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It was possible that Jamie hadn’t entirely thought through this adventure. Flying to Spain to spend a month-long holiday with the wife of the man he was sleeping with? He felt woefully under-prepared. That this only occurred to him twenty minutes into the flight, when Nerea started to doze over her magazine, was perhaps the clearest evidence of this fact.
His impulse was to put an arm around her and pull her head onto his shoulder. At the very least he wanted to twine his fingers with hers while they both napped. He was used to wrapping himself around Callum or Nerea whenever he could, whether at their flat or, occasionally, his. Even on set he had sometimes let himself touch, because no one took the physical affection between performers seriously. In pubs, the presence of alcohol had also given him some leeway.
But now, on this airplane, with someone else’s wife, Jamie realized that such gestures were not his to make, not in public, not now and possibly not ever. The sentiment tore him, not with jealousy, but with longing. Even sitting right next to her, he wanted more; needed, even, to feel the softness of her skin, to lean over and bury his nose in the scent of her hair.
Struck by a burst of inspiration, Jamie draped his jacket over his lap and half of hers. Nerea stirred slightly. She cracked open one eye and gave him a smile as he laced his fingers through hers under the cover of fabric. Jamie’s heart soared. Maybe this relationship could be less about limits and more about clever, if simple, solutions.
* * *
WHEN THEY LANDED, NO one gave either of them a second glance as they collected their luggage and dealt with the vague formality of immigration. They were only two hours and change from London and yet, as they stepped out of the airport and into the long-term parking lot, Britain was an entire world away. Here, the air was warmer and the quality of the sunlight different. The faint smell of soil in the air was a marked contrast to the exhaust and dampness of London.
“Which car is yours?” Jamie asked, pulling Nerea’s suitcase and his own behind him.
Nerea dug a set of keys out her purse and clicked a fob. She posed with a smug hand on her hip as an absolutely absurd and completely gorgeous hunter green convertible with a cream interior chirped a few yards off.
“Do you want me to drive?” Jamie’s mouth was slightly agape. He had meant the words to be an offer, but he knew he was begging. The car was beautiful and would surely be even more stunning if he had its wheel under his hands.
But Nerea was shaking her head. “Oh no, no, no,” she said. “This baby is mine.”
With a stop for groceries, the drive to the house took nearly as long as the flight had. Soon the city was behind them, and they tore along narrow roads at speeds that probably should have been terrifying but Jamie found delightful.
It was early afternoon by the time Nerea finally turned down a long, dusty, driveway to pull up in front of an ancient stone farmhouse. Large windows overlooked a small vineyard that rolled down the gentle slope before the land gave way to the fields, terraces, and plots of Nerea’s neighbors. She pointed out the features of the yard: Behind the house was a garden with a patio, a table and chairs, and a beautiful arbor hung with leafy green plants. To the side of the garage were raised plant beds, practical and filled with vegetables. That garden in turn bordered a thicket where whatever Nerea had once planted with intent had now gone half-wild with vines and brambles. Beyond that was an orchard of fig trees, green and leafy in the summer sun.
“It’s beautiful,” Jamie said as Nerea unlocked the door and led him inside. The entryway was dim but cool after the summer heat outside. Already he couldn’t wait to explore.
“For the amount of time I spend on it, it had better be,” Nerea said, reaching up to take her hair down from the massive tortoiseshell barrette that had kept it out of her face while she drove. “But thank you. Now what would you like first — the rest of the tour, food, or fucking?”
* * *
“A GUEST ROOM?” JAMIE was dismayed.
Nerea, in the process of drawing back the curtains, looked over her shoulder at him.
“You don’t have to sleep here.” Her eyes danced as if he were being very foolish and tripping over his words again, the way he had when he first met her. “But you should have it, in case you want some space to yourself. I have a wedding to plan, the Tate show to start panicking over, and Callum’s things have a way of taking over even when he’s not here. Believe me, you may want the privacy.”
Jamie couldn’t imagine how that would be the case. He was here to spend time with Nerea, not hole himself up in a room away from her and all the goings-on of the house. He’d never needed any sort of distance when they were in London. But he also knew it would be rude to protest too strenuously.
“Now, you should take a shower,” Nerea said. “You smell like plane.”
