by Grace Lowrie
As my heart rate started to steady I shifted to one side, rolling on to my back beside Sebastian as I tried to catch my breath. I could just hear Celeste snoring gently in the bedroom.
‘Jesus, Natasha,’ Sebastian breathed. ‘Will I ever get enough of you?’
‘I hope not,’ I confessed.
Sebastian shifted onto his side to look down at me and gently traced the side of my face with his faintly scarred knuckles. ‘No one else can reach me the way you do,’ he murmured.
My breath caught at the sorrowful sincerity in his words and I just looked at him for a moment. ‘Where do you go?’ I asked softly.
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘I do.’
‘I don’t want you to know.’
‘Why?’
Sebastian paused thoughtfully. ‘I don’t want you to worry,’ he said at last.
His reply worried me. I tried a different tack. ‘Have you spoken to anyone about it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh.’ His answer surprised me.
‘I saw a psychiatrist for a while, in Paris, a few years ago,’ he said quietly. ‘I was diagnosed with depression, I had a lot of counselling – did a lot of talking – I even tried various pills …’ Sebastian idly curled the ends of my hair around his fingers and I held my breath hoping he would continue. ‘I don’t think any of it made much difference,’ he shrugged. ‘There is no miracle cure. It’s a part of me – it’s always been there – that’s just how my brain’s wired.’
I stared into Sebastian’s eyes, struggling and failing to hide my concern and he gently smoothed the creases on my forehead with his thumb.
‘Is it constant? Do you always feel depressed?’ I asked gently.
‘No. Some days are easier than others – some days I almost feel normal. Sometimes I can sense it creeping up on me and I can take evasive action, ward it off. I’m used to it; I’ve got a handle on it.’
‘Does Celeste know?’ I whispered.
‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t want her to worry – she’s not as strong as you.’
‘But what if it gets really bad and …’ I trailed off as my mouth dried.
‘I won’t let that happen,’ Sebastian asserted in a low voice. ‘I wouldn’t do that to Celeste – or to you.’
I gazed at Sebastian’s handsome face as I tried to absorb what he was telling me. I’d already suspected he might suffer from depression, but now that he had confirmed it I was at a loss as to what to say. He had already sought professional help and he obviously felt he had it under control, but I still wanted to help.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ I asked lamely.
‘Oh Natasha,’ he sighed taking my hand, lifting it to his mouth, and kissing it. ‘You do so much already. You have no idea how good you are for me – I’ve felt alive ever since you came back into our lives. Before you I was just surviving life day to day, focusing almost entirely on my career; that, and keeping Celeste happy. Now I’m actually enjoying life – and that’s because of you. I wish we’d moved back to London sooner,’ he added.
‘I wish you had too.’ I smiled ruefully.
‘I never imagined just how happy we could be together, the three of us …’ Sebastian murmured. Then suddenly he regarded me intently, anxiously. ‘But I have demons, Natasha, I’m not the greatest person to be around and if you are not comfortable with –’
‘No, I love you,’ I blurted out, squeezing his hand tightly. ‘You know I do, you and Celeste, I love you both.’ I added firmly.
He looked at me for a moment, as if staring into my soul. ‘You and Celeste are
everything to me,’ he said.
Chapter Forty-two
When I woke on Wednesday morning Celeste was propped up on her elbows, watching me with interest as I surfaced into consciousness.
‘Morning, darling,’ she purred huskily.
‘Morning,’ I mumbled, stretching and yawning widely. ‘You OK?’
‘Ugh, ugly hangover, but I’ve had worse, I’ll live.’
I sat up squinting in the sunshine. ‘Where’s Sebastian?’
‘I don’t know, darling – he’s probably gone for a run or something equally healthy.’
‘Oh,’ I yawned again, collapsing lazily back onto the bed.
‘Maybe I should do some exercise,’ Celeste mused.
‘Yeah?’ I rolled onto my side and watched as she sat up and stretched, her silky hair tumbling over the perfect swell of her breasts.
‘Mmm, maybe some yoga would help ease my headache.’
