Until the Money Divides

1. Prologue

The water ran warm over Diane’s wrists and kept running. She stood at the sink with her sleeves rolled twice on the maroon sweater, the cable knit stretched across the heavy curve of her breasts and the soft give of her stomach. The house was quiet in the way it got after the lists were written and the dishes were supposed to be done. Outside, ordinary traffic moved on the street. The furnace had clicked on a minute ago and the heat moved through the vents with a low, steady breath.

Marcus’s hand settled first on the outside of her hip. Not a grab. The weight of his palm through the denim of her jeans, thumb resting just above the waistband. She felt the heat of it through the fabric. Her shoulders stayed still. The water kept running. She watched the stream hit the stainless steel and slide toward the drain. Leo’s hand came next, higher, under the edge of the sweater where the knit had ridden up. His fingers were cooler than Marcus’s. The pad of his thumb moved once across the bare skin just above her jeans, slow, testing the softness there. She drew a breath that did not quite finish.

Neither of them spoke. Marcus shifted his weight behind her. The front of his body came closer until she felt the line of his chest against her back, the black jacket still on, the zipper a thin cool edge through the sweater. His other hand found the opposite hip. He held her like that, not pulling, just keeping her where she stood. The water ran over her wrists and down between her fingers. A drop slid off her knuckle and hit the basin. She did not turn it off.

Leo’s thumb moved again, a small circle this time. The skin under it was warm from the house and from standing so long. She felt the slight catch of his nail when he lifted and set the thumb down again. Marcus’s hands tightened once, then eased. The denim pressed into the full curve of her ass. She was aware of the weight of her own body, the way her breasts rested heavy against the counter edge when she leaned a fraction forward, the way the sweater pulled across them. The cable knit had gone soft from washing. It held the shape of her.

A car passed outside. The sound of it rose and fell. Inside, the only noise was the water and the low tick of the furnace. Marcus’s mouth came close to the side of her neck. He did not kiss her. She felt the warmth of his breath through the gray strands of her hair. Leo’s hand slid an inch higher under the sweater, palm flat now against the soft skin of her side. His fingers spread. She felt the span of them, the way they fit into the give of her waist. Her stomach moved when she breathed. His palm moved with it.

She turned her head a little. Not toward either of them. Toward the window above the sink where the light was flat and ordinary. Marcus’s hand left her hip and came around, slow, to rest just under her breast. The heel of his palm settled against the heavy underside. He did not lift. He only held the weight of it through the sweater. The knit was thin there from wear. She felt the heat of his hand and the slight give of her own flesh under the pressure. Her nipple tightened against the fabric. She did not look down.

Leo’s fingers moved again, tracing the line where her stomach met her hip. The touch was careful. She could feel the tremor still in them, the same one she had felt the first night he came to her room. He pressed his forehead lightly against her shoulder. The beanie was off. His hair brushed her neck. Marcus’s thumb stroked once, slow, along the underside of her breast. The sweater shifted with the motion. She felt the drag of the knit across her skin.

The water kept running. A thin stream of it had started to pool near the edge of the basin where the drain was slow. She watched it. Her hands stayed under the stream. The warmth moved up her forearms. Marcus shifted again. She felt the hard line of him against the back of her thigh through the denim. He did not press harder. He only stayed there, the length of him present, the heat of him through both layers of clothing. Leo’s hand slid lower again, fingers brushing the top of her jeans, then stilling. The button was still fastened. He did not touch it.

She exhaled. The sound was small. Marcus’s mouth opened against her neck. She felt the damp heat of it, the slight scrape of his teeth when he closed his lips again without biting. Her pulse moved under his mouth. Leo’s fingers flexed once against her side, then settled. The three of them stood like that while the water ran and the furnace breathed and the ordinary light stayed on the kitchen wall. Outside, another car passed. Inside, no one moved to turn the tap.

Diane’s wrists were warm. The sweater clung where the water had splashed the cuffs. She felt the weight of both hands on her, the one under her breast and the one at her waist, and the quiet fact of the house still holding all three of their names. The list was on the table under the salt shaker. She did not reach for it. The water kept running over her hands.

1. Chapter 1: Outside the Office

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