Triple Major_An MFMM Graduation Romance

by Lana Hartley

  I have dark fantasies, sometimes I wonder if she does, too. I glance at her and wonder what rolls through her head late at night, those midnight fantasies—the dark ones. Do they roll over her like storm clouds? Do I do obscene things to her in such fantasies?

  She gazes at me, and it’s a nice moment. She presses her lips against mine, and I shut my eyes and wait as her tongue slowly enters my mouth. She’s addicted. There’s this lingering addiction like the chandelier hanging above us. And I want the addiction to crash over me and nearly kill me—not the chandelier—I realize.

  Isadora suddenly shoots up and messes with her hair, pulling it over to the other side of her face. She is gorgeous, I broke her wall of troubles and now she’s glowing like some brand-new summer morning.

  “You know what I think?”—she looks down at me—“I think men feel a lot more than they let on, but they’re afraid to express themselves, so they leave girls staying up all night wondering what they’re thinking. Such a man wouldn’t speak about whatever it is he’s thinking about, and this leaves the girl tired and cranky and unsure of everything. It complicates things, all because men can’t talk about whatever they’re feeling.” Her hand suddenly moves over and grabs my flask. I thought she was going to grab my cock again.

  She takes an enormous swig, and I think she pretty much just drained everything in it. I look back at the chandelier.

  “You know?” she says. She wants some type of interaction. “I mean, like right now, what are you thinking?” She drinks more of my whiskey. The woman is going to town on it.

  I’m kind of hungry, but I’m not about to say that.

  Think, Nathan, before you speak for a change.

  “I think we’re just afraid…sometimes.” I shrug. “We like to feel like we’re in control, and if we…you know, open up…” I sit up and reach for my flask. It’s empty. She killed it. “Then we’ll feel like…vulnerable.”

  “But—I mean, I know—and I appreciate you saying that, Nathan.” She reaches out and squeezes the muscle of my upper arm. “But it’s okay. Tell me, tell about your biggest fears, I want to know.”

  “Um…” fears? “Losing you.” I’m quite serious. I hope she doesn’t laugh. I mean, what is she looking for? Everyone has fears. Sharks. Bears. House fires in the middle of the night.

  “I just want you…all the time. And I’m afraid that maybe, I’m not good enough. Men worry the same as women.”

  She eyes me, and she’s very focused, as if I have something growing out of my face.

  “Anyway, what’s your biggest fear?”

  She looks at me. “Having my heart broken. Men are hard to read, like I was saying.”

  “And like I was saying—we’re scared. There you go, how’s that. You want to know our fears— we’re fucking scared of everything.”

  She laughs.

  “Women terrify us,” I say. She laughs so hard that she snorts. It’s kind of cute.

  “Oh, Nathan.” She lay down and looks up at the chandelier, still laughing.

  “Well, that’s something.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, you want to know what I’m thinking now?” I ask. She’s a bit giggly.

  “Sure, Nathan.”

  “I’m thinking that I want more whiskey.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have drunk it all then.”

  “You drank it. Drunk it, whatever.”

  She laughs at my little problem getting the words right.

  “You can’t even talk right, you’re an alcoholic.”

  “I’m not! How can I be an alcoholic when you drink all my whiskey?”

  “It’s good. You drink a lot, Nathan.”

  “No, I don’t. So…tell me, what was the latest thing you were thinking in your room, like at night, when you think of me?”

  “Oh…well, you come in—you’re not drunk, and you stare at me. I don’t know you’re there because I’m asleep. And you…you reach down and touch my foot, and I still don’t wake up. You get hard, watching my naked body just lost in sleep, and it excites you because you feel this power over me. I suddenly open my eyes, and there you are. I grab your wrist and pull on it, and I want its strength and all of your strength on me.”

  “I have this bad dream sometimes,” I decide to get real with her. “I’m a little boy, in the woods, and I can’t find my why home. Something is chasing me; it’s big and scary, some kind of animal, and I just know it’s going to attack me—kill me even. But when I see you, I swear I don’t feel scared. Every day I see you, I never have that nightmare that night… after seeing you.”

