Chef Achatz creates a theatrical dining bonanza. All dishes are experimental and exciting, incorporating scented vapors. Molecular gastronomy. Whimsy. Beauty. Drama. Starting with Arctic char topped with crisped skin, glazed with maple syrup. Salmon roe suspended in smoke gel. Foie gras baguette. Wagyu beef with truffle and a crispy potato hash brown.
But it’s the dessert that blows me away. The serving staff takes down a flat platter that we assumed was a light fixture and placed it in the middle of the round table we’re seated at. The entire kitchen brigade enters our private room, one by one, creating a Jackson Pollock-esque food painting using sauces, blueberries, and a liquid nitrogen-frozen block of chocolate mousse that they smash to bits all over the surface.
