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The idea of the house remained in the background. And sitting in the small living
area of the hotel room, a pot of tea brought up by room service, cricket on the TV,
I could feel it coming. And when Tristan turned down the volume on the commentators,
I knew that moment was here.

He sat down at the table, and poured out more tea for both of us. “Lily.”

“Tristan.”

“I haven’t brought this up again, but we…” He set his cup down. “Hell, Lily. We need
to talk about this. It’s not that bad is it, the idea of living with me? Having a
house? It’s been good, I thought.”

I shook my head. “That’s not it. You know that’s not it. I’m sorry. Yes. Maybe it’s
the wedding. No. I don’t know.”

Tristan looked at me, lips in a thin line. “You’re a terrible liar. But maybe you
really don’t know.”

I sighed. “Tristan. I’m doing my best. Show me the house.”

He smiled. He couldn’t help himself. And it struck me, that maybe this was something
he really wanted. Something I should say yes to regardless of anything else. I focused,
and he had his phone out, going through the pictures.

Tristan swiped his finger across the screen. “And here—there’s an extra bedroom. For
guests.”

I smiled at him. “For Trevor. And AC. Except he won’t need it.”

Tristan frowned. “Don’t be so sure, Lily. What we do, the three of us—that’s a choice.
Nothing says anything needs to happen just because it did. We’re friends, lovers,
not cell mates.”

I nodded. I didn’t know what to say.

Tristan put his arm around me. “It’s a spark. It’s creative energy. It needs space.”

I buried my head in his chest. “But…” I wasn’t sure how to go on. I could feel Tristan
smiling into my hair.

“But what? Don’t hide what you’re thinking. Not now. Please.” Tristan sighed. “Lily.”

“But, then why are we together? Why the little house? Why every day for us? What about
AC?”

Tristan held me tighter. “Because. Because we work together. Remember? ‘Better together
than apart?’”

I nodded. “But you care for AC.”

Tristan shrugged. “Yes. I do. So do you. And it’s not doing him a disservice to let
him do what he wants. When he wants to be here, with us…” He looked at his hands.
“We want what we want. It’s a question of respect. And,” he paused to scroll to a
picture of the kitchen, “look. Love is care. Not control.” He winked at me. “Sometimes.”

“As long as you’re not doing,” I poked at the stove on the screen, “all this because
you think you should, or because it’s easier.” I looked up at him. “I couldn’t bear
that.”

“Easier? You?” Tristan spluttered. “Hardly. Lily. Listen. Love isn’t just one story.
This is ours. Let it be. Stop asking why it’s different.”

“Ok. Yes. But. Everything we’ve been taught to think…”

He interrupted me. “Is nothing compared to what’s possible.” He bent down and kissed
me. “Since when did you care what you’ve been told?” He rolled his eyes. “Easy. You.
What an idea.”

He kissed me again. And then pulled away, and looked at me. He carefully put together
a thick strand of my hair, and started twisting it around his finger. He gave a little
smile, then pulled on it, hard, so that I lost my balance and fell against his chest.
He tugged again, and then his mouth was on mine. Not for the first time, I wondered
where the hell Tristan had learned to kiss. Maybe it was just because he so obviously
liked doing it. Kissing for him was something to be appreciated on its own, not a
stop on the way. He always took his time. I had forgotten to wonder where his skills
had been acquired when he broke away, and began pulling me across the room by the
lock of hair as he backed towards the door. “We don’t have anywhere to go right now,
do we? We’re seeing the house in a few hours, I’ve got a driver, it should take just
over an hour to get there, if we’re lucky…”

I interrupted him, astonished. “We are? You must have been very certain I’d agree.”

He tugged on my hair again, and gave me that crooked smile. “You can always say no.”
He smiled at me. “Want to say no?”

I couldn’t resist him. That impish, slightly dangerous smile. “No,” I answered, and
he laughed.

“Come on then. I hate to be rushed.” And Tristan dropped the lock of hair and picked
up my hand, bringing it to his lips. Then holding my hand, he made me follow him into
the bedroom.

* * *

Afterwards, lying there on the white hotel sheets, surrounded by pillows, and very
naked, everything felt right. Tristan let out a long sigh.

“Better? Less tense?” He laughed. “No, seriously. Are you all right? This is good,
isn’t it?” He shifted so he could wrap his arm around me. “Be even better in our own
place. No more front desks.”

I laughed. “They’re not all so bad.”