The bathroom was large and bright, with a window of its own overlooking the flower garden. Jamie had brought his own toiletries, but the bathroom was stocked with soaps and shampoos much nicer than anything he ever bothered to buy and all with a clean, sweet herbal smell. He lingered longer than he expected to in the hot water and fragrant steam, giving himself a chance to clear his mind and soothe his muscles from the long morning of travel. While experience had already told him that Nerea wasn’t big on shower sex — too difficult to choreograph, too hard to keep balance, and too likely to end with someone getting accidentally elbowed — he thought this big space with its fancy tile and fragrant soaps would be excellent for that sort of adventure. Maybe once Callum got here.
After he’d toweled off and put on a clean shirt and jeans, Jamie wandered back downstairs. He heard noises from the kitchen, but on his way there was distracted by a huge expanse of wall between two windows in the living room.
It was covered in photos. In the center, in a large gilt frame, was one of Callum and Nerea on their wedding day. A breeze tugged at Nerea’s veil, and they were surrounded by attendants and family and friends, but Nerea and Callum had eyes only for each other. Other photos showed girls, who Jamie thought must have been Callum and Nerea’s daughters, as children and young women. There were older pictures as well. Parents, Jamie assumed, and grandparents. The oldest photo, black-and-white and faded in its frame, was of a small dark-haired woman and a tall, spare, but very handsome looking man. Jamie recognized the house behind them as this one. Nerea’s grandparents, he guessed.
Jamie wondered what he was doing here. What were Callum and Nerea thinking? When Jamie had thought about relationships before meeting them, he had always assumed he’d be with somebody as clueless and inexperienced with life and dating as he was. Not an older couple, married at that, with big, complex lives and adult children. He probably should have ordered more than one book.
Subdued and uncertain, he made his way to the kitchen. It was massive, bigger than Nerea and Callum’s entire flat in London. Exposed beams ran across the ceiling at a height Callum would never need to worry about. The large kitchen island, the cupboards and the counters were all warm, rustic browns and reds. The windows looked out onto the vegetable garden Nerea had pointed out from the front of the house, the plants green and heavy in the afternoon sun. Something pretty and classical, the gentle lilt of strings, played from a small speaker by the brushed steel refrigerator.
At the far end of the room, at the counter between sink and stove, was Nerea. Her back was to him and Jamie took a moment to look his fill without her echoing scrutiny of him. Also freshly showered, her hair was damp and hung down her back in loose curls. The dress she had changed into — gold and green tones in a loose, flowing cut — Jamie hadn’t seen before. But more importantly to his rumbling stomach, she was cooking.
“How’d you get down here so fast?” Jamie asked, leaning over the counter to get a better look at what Nerea was doing.
“Magic. Don’t touch,” Nerea smacked Jamie’s hand aside when he tried to sneak a taste.
“Can I help?”
Nerea looked up and seemed to consider him. Jamie hoped she would give him something to do. It was lovely here, but he was a long way from home, from Dublin and London both. Work would help him feel less out of place and perhaps take the edge off the way he felt Callum’s presence — and absence — in this house so keenly.
Nerea smiled. “Of course,” she said. “Cut these up for me?” She pointed to a heap of potatoes on the island.
When the food was done, simple omelettes of potatoes and herbs, they ate behind the house on a small patio under an arbor of vines, at a wooden table flanked by benches. As Nerea took her own seat Jamie realized, with an odd jolt, that his seat was likely Callum’s usual one.
“Tomorrow we’ll go into the village to get some more provisions, and you can get acquainted with the town,” Nerea told him as they ate. “I’ll see if Margarita can come for dinner — I think you two will like each other.”
“Does Margarita know about me?” Jamie asked hesitantly.
Nerea nodded.
“How much does she know?” Jamie hoped he didn’t sound too alarmed but suspected he probably did.
“That you and Callum started dating at work and now you’re coming to visit us here. And presumably whatever else she’s read on the internet.”
“Except Callum’s not here so — ”
Nerea cut him off. “My daughter may judge me, but she does not get to judge me more than her father for doing the same things he does.”
“Ah.” Jamie clamped his mouth shut. Nerea’s ferocity reminded him of his mother and his sisters, not that they’d ever had to defend multiple lovers to anyone. But that the world treated women differently for the same choices made by men, he was aware of. He wished it could be otherwise but he felt powerless to change the situation. He was learning, with Nerea’s help, that the least he could do was offer them his full support and make sure that anyone within earshot did the same.
“If you have questions, Jamie, you know you can ask them.”
Jamie made a sort of despairing sound. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Nerea smiled at him. “I doubt that’s true.”
* * *
“I KNOW YOU EXPLAINED about me being in the guest room,” Jamie said later, after they’d brought in the dishes and were back at the table outside with coffee. The sun hung low in the sky now, turning the green of the landscape gold and pouring long shadows across it. The heat of the day had faded, and the breeze, warm and gentle, stirred the ends of Nerea’s loose hair.