  Isadora

  “I’m glad you’ve made yourself more comfortable with your betrothal,” Queen Illeana’s voice cuts into the air. Now, the sanctum of my soon-to-be past bedroom is violated as her words break through my thoughts.

  Heat rushes to my face. It could be an innocent phrase, surely, that my mother opened with, but I’m certain that she intended to be impactful. I shouldn’t feel shame or embarrassment. Mostly, I feel shock. The once innocent world I occupied feels much more mature now, and I’m not sure how I feel about these worlds colliding.

  She must know… Have I really done anything wrong? I insisted with Vincent and Nathan that I wouldn’t truly give up my virginity to either of them, not until an official bedding ceremony, and that’s what I intend to do. But there’s something about the way that my mother says anything that makes my whole body on edge at just a breath from her. My mother knows how to get under my skin. I notice it now, now that I’m not so innocent. The woman has barely trained me to rule, and now I’m going to have two kings at my side. My mother hates to share power. I gather my composure and aim to give her a simple answer, hopefully unburdened by any of my worries.

  “Yes, Nathan has a sharp wit, and Vincent a sweet heart,” I explain. “It’s easy to fall for them both.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure letting them put their hands on you made falling for them so much easier,” the queen says.

  I turn to see the queen raising her eyebrows.

  “Mother?” My voice comes out higher than I’d like it to be. “How did you know?”

  She laughs. It isn’t a sound that I hear often, and it is a little off-putting now, though I feel terrible for thinking so. It’s just jarring, that’s all. She’s a very serious woman, so laughter is an odd addition to the otherwise fixture that is her stern personality. “I am the queen,” she offers. It isn’t a terrible explanation, I realize. “There’s little that I don’t know, if anything at all.”

  I raise my eyebrows. She’s right.

  “In my palace, I know everything that happens.” Her terse smile as her hands squeeze my shoulders leaves me unsettled.

  Vincent

  The halved ruby red grapefruit seems melodramatic against the cream backdrop of the royal china, waiting for Princess Isadora to lift the royal spoon and have breakfast. I wonder why I’m thinking about grapefruits and the crown’s dishes at all, until a familiar male steps stalk into the dining room.

  “Nathan.” I nod.

  He looks every bit as thrilled to see me as I am to see him. I’m a little surprised that the slasher in a horror movie demeanour Nathan always seems to have seems to be curling up around the edges. “Isadora must know you’re here already, so she’s taking her time to show up.” The sneer on his face tells me that he’s bothered by just how much I obviously care for Isadora. He doesn’t sit, but reaches to grab a muffin from one of the cake stands on the enormous dining table.

  It pisses me right the fuck off. Because this wily asshole shouldn’t be anywhere near her. “Are you even capable of loving her? Or is she just a golden-haired pawn in your latest scheme?” I spit the words back at him, standing up now and looking him right in the eyes.

  “Do you think some meathead such as yourself isn’t too brutish for someone as smart as Isadora? There’s settling and there’s going far beneath…” Nathan lets his words trail off. That’s probably the first smart thing he’s d
one since we started verbally sparring over Isadora. But we both know that was too fucking far. I’m not just a cock and a set of fighting arms, and petty insults tell me Nathan’s distracted.

  Still, I’m the brutish one, and it all makes sense because right now I want to punch a hole into Nathan’s head then throw him off the nearest cliff. My blood rushes through my veins like a hot geyser ready to erupt, and I don’t need to make him feel vindicated, but I’m quickly losing my cool.

  “How I feel about Isadora, truly, is none of your business.” Nathan’s thumb rolls down the tin containing the muffin and then he tosses it at me. “Get some fiber, you look like you might burst.”

  I catch it and crumble it in my hands, decimating it over the grapefruit I’d been about to eat. Who can eat a grapefruit if it’s covered in muffin? Maybe after I stab the serrated edge of the grapefruit spoon into Nathan’s chest I’ll eat a muffin.

  “Get over yourself and keep whatever shit you have planned away from Isadora; she doesn’t deserve anything you have to offer.” I can offer my own low blow.

