Isla emerged from the bedroom, heart pounding, and closed the door behind her. She looked around. The hall was empty.
The hollow internal walls hadn’t muffled the sounds much. There had been moaning, whimpering, sobs of pleasure. Thumping and dragging noises, as though someone’s secret kink was rearranging furniture. She’d even heard a scream from one lucky woman, or possibly a very lucky man. But now there was an eerie silence.
It’s okay, Isla thought. No one will know. She took a second to compose herself, then made her way to the lounge room, trying to keep her face neutral. Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Clementine was sitting on the floor by the fireplace, hugging her knees, her blonde hair a curtain around her face. Like Isla, she wore only a robe.
Isla opened her mouth to say hello, but the sound wouldn’t come. There was a lump in her throat. She ducked back into the hall, hoping Clementine hadn’t seen her.
She couldn’t stay there forever—soon the men would come out. It was against the rules for her to see which bedrooms they emerged from. Then again, who cared about the rules, after what just happened?
There’d been a pond in the backyard of her parents’ house, where she often sat on a warm rock and watched the dragonflies. Isla pictured herself there, looking into the still water. She took a deep breath, held it, released. Then she walked back into the living area, pretending to see Clementine for the first time.
‘Hey,’ she said.
Clementine didn’t look away from the fire.
Isla went to pour herself a glass of sparkling, but the bottle was gone. She opened the pantry and found an open cab sav, brought back by Cole. Thoughtful Cole.
‘Drink?’ she asked.
No response from Clementine.
Back in the hall, a door clicked open. Isla kept her gaze on the wineglasses but listened as footsteps padded around. Another door opened, then closed. A shower hissed.
She brought the two glasses over to the fire. She sat beside Clementine and held one out. Her friend didn’t take it, so Isla placed it gently on the tile next to her. There was an angry red mark around Clementine’s wrist, like she’d been rubbing it.
Another door opened somewhere, but no one emerged from the hall.
Isla watched the glowing coals for a minute. The tears were threatening to come back, but the heat seemed to help, drying out her eyeballs.
The man in her bedroom had made her feel like a goddess. He had kissed every centimetre of her skin, massaged every throbbing muscle. He had escalated slowly, always sensing the moment her frustration became agony. To him, only her pleasure had seemed to matter. She’d never been with a man like that before. He had spent what seemed like hours bringing her to a climax, but then—
Well, she didn’t want to think about what had happened after that.
‘How was it?’ she asked.
Clementine finally turned to look at her. She usually had the bright, cheerful gaze of a fit person; now, her hollow stare shocked Isla.
‘Are you okay?’ Isla asked, alarmed.
Clementine turned back to the fire, tears brimming.
Sympathy crowded out the envy. Isla knew exactly what Clementine was feeling, because she was feeling it too. It was okay to be sexually unfulfilled, stuck forever with a half-hearted man. You could allow yourself to forget what real love felt like and convince yourself you were happy. Until you were with someone else, when it all came rushing back—the sensations you’d denied yourself for years and might never experience again.
‘It’s okay.’ Isla wrapped her arm around Clementine’s shoulders, pulling her into a sideways hug. ‘I know.’
Clementine’s mouth fell open. Her voice was raspy: ‘You do?’
‘What’s got into you two?’ Felicity said from behind them.
Isla laughed, but for once, Felicity didn’t appear to be joking. Her smile looked forced. She’d tied her hair back and dressed in oddly formal-looking pyjamas, with a collar and buttons.
This whole thing was a mistake, Isla thought. It’s done something to all of us.
‘Did you have fun?’ she asked.
‘Ask me again tomorrow,’ Felicity said. ‘I’m still … unpacking. How about you?’
‘Yeah. Same.’
If anyone was willing to talk about the experience, Isla would have expected it to be Felicity. Apparently not.
Felicity cocked her head. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’
Frowning, Felicity disappeared around the corner to the front door. A key rattled, and the door creaked. A moment later she was back. ‘Thought I heard something outside. Just my imagination, I guess.’ She went to sit next to Isla and Clementine, then paused when she spotted the wine on the bench. She poured, her back to the others.
Isla wished she could go to bed, but the men were still in the rooms. A flaw in the plan—they all had to confront each other right after the act. A six-person walk of shame.
Isla had never experienced a comfortable silence, and she certainly wasn’t experiencing one now. She always felt like it was her responsibility to speak, to keep everyone else happy and entertained—unless it was Dom she wasn’t speaking to, in which case his discomfort was the point.
But what could you say to someone when you’d just slept with their husband, and they knew it? The issue was too dangerous to talk about but too big to ignore.
Isla was still trying to find a safe path through the landmines when Oscar emerged from the hall, damp from the shower. He looked years younger, his cheeks flushed, his posture erect—but his expression was vaguely mournful. Was he, too, reflecting on his experience and the fact that it would never be repeated?
An emotion halfway between anger and grief flashed through Isla. Another woman had given Oscar something he used to get from her.
He smiled at the others, but his smile faded as he sensed the mood. ‘Uh, hi,’ he said.
‘Oscar,’ Felicity acknowledged, a bit stiffly.
Isla just nodded. Clementine didn’t react at all.
‘Cole and Dom are still …?’ Oscar jerked a thumb towards the hall.
‘Seems so,’ Isla said.
Oscar found empty glasses and started washing them in the sink, perhaps so he didn’t have to make eye contact with anybody.
‘There’s a dishwasher,’ Isla pointed out.
‘Seems wasteful,’ Oscar said. ‘Since Cole didn’t buy much powder.’
‘What didn’t I do?’ Cole entered the room, wearing a tank top and boxer shorts.
Isla averted her eyes. The experiment was over; she no longer had permission to ogle him.
‘It’s all good, mate,’ Oscar said. ‘I was just saying I didn’t want to waste the dishwasher powder you brought.’
‘It’s a self-cleaning oven—maybe we could put the dishes in there,’ Cole joked awkwardly.
Oscar smirked. ‘If we leave the door open, maybe it’ll clean the whole house.’
Felicity stood up, apparently sick of the banter. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Wait,’ Isla said. ‘Dom’s not out yet.’
‘So?’
‘So if you see which room he was in, you’ll know whether he was your—’
‘He wasn’t,’ Felicity said shortly.
Isla stiffened. They all looked at one another.
Felicity made a move towards the hall, but Isla stepped into her path. ‘We agreed we’d wait for everyone.’
‘It’s almost midnight,’ Felicity said. ‘Aren’t you tired?’
Isla was more than tired: she felt like she’d just given birth. ‘I’m sure he’ll be out soon.’
‘Don’t count on it. He usually conks out right after. If you wanted to kidnap Dom, you could use sex instead of chloroform.’
Oscar laughed. No one else did.
‘I could go get him,’ Cole suggested. ‘I know which room he—’
‘For God’s sake.’ Felicity stepped around Isla and walked into the hall. ‘Dom! Come out! We all want to go to bed.’
Isla was about to follow but stopped herself, turning her back. She wasn’t supposed to see which room Dom was in.
‘Dom?’ She heard Felicity opening the two doors downstairs. Footsteps on carpet. Accelerating. Hurried thumps as Felicity went up the stairs.
A minute later she came back down. Her eyes were wild. ‘Where the fuck is my husband?’ she demanded.