“What about it?” Nerea stirred sugar into her cup.
“Is that about giving me space or about giving you space?” Both options were fine, of course, but Jamie’s book kept telling him that assumptions were bad. He just had to hope that Nerea wouldn’t be offended by, or disappointed in, any of his questions.
“While you’re here as our guest — as my guest — this house is yours. But it’s also still mine. And Callum’s. You’re welcome in my bed. If you want to invite me to yours, that’s up to you.”
“You’re sure it’s not weird? I mean, for me to be sleeping in your and Callum’s bed? A lot of men would be uncomfortable with that.”
“Callum’s not a lot of men. And you’ve been doing it for months in London,” Nerea pointed out. “If the situation were reversed, would you be uncomfortable with it?”
“Honestly? I don’t know,” Jamie admitted. “But I wouldn’t like myself very much if I were.”
“We live in the world, Jamie. Some things can be hard even when we don’t want them to be. They don’t get better by pretending they aren’t happening. But no, this is not a problem for Callum and me.”
“Okay,” Jamie said, cautious but game. “But I feel like London’s a flat where you stay when you’re in the city. This is your home. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.”
“As I keep telling you, the only boundaries you could possibly overstep,” Nerea said placidly, “are the ones that exist in your own head, which are a little sexist in that you see me as Callum’s property that you’re trespassing on, rather than as a person who’s inviting you to sleep beside her.”
“Oh.” Jamie was taken aback, because he hadn’t explicitly thought of it in those terms, but Nerea was right. “Wow. I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven,” Nerea said with a smile, as she set her spoon aside and wrapped her hands around her cup.
“Did you and Callum ever have separate rooms?” Jamie asked. He wanted to know how they had arrived at their current outlook on the matter.
“Sometimes I sleep in a spare room if he has a cold and is snoring. Otherwise, no.”
Jamie let out a bark of laughter. He could imagine it — Callum oblivious and Nerea disgruntled, bundling herself down the hall in the middle of the night. He wondered if she took the duvet with her. Probably.
“So you don’t have any space from each other?” he asked.
“You mean other than living in different countries for months at a time? That arrangement makes space less necessary when we are together. But he’s not allowed in my studio when the door’s closed, and I stay out of his study when his door is closed.”
“Callum has a study?”
“He likes the term better than ‘man-cave,’” she said tartly.
* * *
AS THE SUN SLIPPED down behind the hills, Nerea brought Jamie to her studio. It was on the third floor of the house with windows on two sides, through which he could see the surrounding fields, now wrapped in a dusky evening blue.
“Are all these for your gallery show?” Jamie asked, examining the canvasses hung on one of the windowless walls and propped up against various bits of furniture.
“Some.” Nerea seemed to be inventorying paints or brushes as she shifted things about on a workbench.
“What about this?” Jamie asked, pointing to a canvas stacked against others and leaning against a wall out of the path of the light.
Nerea turned to see which one he meant. When she saw, she shook her head. “No.”
“Do you ever show pictures of Callum?”
“Can you imagine? No. It’s the worst part of my job.” Nerea came to stand beside him. “I’m married to the loveliest model, and I can’t share any of my paintings of him.”
The painting was of Callum, nude. It wasn’t what Jamie might have expected of a nude painting of anyone, but then, Nerea’s efforts aside, he didn’t spend a lot of time hanging around museums and studios. There weren’t any silk sheets or magical golden light or dramatic drapery in evidence. It was just Callum, on a bed with blue sheets, stretched out on his side and reading a book, his knees curled up and his cheek propped on his hand.
What struck Jamie, as his gaze traced over Callum’s familiar features, was how Nerea had captured everything that wasn’t airbrushed underwear-model stunning about him: The bit of paunch that his well-tailored pants and shirts usually hid, his thighs that were sort of pale and were far from fit. Callum was a big man, not heavy, but not muscular when his films didn’t require him to be.
All of which Jamie knew, but never paid attention to when they were fucking. Because for all the features some people might consider flaws, Callum was gorgeous. And while all his imperfections were displayed in this painting — and hard to miss, apparently — his beauty was evident too. His ease in his own skin that was so attractive, the warmth of his smile even as he gazed at his book, and his not so occasional melancholy. Beauty was very much in the eye of the beholder, even if sometimes that beholder was the whole world. Nerea had painted this through the lens of her love, and Jamie thought Callum looked absolutely perfect in it.
