Three Way Honeymoon

The water in the infinity pool was exactly the temperature of a bath, which was the first thing that annoyed me about paradise. Too warm. Too perfect. I wanted to feel something, even if it was just a chill.

Antonio was explaining the history of the villa, something about a nineteenth-century count and his mistress and a scandal that involved a duel, but I'd stopped listening three minutes ago. Not because it wasn't interesting. Because I was watching his hands.

He had tour-guide hands. That's what I'd called them in my head the first day, back in Rome, when he'd gestured at the Colosseum like he was conducting an orchestra. Long fingers. Clean nails. A small scar across his left knuckle that I'd been dying to ask about for six days now. He used those hands to point at frescoes and hold open doors and once, yesterday, to steady my elbow when I tripped on the uneven cobblestones in Ravello. That touch had lasted maybe two seconds. I'd thought about it for four hours.

"Sena."

Bayu's voice, soft and amused. He was floating on his back near the edge of the pool, his dark hair slicked to his forehead, his body pale against the blue water. My husband of eleven days. He looked like a seal. A cute seal. A seal who knew exactly what I was doing and didn't mind one bit.

"Hmm?"

"You're not listening."

"I'm absorbing," I said. "There's a difference."

Antonio smiled without turning around. He was standing at the pool's edge with his back to us, looking out at the Tyrrhenian Sea, and I could see the muscles shift in his shoulders when he crossed his arms. He wore a white linen shirt, unbuttoned one button too many, and dark swim trunks that sat low on his hips. His skin was the color of the espresso he'd ordered for us this morning at a café in Positano, and I wanted to lick it.

That's the kind of thought I have now. Eleven days married, and I've become a person who thinks about licking tour guides.

"Absorbing," Antonio repeated, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Is that what you call it?"

"I'm a very focused student."

He turned then. Just his head, over his shoulder, but it was enough. His eyes found mine and held them, and there it was again, that thing that had been happening since Florence. The look that said he knew exactly what I was doing and was waiting to see how far I'd take it.

Bayu splashed water in my direction. "You're being weird, Sayang."

"I'm always weird."

"True." He floated closer, reaching for my ankle under the water. His fingers wrapped around it, gentle, possessive in a way that felt like a question. "But you're being extra weird."

I pulled my foot free and kicked water at his face. He laughed, spluttering, and Antonio turned fully around now, watching us with an expression I couldn't read. Amusement, sure. But something else underneath. Something patient.

The sun was starting its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of peach and gold that would've looked tacky in a painting. The villa belonged to Antonio's uncle, or his cousin, or someone in his family who owed him a favor, and he'd offered it to us for the last three nights of our honeymoon like it was nothing. Like letting two strangers stay in your family's cliffside estate was a normal thing to do.

I'd asked him why. Last night, after Bayu had gone to bed early with a headache from the wine, I'd found Antonio on the terrace, smoking a cigarette he'd rolled himself, and I'd asked him why he was being so generous.

He'd looked at me for a long moment. Then he'd said, "Because I want to."

That was all. Because I want to. And I'd stood there in my silk robe, the one Bayu had bought me in Florence, and felt the night air on my skin and the weight of his words settling somewhere low in my stomach.

I hadn't told Bayu about that conversation. Not because it was a secret, exactly. More because I didn't know how to explain it. The way Antonio had looked at me when he said it. The way I'd felt. Like I was standing at the edge of something and the ground was already moving.

Now, in the pool, with the sun setting and my husband's hand finding my ankle again, I decided to push.

"Antonio," I called. "Come swim with us."

"I'm fine here."

"That wasn't a question."

Bayu laughed, that low, easy laugh that had made me fall in love with him two years ago. "She doesn't ask questions," he said. "She gives orders. You should know that by now."

Antonio's mouth curved. "I'm learning."

He pulled his shirt over his head in one motion, and I forgot how to breathe. Not because of his body, though his body was worth forgetting things over. Because of the way he did it. Casual. Unhurried. Like he knew exactly what effect he was having and was curious to see what I'd do about it.

He stepped into the pool, and the water rose around his waist, his chest, and then he was swimming toward us with the easy confidence of someone who'd grown up in the sea. Bayu moved aside to make room, and I stayed exactly where I was.

Antonio stopped an arm's length away. Close enough to touch. Far enough to make the distance feel deliberate.

"Better?" he asked.

"Getting there."

Bayu was watching us both, his head tilted, that slight smile still on his face. He wasn't jealous. He'd never been jealous, not in the traditional sense, and I'd known that about him from the beginning. It was one of the reasons I'd married him. He was safe. He was home. He was the harbor I could always sail back to.

But Antonio was the open sea.

"Tell me something," I said, floating closer. "Something true."

"That's a dangerous request."

"I like dangerous."

Antonio's eyes flicked to Bayu, then back to me. A question. A check. Bayu just shrugged, still smiling, and something passed between the two of them, some silent communication I wasn't part of. For a moment, I felt a flash of irritation. Then Antonio looked at me again, and the irritation dissolved into something warmer.

"Alright," he said. "Something true. I've been thinking about you since Rome."

Bayu made a sound, half laugh, half something else. "That's not very professional."

"No," Antonio agreed. "It's not."

I should have felt guilty. I should have looked at my husband, my brand-new husband, and felt something like shame. But all I felt was a hot, bright thrill, a pulse of want that started in my chest and spread outward like ripples in the water.

"What exactly have you been thinking?" I asked.

Antonio smiled. Slow. Knowing. "That's a different question."

"Answer it."

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not ready."

I laughed, sharp and surprised. "I'm not ready? I'm the one who asked."

"You're the one who's still holding back." He tilted his head, studying me with those dark eyes. "You want me to say something that will make this real. But you're not ready for real. Not yet."

Bayu drifted closer, his arm brushing mine under the water. "She's never been good at waiting."

"I'm learning," I said, throwing his own word back at him.

Antonio's smile widened. "Good."

The sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky went from gold to purple to the deep blue of coming night. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang. The water lapped against the pool's edge. And the three of us stayed there, suspended in that moment, none of us willing to be the first to move.

I looked at Bayu. He looked back at me, and in his eyes I saw everything I'd ever wanted: safety, love, the promise of forever. Then I looked at Antonio, and I saw something else. Something sharp and new and terrifying.

I wanted them both. That was the truth I wasn't ready to say out loud.

Not yet.

But soon.