  Nathan raises an eyebrow, and that smug look of satisfaction on his face keeps my blood boiling. “Actually, I’m off to tea with Isadora and Queen Illeana.” He wields the words like a victory. “Did she not tell you that she’d be with me instead of breakfast with you?” Nathan turns around to leave, and I ignore him best I can, which isn’t that difficult because now I’m thinking about how I’m not going to see Isadora yet. I can’t believe just how disappointed that makes me feel, how it can distract even my hottest rage, but I am infatuated with her like I’ve never felt before.

  Nathan

  I overstepped with Vincent. I’m not one to normally admit that, but I know that I did. The reason I said such a terrible thing, well, the truth is ugly, but I wonder if it isn’t because I don’t know how to deal with the guileless fact of the matter. Vincent and I share a common goal. We both want Isadora to be happy. And if she truly wants us both, what’s wrong with that?

  A reasonable, calm person capable of trusting others easily might have taken a more sane approach. Instead, I attempted to challenge the veins in his neck to burst before he could strangle my neck.

  I don’t play well with others. But Isadora’s not a game, she’s my future. Our future. So I’m going to have to start getting along with Vincent.

  Queen Illeana rises to greet me, a little much considering that Isadora simply nods and smiles at me. There’s a demure nature to her very breathing. Isadora’s presence is intoxicating.

  “Morning, Nathan,” Isadora says in a voice that could bring me to my knees. Just that sweet, pure sound is like warm honey from her mouth and down my throat. I want to taste her now, kiss her, but her mother is on me.

  The queen runs her hand right down my ass.

  “Yes, good morning, Nathan,” Queen Illeana says, almost purring at me. The woman isn’t trying to hide this at all, and it’s just gross at this point. I am betrothed to her daughter. This is not the kind of behavior the princess should expect from her mother. Isadora is smart, but I can tell by the knitted eyebrows she has now that she’s confused as to why her mother is acting this way. I don’t think Isadora wants to accept the truth. I understand that.

  I want to jolt away from the queen’s touch, that’s how off-putting I find it. I could normally just play the game, just breathe and play the part, cast aside how much I don’t want the admittedly gorgeous queen to touch me. Instead, I seat myself across from Isadora.

  Queen Illeana sits in the seat next to me, and she closes her hand over mine for a moment, meeting my eyes.

  But my skin rejects the feel of anyone but Isadora’s touch, and I can’t just push back my reaction. My mind seems to slow down now. That’s not a problem I’ve experienced before. I look at Isadora’s dewy, gorgeous skin. That sweet, pure smile on her perfect lips. I forget that I’m here to figure out what the queen is up to every moment I look at Isadora. I want to taste the songs behind her eyes, swallow her sighs, and hold her in my arms. She brings out the part of me that I pull back when I’m alone and play music, or sketch in charcoal. I can’t be that bare in front of the rest of the world. I certainly can’t be now with the queen here, clearly up to something. As the foremost authority of people up to no good, yeah I know the queen is after something.

  I inhale and pull my hand away, attempting my usual charming smile and look at Isadora. “You look radiant this morning. Did you sleep well, my love?” I want to touch her hand, but after the queen’s little display I’m not going to bother. I don’t want to draw any more attention to how I’m mishandling the situation.

  “I did, though I stayed up too late reading that Locke you recommended me. That, and the Machiavelli—”

  “My princess, apologies, your grapefruit was brought to the dining hall. I brought it here for you,” a handmaiden interrupts Isadora.

  Isadora smiles graciously and touches the woman’s arm, taking the plate with the other hand. “That is so thoughtful of you, Elinor. Queen Mother wanted to have tea with one of my intendeds. I should have informed you but as I was saying to Vincent, I read too much last night and didn’t add the item to my phone calendar yet.”

  The handmaid curtsies and smiles, and I can tell that Isadora is always kind and thoughtful. “Machiavelli doesn’t seem like your taste, my Princess,” Elinor says, her eyes darting toward the queen and back. “But I suppose the art of ruling requires all preparation.” She attempts to dial back what she implied, and I feel for poor Elinor.