“Can you do one of me?” Jamie asked, before he was aware he’d given his brain permission to speak the thought. Too much too soon, surely.
Nerea, however, didn’t laugh at him or scold; she looked thoughtful instead.
“We’ll see,” she said.
* * *
NEREA’S BEDROOM WAS clearly the one that featured in the painting of Callum. Even the sheets on the bed might have been the same, though now they were neatly tucked under a wonderfully fluffy-looking coverlet.
“Is there more of the tour?” Jamie asked. “Or can I kiss you now?”
Nerea smiled. “Yes, please.”
It was sheer luxury to have this huge bed in which to be with Nerea, with no constraints of too-low ceilings or too-early set calls. Jamie and Nerea indulged themselves and each other until it grew fully dark outside the windows, with the stars vibrant pinpricks of light against the black.
Nerea, sprawled out on the pillows, beckoned Jamie to her and let him rest his head on her chest while they caught their breath together. His gaze landed on a book on the nightstand, one he knew was one of Callum’s favorites. It was only then that Jamie registered that he still felt slightly strange about sharing this bed with Nerea. Not, he thought, because he saw Nerea as any sort of possession he was stealing from Callum. But because Callum and Nerea had a history. This had been their home for their entire married lives. They’d slept in this bed together since before Jamie had been born. He knew he wasn’t in competition with their history, but it still felt like something he should navigate carefully and honor as best he could.
“I’ve got one more question.” Jamie wriggled off Nerea and onto his back on the soft sheets. He laced hands behind his head. Next to him, Nerea rolled onto her side, her head pillowed on her arm, watching him with an expression he couldn’t put a name to.
“Only one?”
“For now.”
“What is it?”
“Do you play house with all your flings?”
“You think we’re playing house?”
Jamie turned his head to face her, not sure if he was supposed to. But he’d rather face her in the dark than stare at the ceiling and not be able to see her at all.
“Well, we made dinner and did cleanup, and you’ve got an outing planned for us tomorrow, and now we’re in bed together. We both know this isn’t a permanent arrangement. I mean, I’m going back to London in a month.”
“That’s four weeks away.”
“Yeah?” Jamie didn’t see how that changed anything. His point remained, whether it was critical today or next month.
“I know it’s hard when you are young to not always wonder about the future.” Nerea rubbed a hand along Jamie’s shoulder. “But it’s easier to let go if you stop thinking so hard about the rest of the world, or the rest of the year, or the rest of your life.”
“But how....” Jamie trailed off.
“Maybe we’re just different,” Nerea said, her voice soothing. “I do not care about the rest of the world. If I did, I wouldn’t live here.”
Jamie wondered if he was supposed to have clothes on for this kind of conversation, but being dressed had never been a requisite for serious conversations with Nerea or Callum before.
“Maybe we are,” Jamie confessed, nervously. He didn’t know how much such differences would matter, in the long-term. “But it’s only now, today, that I’m realizing I need to work out what it means, that I’m here. I understand what you’re saying about not speculating about the future. But even being with you, here, makes how I see myself and my place in the world complicated.”
“How are you feeling about it right now?” Nerea asked.
“Peculiar.”
“That’s not very specific, Jamie.”
“I know. But it makes me feel temporary. Like any moment some alarm I can’t see will go off, and I’ll wake up, and all this lovely time will be over.”
“And you don’t want that.”
Jamie shook his head, glad that Nerea seemed to understand and that she wasn’t judging him for his feelings. “I don’t.”
* * *
JAMIE WOKE THE NEXT morning to birdsong, the herbal scent of tea, and Nerea tossing a pillow at his head. He jerked upright in bed, confused for a moment by not remembering where he was. But then Nerea — slender, quick, and wonderfully naked — pounced on him.
When they did manage to get out of bed, they opted to skip proper clothes to go downstairs and make breakfast. Jamie, despite the excellent morning sex they’d just had, remained distracted by Nerea wrapped in only a pale peach silk robe. But any plan to do something about that distraction was interrupted when, after they’d finished their torrijas, Nerea looked at her mobile. Margarita and Miguel had just texted and would be arriving shortly.
“I’m not telling you to get dressed,” she said, tugging the belt of the too-large robe Jamie had borrowed from Callum’s closet. “But I would recommend it.”
Upstairs, Jamie spent ten minutes agonizing over which shirt and pants would magically combine to convey a message of Hi, I know I’m dating your parents, but maybe we can be friends? He was still deliberating it when he heard voices at the front door and then in the downstairs hallway. He grabbed clothes almost at random, dressed hurriedly, and went to meet them.