“You say that now. Tell me how you feel in five years.”

“Tristan?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t really believe all that crap you were talking before, do you?”

Tristan burst out laughing. “Lily. You’re too smart for me.”

“Hardly. Do you?”

He pulled me close to him. “Some of it. Depends on the day. But really, I don’t like
being told what to do. Simple. People strangle themselves with their own made-up rules.
I’d rather not do that to myself. Or anyone else. You. AC.”

I took a deep breath. “So. You’re really here because you want to be?”

Tristan rolled on his back and pulled me on top of him. His face was lit up. “At last!
She gets it. Better late than never, though.” He smacked my backside. “Come on, my
love. We’ve got a home to inspect.”

chapter twenty-nine

London

We had finally checked out of the hotel, and decided to get a cab to go up to Sarah’s
house. Tristan thought there was a certain risk in booking a car and driver to take
us up there, especially after he’d noticed the driver who had taken us out to see
the house taking a cell phone picture of us. “Not that I mind,” he’d said, “but ask
first. Especially if I’m doing something on my own time.” So we found ourselves in
the roomy back seat of a black cab, heading through London, our suitcases with us
to save time getting in. My dress was already there. Tristan had brought along the
suit the designer had given him for the awards show. And holding hands, flung together
slightly at turns and traffic lights, we watched the streets go by.

The visit to the house was been more fun than either of us had expected, except for
the snap-happy driver. I wanted to talk about it on the way back, but Tristan had
put a finger to my lips, nodding up at the driver. Afterwards, at dinner, he had said
something that made me realize again how important this was to him. “I’ll be fucked
if we get this place, and then a little army of photographers starts camping out by
the road. Fans I can just about handle, as long as they don’t come to the door wanting
a cup of tea. But I’d like this to be under wraps.” He laughed, a little bitterly.
“At least for a while.” He looked thoughtful. “It was a little far away though, wasn’t
it? I wonder if we could find the same sort of thing in London. Almost easier to disappear
in a city.”

The cab stopped in front of the house, and there was Nick at the door, waving, then
running over to help us with our bags, like he’d just remembered we would have suitcases.
Then he greeted us warmly, a kiss for me, and a solid handshake for Tristan, and ushered
us into the cozy house. I suddenly felt I was looking at everything with new eyes,
comparing, weighing the possibilities. The rooms were small but the overall effect
was welcoming. The sound of the door shutting seemed protective, instead of claustrophobic.
After we dropped our bags in the living room, Nick ushered us into the kitchen, where
he had a bottle of wine and a selection of antipasti laid out on the wooden table.
The olives were huge and green. Everything seemed brilliantly colored and fresh. We
all started speaking at once, and Tristan laughed.

Nick grinned. “I guess I’m lonely. Sarah’s been at her mum’s for three days now. Thought
I’d demonstrate my domestic talents. So I went to the Italian deli.” He suddenly looked
shocked. “Oh my god. Aren’t you macrobiotic or vegan or something? I can get something
else.” He started to get up.

Tristan waved an arm. “Not this week. Even if I were, this looks fantastic. I’d never
turn down a meal like this. Thank you.”

Nick looked really pleased, like he had done something particularly good. Then he
seemed a little nervous, like he’d just remembered everything. Having a famous person
in the house was not a normal everyday thing. For him.

“Hey, Nick, let’s open the wine. Tell us about all the preparations. I think you look
remarkably calm,” I said, pulling out a chair. Tristan followed me, and we sat down,
while Nick fished around for a corkscrew.

He laughed. “It’s a wonder what wine will do. Explains the Greeks and Romans, without
a doubt.”

“Not Californians, though,” Tristan said slowly.

Nick laughed, and pulled open the cork with a flourish. “In all fairness though, it’s
been a boon to this bridegroom. Settles the nerves beautifully.” And he did seem to
relax, just a little, which made Tristan less on edge as well. I watched them talk,
helping themselves to food, wondering how I had let such different people into my
life, wondering what I had that they had in common. Nick poured me some more wine.
“So quiet, Lily. Not like you. Here, eat something.”

And we sat there, doors to the garden open, the sound of the builders a few gardens
down breaking the quiet. Nick was describing all the hurdles, the caterers, the vicar
breaking his ankle, Sarah’s mother thinking it was a bad omen and nearly insisting
they change the church. But he seemed to take it all in stride. Even though the wedding
was tomorrow, and Sarah was out staying with her mother in the country, near Oxford,
where the wedding was to take place. They had found an old stone parish church, about
10 miles from where Sarah’s mother lived, in a small village. With the church came
a charming vicar who was willing to let them add to their wedding vows at the last
minute, as they kept making little changes to what they wanted to say.