  The scorn on the queen’s face is enough to singe the hair off a bald cat, but I generally handle things like this very well when I’m not thinking about how I want each of Isadora’s slender fingers in my mouth instead of the tea I’m about to drink.

  “Yes, the breadth of one’s reading can help them through near any situation.” I speak before the queen does and says something crushing to Isadora’s handmaiden. Doubtlessly, she doesn’t enjoy the familiarity and friendliness that Isadora offers the girl, but that’s because the queen treats people like pawns. I’m not so different…or at least, I wasn’t. So I understand this. Isadora makes me want to be better. “Next up, The Art of War?” I turn to Isadora.

  “Oh, I’ve read that countless times. It has such clean advice, I think it helps us be direct in all matters.” Isadora smiles warmly at me, her eyes acknowledging that I kept the queen from saying something vile to Elinor.

  “G’day, I’ll finish your linens,” Elinor says, scurrying off.”

  The queen clinks her sugar spoon down and lifts her cup, but speaks before taking a sip. “To think you’re marrying someone so innocent as Isadora, when you and I both know an ideal match for you would be versed and suited to Machiavelli.” She starts to take a dainty little sip of her tea.

  I fight the urge to pull that cup from her hands in a dramatic gesture; I’m so frustrated at her bitchy iciness toward Isadora. “Let’s not pretend you know what I need beyond a political alliance, as far as matches go,” I say to the queen through gritted teeth. “Isadora is intelligent, passionate, and a woman I’m lucky to marry.”

  Isadora’s face flushes a little, and I’m not sure how much is from my compliment and how much is from my frustration. I notice her adjusting in her seat, and I want to know what she’s thinking.

  The queen raises a single hand in the smallest attempt at showing me she’s retreating from that villainous vein in her tea conversation today. “I don’t dare make an enemy of you, Nathan. I know how dangerous you are.” She takes a sip of her tea again. “Vincent is aware, as well.”

  Isadora

  “Thank you, Elinor.” I can barely get the words out, and not just because of the tight corseting of the wedding gown. I’m so excited to be walking down the aisle today that I can barely breathe. My stomach is fluttering, and I’m anxious and forgetful. I had no idea just how excited I would be for the wedding ceremony.

  “Of course!” Elinor’s eyes are glassy. “You look so beautiful, Isado
ra. You’re going to be the most kind, most worthy queen any nation has seen.”

  I take Elinor’s hands in mine, standing into my heels and attempting to straighten out in this massive gown again. “I will always consider you a dear friend, Elinor, and your words mean so much to me. That’s why I want you as my maid of honor. I didn’t need all those other ceremonies and traditions, but today, I want you there with me.”

  Elinor is shocked. I point to the wardrobe, and Elinor’s eyes follow where I’m pointing and back at me before she opens the door.

  “Now, let me help you into that, and we’ll finish getting ready.” I picked out a gown that perfectly complemented her skin tone and eyes, something that would make her look elegant and right at home at the wedding. My mother was not thrilled with this idea, but I didn’t care. Servants are not my idea of objects, and I’ve always loved Elinor. She’s been a source of warmth when my mother could offer nothing similar, and my wedding day is supposed to be about me, so why not have Elinor be a part of it?

  We both finish getting ready, and I squeeze her hand as we exit my room and head to the palace gardens.

  The ceremony is surprisingly short for being one element of tradition our nations are all so invested in. I walk down the aisle to both men waiting for me, and Elinor stands beside Marius, Nathan’s friend who was actually talking to Vincent moments before I began my procession. Have I entered the magical place and time where Nathan and Vincent could actually dare to get along rather than stay at each other’s throats?

  The wedding is beautiful. It’s more than just the sight of my two men vowing to spend their lives with me. It’s more than the I love you’s we share. I can see it on the tear-streaked faces of near everyone watching.

  Marius and Elinor both look like they’re going to cry, as I struggle to fight back my happy tears. The wide smile spread across my face might actually hurt in the morning, that’s how happy I am.