Page 119 of The Pairing

“We are,” I say, reaching past them to hit the buzzer.

The whole way up the stairs, as I watch Theo’s boots hit each step, I tell myself this isn’t a bad idea, the way I did with Émile in Monaco. It’ll be hot, and easy, and lovely, the way that sex shouldbe, and I’ll make sure everyone feels good. Like the times we had sex with a third person when we were together—just, without Theo’s reassuring hand in mine, or the calm certainty that we’ll come home to each other afterward, or the love.

Theo knocks, and Fabrizio—is not the person who answers.

“Hello!” says perhaps the most beautiful woman on the continent. “Welcome!”

We both stand dumbstruck on the doormat before this unexpected apparition of Venus with a dark, blunt-banged bob and plum-painted lips, a thin housedress falling midway down her thigh. She pulls the door wider, revealing Fabrizio in a fresh T-shirt and sweats, beaming.

“My friends! You are here! Benvenuti, come in!”

I have to nudge Theo in the shoulder to get them moving.

“Amore, questo è Kit, e quello è Theo,” Fabrizio says to the woman before turning to us. “Friends, this is Valentina, my wife!”

“Your—” I clear my throat. “Your wife!”

Theo’s eyes are as wide as mine. An entire conversation passes between us in the span of half a second.

I didn’t know he was married! Did you know he was married?

Of course I didn’t fucking know he was married, Kit, or I wouldn’t have assumed he was inviting us over for sex!

Did he ever mention having a wife?

I don’t think so? Is that weird? That’s weird, right?

She’s really hot.

She is insanely fucking hot.

“Ciao, piacere!” Theo says, leaning in to air-kiss Valentina and smoothly elbowing me in the ribs.

“So nice to meet you!” Valentina says in lightly accented English. “Fabrizio speaks of you so warmly!”

I accept an air-kiss of my own, casting about for something to say. The apartment is small and cozy, filled with soft pastels and well-loved wicker furniture and dangling wind chimes. Candles burn on the low coffee table, and through the open balconydoors, I can see Mount Vesuvius in twilight on the horizon.

“This place is incredible,” I tell Valentina. “Thank you for having us.”

Valentina smiles, brushing hair from my eyes. I consider the possibility that this is some kind of partner-sharing situation—I could probably get on board after enough wine—until Fabrizio calls out, “Orla! Our friends are here!”

Theo’s eyes are the size and shape of an arancini.

“Orla?”

“Yes, did I not say? We always have Orla for drinks on her last day of the tour. This is why I invite you!”

“You—didn’t say, no, but—hi, Orla!”

Orla comes around the corner holding a bottle of wine. Her shoes are off, and her socks are patterned with little koalas. I should have recognized her hiking boots by the door.

“Evening, darlings! Valentina, love, where did you say the opener was?”

Valentina floats off to show her, and Fabrizio says, “Come, sit, we have room in the kitchen for everyone.”

Theo and I exchange another look.

This is cool?

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