The second bottle open, Nick clapped his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “You should try
it. This nuptial bliss.” His face changed as he realized what he had said. “You know
what I mean. You understand. We’re very happy.” He paused and looked around. “Well,
except of course for our house being turned upside down and becoming a repository
for stray bits of tulle and lace. I can’t say I understand all of it, not particularly.
But it seems to make the ladies happy, so who am I to argue. And I get on quite well
with her mother. Her father likes me as well, thinks I’m solid. That’s important…”
He trailed off. “I’m getting off topic here. Anyway, yes, it’s a good thing. You should
take it up.” Tristan said nothing, but nodded calmly, and carried on drinking his
wine.

We all sat there in silence, listening to the planes fly overhead, and the radio on
at the house next door. I excused myself to go up to the loo, and left them there.
Tristan had mentioned the cricket, and Nick was describing the last time he’d been
to Lord’s to see the cricket and how different it was from when he was a boy. Tristan
was nodding and looking calm, if a little out of place, bracelets and long hair, and
a t-shirt, his leather jacket hanging over the back of the chair, while Nick was trim
as usual in his button down shirt and cargo shorts, which all the men of London seemed
to have affected during this very warm summer. Still, it suited him. He looked as
though he could be at an expensive office picnic. Tristan, as usual, looked like he
had just rolled out of bed, or climbed out of a dungeon of a studio at 5 a.m. I walked
through the house. It was true—Sarah had even taken to tying ribbons and tulle around
the bannister. It did have the air of a slightly mad tea party or dress-up party gone
wild. I splashed water on my face in the small bathroom and glanced at myself in the
mirror. I looked satisfied. There was no reason to want more. I already have more
than I ever anticipated, I thought. Or dreamed of. I spent a moment trying to sift
through the tangle of my feelings. Was I a bit jealous? Maybe. But it felt childish.
Petty. Sarah was happy and that’s what counted. And so was I. I didn’t have much faith
in man-made institutions anyway. Life had brought us together. That was more than
enough. I pulled on the cord to turn off the fan, and shut the unpainted old pine
door behind me.

When I came back downstairs, Nick and Tristan had both left their chairs and were
walking around the edges of the small lawn in the garden, seemingly examining the
roses while Nick pruned them indifferently with a small set of clippers, but actually
deep in conversation. I turned and made my way back into the kitchen. It looked like
one of those moments, when men finally ask each other questions. Nick was definitely
nervous. I couldn’t blame him. As lovely and mad as Sarah was, it was a big step after
all. And I was glad to see that Nick and Tristan seemed to get on, as improbable as
it was. It would have been completely impossible for me to believe it only several
months ago, and here we all were.

I turned on the kettle to boil water for tea, and stood looking at the cupboards.
Compulsively, I opened them, one by one. The neat arrangement of cups in one, glasses
and wine glasses in another, dishes in the next was at once reassuring and unnerving.
I’d never really put down roots, whatever that meant. I didn’t put up pictures. Hell,
I didn’t even own a wine glass. I always thought I’d be moving on. Unpacking always
felt dangerous. You couldn’t run if your stuff was scattered around. But ironically
enough, most of my belongings were scattered around. Things I’d given away, stuck
in someone’s garage, sold for peanuts—I could see them all like a parade marching
past—each thing representing a different time in my life. But that’s all they were,
I thought, things. Except I missed them, sometimes. And looking out at Tristan and
Nick, who was now evidently showing him how to prune roses, I wondered what it was
I did want.

I shut each cabinet carefully, feeling a little like I was in a museum, and went to
throw a tea bag in my mug and pour out the water and some milk. I took a deep breath,
and blinked a few times. This was as stable as it got. And I loved him, I loved Tristan
more than I thought it was possible to care about anyone. He was loyal, he worked
hard, he was crazy, he wanted more from people than most of them were capable of giving.
I sat down with a thud at the wooden table. That was it. There was one of the traits,
one of the many, that we had in common. Wanting more than most people were willing
to sign up for. I stirred my tea, and stared off into space. Everything suddenly felt
a little too real, a little too close to the bone. It all was a weird dream, and then
it would end, and here we were, whirling in space, thinking all our little problems
really mattered. I put my elbows on the table and closed my eyes, leaning my head
on my hands. Love. What we needed, what kept us going, and so scary, so uncertain,
so dangerous.