Margarita’s smile when she shook Jamie’s hand immediately put him on edge. It was too perfect and too polite, like the girls he met at industry parties sometimes who were way more practiced at networking than he was. Miguel, a tall, lanky man about Jamie’s age with a self-conscious slouch to his shoulders, seemed nice enough. Jamie could definitely empathize with the potential awkwardness of the moment.
“You’re dating my father,” Margarita said without preamble as Nerea chivied them from the foyer and into the living room.
“We met at work,” seemed the most politic answer, but Margarita didn’t look impressed and likely wasn’t going to make this easy for him. She said something in Spanish that Jamie didn’t understand, but it couldn’t have been good. Nerea frowned, and Miguel became very fascinated by a painting on the wall.
“Margarita, be nice,” Nerea said in English.
“And you’re dating my mother,” Margarita said to Jamie.
“Um. Yes,” Jamie said.
“How old are you?” Margarita asked.
“Devon!” Nerea scolded.
“Don’t call me that,” Margarita snapped.
“I’m sorry. Margarita. Don’t ask questions like that, I didn’t raise you to be rude to guests.”
For a moment there was silence. Jamie was grateful for a pause in the near bickering.
“You probably looked my age up on the internet before you got here, didn’t you?” he put in, attempting to lighten the mood.
Margarita turned toward him with a cool, judgmental look. Obviously, he’d made the wrong choice. Before he could figure out what he was supposed to do, Nerea suggested Margarita join her in the kitchen. It was not a request. Margarita followed her with a last displeased glance back at Jamie and Miguel.
They exchanged uneasy looks. Jamie was pretty sure neither of them had any idea what they were supposed to do in these circumstances. Except sit tight and, on his part at least, not make anything worse.
Miguel, to his relief, spoke first.
“You’re dating Margarita’s mother?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Jamie said. And then because once he had started talking he was not capable of stopping, he added, “And her dad.” As if Miguel could have missed Margarita’s statement of that fact.
“Ah.” Miguel hesitated. “Are you older than Margarita?
“No,” Jamie admitted.
“I didn’t think so.”
“Did you Google me too?” Jamie asked. It was a pathetic attempt at a joke, but Miguel seemed glad to continue a conversation.
“No. Margarita just told me about it. If it helps, she is mostly angry at Callum, not you. Or Nerea”
That was a new wrinkle. “Really? Why?”
Miguel shrugged. “Margarita is usually angry at Callum for something. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t deserve it. No offense.”
“None taken.” Jamie said. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want, but can you tell me why?”
Miguel darted his eyes around the room as if checking for eavesdroppers. Then he leaned closer. Apparently family gossip was what it took to get him out of his shell. He held up a hand and started ticking items off on his fingers. “She resents the drama Callum made when she was a child. She’s annoyed he’s coming here flaunting his boyfriend — I mean, you. And she’s worried about people gossiping and making life hard for Nerea in the village.”
They weren’t unfair points, even if Jamie lacked the details behind them. He nodded and wondered, yet again, if he was in over his head.
“And I think Nerea’s worried about the Tate and the travel and the wedding planning,” Miguel continued, seemingly unburdening himself from his own stress. “She’s been trying to help us long-distance, but there’s only so much she can do. She likes London, but it’s not easy for her always to be away from home.”
“Oh.” Jamie hadn’t known London was difficult, logistically or emotionally, for Nerea. All the time he had spent with her had felt like a holiday, but perhaps that was the problem. He felt like a fool for not realizing it before. Of course she had obligations, cares, and worries beyond just himself and Callum.
As Nerea and Margarita’s awkward absence continued, Jamie wondered what it was like when Callum and Nerea fought. But more than that, Jamie wondered what it would be like if he ever had an argument with one or both of them. Would they join forces and scold him like a child? Or would it be something else? Jamie didn’t have much experience with disagreements in relationships. Most of his hadn’t lasted long enough to encompass such. The ones that had, hadn’t survived them.
Apparently done with their conversation, Miguel pulled out his mobile and started reading something on it. Jamie, with nothing at hand to distract himself with, got lost down a rabbit hole of worry about all the ways he could screw up his current relationships. He was jolted out of his reverie by Nerea appearing in the door to the kitchen.
“Would you boys like something to drink?” she asked.
Jamie blinked and looked up at her. She looked as composed and cheerful as she had when she got out of the shower that morning. Beside her, Margarita looked more than a little sulky.