18. Wren

I wake to a dream.In this dream, my wife is in another woman's arms. Their bodies overlap, and because I tell myself it's a dream I give myself permission to fantasize about whether their hearts do too.

I watch them for a long time. The sheets have fallen down around their waists and I can see both of Amara's firm small breasts and one of Katja's luscious full ones. My fingers twitch to play with their nipples, to wake them both up by kissing my way down their torsos.

But my head isn't clear enough to dive into that fantasy, and the boundaries of what our reality is are even blurrier.

So I slide out of the covers, find my dressing gown and leave the room. Descending the staircase reveals the room as we left it. The splattered sushi mess is still there. Katja's crates are piled on the island, half-packed and disorganised, a sight that pains me as I imagine her packing in a rush. The dishes are mostly washed and tidied away – Katja must have done that while Amara and I talked – but our dessert plates are still by the sink and Amara's lipstick is still imprinted on one of the wine glasses next to them.

A mix of hot and cold washes over me as I think about how last night played out. How far apart Amara and I were at the beginning of the night, how distraught she was, and how full of anxiety I was, and then I think about how the night ended. How I felt closer to my wife than I ever have. How I now feel we can navigate this challenge, and any challenge. How I feel like that is only possible because of Katja, because she was able to reach a part of me that nobody else has. And then after, when she had me on my knees, she grabbed that part of me, pulled it to the surface and let it stretch and fill my whole body. She allowed, no, encouraged me to be my whole self. She made me feel seen and valued and loved like that.

And now I have to say goodbye to her.

I have to say goodbye to Katja so that I can be this full, authentic version of myself on my own. If she stays and I become reliant on her to step into that person, then I'm no better off than I was yesterday, lost, confused, afraid.

I don't want to say goodbye to Katja – the prospect is like a shard of pain slicing through my chest and into my heart – but I think I have to.

Besides, she made it clear that she has her own fresh start ahead of her. It would be wrong for me, and Amara, to hold her back from having that in order to achieve it for ourselves. No, we have to figure out what our fresh start looks like. What we look like now that we are forever altered.

I grip the island countertop as all the warmth leaves my body. How will we figure it out? I can't answer that question. I can't even fathom how to think about answering that.

What I can do, however, is clean up the sushi mess, tidy away the clean dishes, and make a pot of coffee.

So that's what I do, and by the time I'm done, I feel a little better. Movement has always helped me and as I pour myself a mug of steaming coffee, I glance at the clock on the wall to see if now would be a good time to go to the gym.

Although I don't want to do that and have Katja leave while I'm there, without saying goodbye.

"It's still too early," my wife's voice says from behind me. I turn to watch her come down the stairs, her lilac silk robe wrapped around her lithe figure and her bonnet still on her head.

"Then what are you doing out of bed?"

"Looking for you," she says as she pads over to me. I open my arms for her and she steps into them.

I smell her skin, feel the smooth silk of her bonnet touch the tip of my nose, and I smile.

"And coffee." She stretches out a hand and takes my mug.

"Hey!" I protest, albeit weakly.

"You mean it wasn't for me? I thought you were my good little sub now," Amara teases.

I level a look at her and I mean it to be stern but by the way she giggles and raises her eyebrows as she takes a sip of hot coffee, I know I failed.

"Ama," I say, melting from her gaze on me. "Are we… are we going to be okay?"

Amara puts the mug down on the counter behind me. "Yes, Wren, we are," she says and then presses her lips to mine. It's a short but warm and firm kiss, like a full stop at the end of an important sentence.

"Good, because I can't even think about us not being okay," I say and step out of her hold only to pour myself another coffee.

"I know we're going to be okay," Amara says again as she leans back against the counter, cradling her mug. "All three of us, we're going to be fine."

I twist my neck so sharply it hurts. "All three of us?"

Amara puts her mug down and reaches for my hands. "Don't you feel it too?"

"Feel what?" I ask, dumbly because I already know exactly what she's talking about.

"The connection between all of us," Amara says and her eyes are fixed, unblinking on me. "Katja fits us, so perfectly. I know we haven't talked about a third in a long time?—"

"Because we've barely talked at all in the last six months," I point out.

"But this feels different from before, different from how it was with Emily and all the others."

"There weren't that many." I huff out a laugh. "You make it sound like we had an army of other women."

Amara ignores my weak attempt at humour, and yes, possibly at deflection.

"Besides, I don't think it's fair on Katja," I raise my voice a little. "She's not our therapist or counsellor. It's not her job to fix us. That's no way to invite someone into a relationship."

Amara's mouth snaps closed and her eyes become more heavily lidded. "You're right. Shit, I wasn't thinking… I was just… Last night was so incredible. I'm getting swept away, aren't I?"

"A little." I cup her face with my hand. "But I can't blame you. Last night felt life-changing."

"Because it was." She grips my wrist. "And I don't know if I can go back."

My eyes narrow on her, my breath halting. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I want us to try… The three of us."

I drop my hand. "But it's not up to us, Ama. Katja has a whole life we know nothing about. A life she's about to up-end and move to a new town, today of all days."

"Well," Amara is quick to retort but then pauses before more words follow. "Maybe we can be her fresh start. And she can be ours."

"You don't want a fresh start," I counter. "You love your life with your company, your dinner parties and all your travel and events."

"I love you more." She reaches for my arm. "I love us more, and I have never loved us more than when we were with Katja last night. And not just during the sex, but after, when we were all in bed together. And even before that. Watching you with her making sushi. Knowing that she was a safe place for you to share your worries. And the way she took care of us both during the meal."

I can't argue with Amara, because I feel the same way. And yet, something isn't sitting right with me.

"But we can't want to be with Katja because we want her to fix us. That's just not fair," I say again.

"I agree. And I really don't want her to fix us. I just…" Amara pauses and it doesn't miss me how different and new this version of Amara seems. Or maybe how similar it is to the version of Amara that I first fell in love with. All excitement and ideas and invigorating energy. "We'll get therapy." she announces.

I snort. "Ama, she's not even in a relationship with us, I don't think she'll come to therapy with us off the bat."

"I mean, you and me. We will go to therapy. We've done it separately for years, why not together now? We probably should have done it ages ago."

"We probably should have," I mutter in agreement.

"And we'll let her call the shots. Whatever she wants. We just need to get her to stay in London long enough to give this a go."

"But what if… What if she doesn't want to?" I ask.

Amara's head pulls back in something like disbelief, as if in shock at what I just said. And I could pull her into my arms and squeeze the breath out of her for not doubting herself or us, for having this unending sense of faith in herself and in me.

"I… I," she stutters. "I know it's ridiculous but I feel like last night meant something to her too. I feel like she… I feel like she could love us too."

"Maybe she could," I agree, thinking about how slack her body went in my embrace in bed last night. "But that's not really the question we need an answer to."

Amara frowns at me. "Then what is."

"The question is whether she wants to love us."