‘OK … I’ll watch.’
Celeste slid daintily off the bed, tutting. ‘I’m going to get a drink first, do you want one?’ she asked.
‘Yes please,’ I called after her as she disappeared out the door. I pushed myself up onto my knees and peered out the window, shading my eyes with my hand. In the distance I could see Sebastian running along the beach close to the water line. I recognised his athletic form, his long stride, and his committed pace.
As Celeste began her routine on the bedroom floor, I sipped cold juice in bed. I noticed she was wearing just a small pair of silk knickers with a pink lacy edge. Celeste started with a series of straightforward standing stretches; matching her slow movements to her measured breaths. The sun created a soft halo of light around her body as she stood framed by blue sky in the window and shifted into a balance pose. She perched delicately on the toes of one foot whilst extending her other leg and one arm straight out and up to the side, like a ballerina; her shoulders back, neck long, and pert nipples pointing forwards. Once she had repeated the pose on the other leg she bent gracefully into a standing forward fold, hugging her knees with her arms and exposing the narrow strip of silk between her thighs.
Next Celeste moved onto her hands and knees, her fingers spread, and I knew what was coming – the anticipation made me damp and achy with lust. She lifted her back first, tucking her tailbone under and curving her spine as high as it would go, like a cat stretching, and then effortlessly sank into the counter-stretch, dipping her back, lifting her head, and tipping her sweet arse up into the air like a sexy, gift-wrapped invitation.
I crawled forwards for a closer view and slid off the bed onto the floor behind Celeste. She pretended not to notice at first and continued to alternately flex and arch her back, slowly and seductively.
‘Ugh, your presence is too distracting,’ Celeste groaned, dragging me down onto my back. She fixed me with her darkly dilated eyes, her cheeks flushed with a rosy glow, and licked her lips provocatively. Just knowing that I had this effect on Celeste Walker turned me on. She lazily dragged her fingers up my body from my thigh, across my stomach and between my breasts, simultaneously caressing me and exciting me with her fingernails and her hungry eyes, before kissing me hard. She slipped her leg between mine and daintily coaxed my nipples with her fingers as I ground shameless against her thigh. She whispered against my lips even as she was kissing me; something about my sexy strength and beauty; about how much she wanted me, about how I was all hers and how she’d never, ever, let me go … I was lost in her loving words; lost in blissful sensation as the pleasure built and tipped me fluidly into ecstasy. I came languorously, gasping into Celeste’s mouth as I unravelled beneath her delicate, feminine touch.
Once we were showered and clad, albeit scantily, Celeste sat me down on the main terrace so that she could paint my nails. I heard the front door open and shifted in my seat to see Sebastian as he entered.
‘Morning, ladies. You’re up already! I thought you’d still be dead to the world,’ he said. Celeste rolled her eyes and continued rummaging through her make-up bag for yet more bottles of nail varnish while I undressed her brother’s slick body with my eyes.
‘How’s your hangover?’ he asked Celeste, draping an arm over her shoulder.
‘Eww, get off, you’re all sweaty,’ she complained shrugging away from him. ‘I’m fine, actually. I did some yoga.’
Sebastian smiled at
me and I felt a blush creep up to my cheeks but he didn’t comment. ‘Have you girls had breakfast yet? I thought I’d make American pancakes.’
‘Ooh,’ Celeste and I enthused in unison.
‘That would be lovely, thank you, darling … now go have a shower.’ Celeste waved a hand distractedly at Sebastian, while she set out the little bottles of polish in a neat row across the table. Sebastian and I exchanged a look as he left with a bemused shake of his head.
Celeste took her time shaping, filing, and buffing my fingernails before selecting a colour. She had decided on aqua – a pale, pearlescent green-blue which she felt would complement my newly sun-kissed skin. I deferred to her expert judgement and watched rapt as she neatly and efficiently painted each nail.
‘You have such a steady hand, Celeste.’
‘It’s just practise.’
Something Sebastian once said came back to me and I took the opportunity to ask Celeste about it. ‘Sebastian said you don’t paint anymore – pictures I mean?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ I asked gently. ‘Don’t you miss it?’
