Wicked Wednesday #193: Ménage à trois

Eliza was going to make this work, because it had worked all along. It had worked before—they had worked before—she and Rafe before Margaux.

And they would work, the three of them.

She spilled champagne in her haste to get dressed in the lingerie shop and purchased the champagne-stained intimates, so they go out with Margaux. Rafe was still as an untouched meadow, and did not give any other indicators of his mood when they walked in an elegant gaggle toward the tiny bar nearby. Why act like she did not want a stronger drink?

Margaux walked next to her, and they all but held hands as if they were trying to prove they were making nice for Rafe’s sake. Rafe trailed behind them, and she was sure he like the view. Eliza was secretly smug, because Rafe’s fingers had just been so deep inside her that she had almost screamed.

As if she had not been loud enough…

“How is New York?” Eliza finally asked. If she was going to be Mrs. Stewart, she might as well start playing the hostess. Wasn’t that how they had met Margaux in the first place? Margaux’s sister Laure was always an amazing hostess.

“New York is not new to me, and I love it, but I love Paris. It is hard how to describe how it is to love two things art once…”
Margaux was silent as the mannequins in the windows of the stores they walked past suddenly. Eliza knew that was a slip of her tongue—at least she would like to believe it, was because she was trying to be the adult here in this chaste mènage á trois.

She was trying so hard, even as she was still heavy with Rafe’s touch deep inside of her.

“I love Paris too…” Eliza said, proud of her own save. “Rafe and I have been there together, and I have been there by myself as well…”

Wistful thoughts of her time in Paris with Oscar and Adrien came to her mind…Oscar…Adrien…And then she looked at Margaux, and Margaux returned her gaze tentatively. Eliza saw so much of herself in the other woman’s eyes, and nothing at all at the same time. Her fingers grazed Margaux’s, and she took her hand in hers. Finger by finger.

She was going to make this work…

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photo: Édouard Boubat, Paris, France, 1948