I heard footsteps coming in, and I quickly wiped my eyes and brushed back my hair
with my hands and put on the best imitation of a smile I could muster. When Tristan’s
head appeared from the other side of the red partition wall dividing the hall from
the kitchen, I did smile. He was so lovely. Not just beautiful and talented, but someone
who did what he believed in, or tried. He had suffered, but most people didn’t know
that and he didn’t tell them. But I knew. He came over to me and tugged at my hand
to pull me off the chair. I walked the two steps into his arms and he kissed the top
of my head as he held me. “Lily, love, what’s wrong? You disappeared.”

I tried to give a half laugh. “I needed tea. Just a moment by myself.”

He pushed me back slightly, so he could examine my face. “That’s not all of it. Is
it the wedding? Nick?” He frowned.

I shook my head quickly. “No, it’s not Nick. Or the wedding. Not really. Just me.”

Tristan waited, still and patient.

“It’s ok.” I stepped out of his arms. Then I pointed to the cabinets. “Look.” I opened
one, then another. “She…they…have wine glasses.” I opened another one. “Look. Plates,
all neatly stacked.” I waved my arm to indicate the room. “Cookbooks. Prints. Paint
colors chosen. Do you know how long I’ve lived with bare white walls?”

Tristan watched me, carefully. I suddenly felt like I’d made a fool of myself, harping
on about things that didn’t matter, not really. There were people living in trees.
They were happy. I didn’t need colored walls. Or matching china. I cleared my throat.
“It’s ok, forget it. Having a moment.”

Tristan’s face changed. “You don’t need to front it out, Lily. That’s not what I’m
here for.” He opened a cabinet and peeked in. I smiled watching him, his long fingered
hands holding the pine door carefully, as though it might break. “It is incredibly
neat. Some people are just like that.” He shut the door. “Where are your things, Lily?
Do you have any? Things from childhood?” His eyes were very blue it seemed, through
the hazel and grey. I felt a bit like I was being x-rayed. I closed my eyes.

“Some. Not much. Some things in storage at an old friend of my mother’s house. I gave
a lot away. When I moved. Some stuff got lost in transit. That sort of thing.”

“And childhood possessions?” Tristan took my hands in his.

“Gone, really.” I leaned on him. He smelled green, like cut stems and earthy heat.
“I don’t know what happened to everything. Well, that’s not true. The furniture was
auctioned off.” I broke off. “I guess…other things just went with it.”

Tristan had his arms around me, his head leaning against mine. “You’re a good friend,
you know. To come here.”

He was warm. I moved closer. “I am? But it’s her wedding. That’s normal. I am her
friend.”

Tristan was stroking my hair. “It’s salt in an old wound.”

I shook my head, furiously, but I didn’t say anything.

He held me tighter. “We can make this better. Lily.” And he lifted my head away from
his shoulder and rubbed a thumb along my cheekbones, before licking off the tears
from his finger. Then he leant down, placing his mouth on mine, so perfectly, his
lips soft. I felt another tear roll down and he caught it on his tongue. I choked
out a little laugh. He was so silly, doing this. I’d be fine.

I hugged him tighter, and whispered against his mouth. “I’m just emotional. Isn’t
that right? Weddings. All that.”

Tristan didn’t say anything, but he kissed me again, his mouth soft, his body solid
against mine. Then he pulled away, and fixed his eyes on mine. “I will make this better.”

I had to smile back at him. His face was so serious. The sound of Nick coming up the
steps from the garden broke through my thoughts. Standing almost on tiptoe, I kissed
him quickly on the mouth. “You already do.”

* * *

The wedding day dawned fresh and bright. It looked as though we were going to avoid
the rain, and Sarah would have her wedding pictures outdoors after all. We had come
downstairs early, to get some breakfast before all the craziness began. But we hadn’t
been sitting there long before the doorbell rang. Nick got up from the table to answer
it, and came back in the room with a tallish blond man with a vaguely athletic air.
It was one of his friends from work who had offered to come over and help him get
ready. His large gold band seemed to be part of his somewhat fleshy hand, set there
in the skin. He came in the room and caught sight of Tristan, who was sitting at the
kitchen table with a cup of tea, reading the papers. He blinked. “I’m sure, aren’t
you…” rose and died on his lips, as Nick made the introductions.