Celeste kept her eyes down. ‘It reminds me of my mum,’ she said quietly.
‘Oh. Is that a bad thing?’
Celeste sighed as she finished my last nail. She carefully screwed the lid back on tight and then looked at me with pain in her eyes. ‘I think I remind Sebastian of her sometimes and I don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything that will make him feel bad.’
Before I could say anything Celeste noticed Sebastian in the doorway and quickly busied herself collecting the bottles and noisily cramming them back into her make-up bag. Sebastian was freshly showered, his hair damp, and was wearing only a pair of shorts.
‘Sorry, I was just going to ask …’ Sebastian held up the frying pan in his hand and then stopped mid-sentence as what he had heard sank in. ‘Do you really not paint because of me?’ he asked in disbelief.
‘Not just because of you … It’s not … I don’t …’ Celeste stuttered, flustered. ‘It’s none of your business,’ she said defensively. ‘I don’t hassle you about your photography.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sebastian asked, surprised.
‘You don’t photograph people anymore – not even me.’ Her voice broke on the final word, exposing her hurt. She swallowed. ‘You stopped and I don’t understand why, but I don’t give you a hard time about it!’ Tears sprang to Celeste’s eyes and I instinctively wanted to comfort her, but my nails were tacky and I suddenly felt like I was intruding. Sebastian gazed at Celeste in bewilderment, temporarily rendered speechless by her outburst.
It was crazy that the twins, as close as they were, hadn’t broached this subject before now. It seemed so obvious to me. For years they’d been trying to protect each other by hiding their pain, when they should have been sharing it and dealing with it, instead.
‘I … I’m sorry. I …’ Sebastian faltered. ‘I’m not sure I know why I stopped shooting people.’ Sebastian looked uncharacteristically lost and confused as he tried to make sense of Celeste’s feelings and his own. ‘I just didn’t feel comfortable with it anymore. I didn’t realise it bothered you … Of course I’ll take your photograph if –’
‘No,’ Celeste cut him off. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
I stood and moved towards the door and two sets of eyes followed me. ‘I’m going to leave you two to talk for a bit,’ I said, carefully prising the frying pan out of Sebastian’s hand.
‘No, don’t,’ Celeste said.
‘You don’t have to leave,’ Sebastian added.
‘Guys,’ I sighed. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong but you never talk about your parents, not to each other, not about what happened. Not about the way you felt at the time or about the way you feel now?’ They both looked at me blankly. ‘I think you both carry around unnecessary pain and guilt. You are much stronger than you give each other credit for. You need to talk about it – to be really honest – to get it all out.’
‘I’m not doing this,’ Celeste muttered, abruptly turning on her heel.
‘Celeste, wait!’ I entreated. ‘How about I start you off?’ I added hurriedly as Celeste paused and looked at me, confused. ‘Celeste, did you know that Sebastian blames himself for your time in hospital?’ Celeste turned to Sebastian uncomprehendingly, but he stared down at his hands unable to meet her gaze. ‘He feels he let you down,’ I added softly as Celeste’s eyes clouded with tears. ‘And Sebastian?’ I turned to address him and he closed his eyes as if to shut out my voice. ‘Celeste feels that she abandoned you when you needed her the most.’ Sebastian’s head jerked up and his eyes opened at the absurdity of this notion and they stared at each other across the room. ‘Talk to each other.’ I said firmly, satisfied that I’d set the ball rolling. ‘I’m going to go make pancakes.’
I headed into the kitchen, my blood pulsing in my ears with tension, and closed the door securely behind me. I was impressed by my own courage – the old me would never have dared to speak so boldly. It was amazing how much confidence their love gave me. I switched on the radio and started gathering ingredients, carefully, so as not to ruin my pretty new nails.
I took my time measuring out each element, whisking everything together to form a smooth batter and then frying and turning each pancake one by one until I had a neat stack of them sitting in the oven on a low heat. Then I methodically peeled and chopped a mountain of fresh fruit, as I tried desperately not to worry about what might be going on in the other room. I hadn’t heard any raised voices and I took that as a good sign. Once the fruit salad was finished I made up a pitcher full of cocktail – a vodka mule with ginger beer and lime juice. Even if the twins didn’t need a stiff drink, I soon would. It was almost lunch time and we still hadn’t had breakfast. When I could procrastinate no longer I took a deep breath and opened the kitchen door.
It was quiet in the living room – just the birds singing and the waves sighing. Sebastian and Celeste were sitting side by side on a timber-framed swing seat on the main terrace in the sunshine. They seemed quiet but relaxed as they rocked lazily back and forth.
‘Is anyone hungry?’ I asked aware of how nervous I sounded as my voice interrupted the peaceful atmosphere. The twins scrambled to their feet, grinned enthusiastically with ‘Mmm, starving’ sounds and peppered me with grateful kisses as we jostled back into the kitchen. Celeste’s face was pink and puffy from crying but otherwise all seemed well, they were both animated and chatty as we noisily devoured our brunch. I was beyond relieved; I was hopeful that the twins would be more honest with each other from now on and that they better understood each other’s grief.
The week progressed in a glorious, luxurious combination of excess and sensual bliss. We naturally shied away from the resort bar, restaurants, and other facilities in favour of our own private haven, where we could relax, be ourselves, and indulge our whims and cravings without fear of judgment.
Sometimes a lively steel band played music on the resort beach, or we played tunes through the iPod dock or the radio, and we had our own private parties, dancing with each other, out on the terrace underneath the stars. Some days Sebastian strummed a battered old acoustic guitar that he’d found in a cupboard. Celeste and I would request anthems from our teenage years – REM’s ‘Losing My Religion’, Radiohead’s ‘Creep’, and Red Hot Chili Peppers’ ‘Under the Bridge’. Sebastian knew them all and would sometimes hum along, contentedly serenading us late into the night.
We lived on the fresh groceries that were delivered daily to our door – meat and fish chargrilled to perfection by Sebastian on the outdoor barbeque and supplemented with the exotic salads that I prepared. And each day Celeste created a different batch of cocktails, decorating them with a colourful variety of syrups and fresh fruit. But we didn’t drink excessively. We didn’t need to – we were naturally inebriated, intoxicated with lust and giddy with love.
We had long in depth conversations, sometimes about general things – films, b
ooks, and countries we’d like to visit. Sometimes we talked about the past, our shared childhoods and fond memories, or about the intervening years, the time we’d spent apart – the twins in France and me alone in England. Sometimes we got emotional, regretful, upset about how unfair life could be. And sometimes we made each other yelp and giggle and laugh out loud almost to the point of hysteria, overwhelmed by sheer joy.
Sometimes it seemed unreal – the whispering of the waves, the wonderful views, the sweetness of Celeste’s sunshine kisses, the searing heat of Sebastian’s moonlit embraces… It seemed almost
too idyllic, as if we were no longer a part of the real world, as if the three of us were temporarily suspended in some kind of bubble – a bubble which had yet to burst.
Chapter Forty-three
I was alone when I woke on Monday morning in my four-poster bed, scowling at my alarm clock from under the duvet. The glowing digits insisted it was 7 a.m. but it was dark and chilly and felt like the middle of the night. Our magical holiday in paradise felt like a distant memory, despite us only having been back for a week. Outside, sleet was slung at the windows by irregular gusts of angry wind and I pulled the duvet tighter under my chin as I tried to convince myself to get up. Maybe I should have stayed with Sebastian overnight. He had asked me to and I liked waking up with him, in the warm circle of his arms. But yesterday I’d said no. I’d slipped into a routine of staying with Celeste until she was asleep and then going upstairs to find Sebastian afterwards – dividing my time between them as fairly as I could manage. But even so, I got the feeling Celeste would rather I didn’t spend most of the night with Sebastian. She hadn’t said so, but I could see it written in her body language and in the slight crease between her eyebrows. I didn’t want her to feel taken for granted.
