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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

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The waters were choppy below as the boat skimmed the surface of the lake.

Around Cora, the dark strands of her hair that were not held secure by a chiffon scarf whipped violently in the wind. Salt water flecked onto the side of her face. When she licked her lips, salt bloomed on her tongue. Beside her Roman was angled away towards the coastline, his hand pressed against his forehead.

Seeing Lukas Matsson had been the last thing she had wanted to do that day, but Logan had insisted.

Something about a united front that she hadn't entirely paid attention to, she had been more concentrated on dividing her pastry into pieces small enough that they would simply melt on her tongue. She hadn't been able to ignore the uneasy shift in Roman's posture when the meeting was brought up, but whatever misgivings he had went unsaid.

When the boat pulled up to a small dock, Matsson was waiting for them, dressed in a black top and a pair of sweatpants.

Even from a distance, as he had pulled slowly into view, he was an imposing sight. Gangly yet solid, his features dark beneath a hand that shaded his face. Roman rose quickly, pausing as he assessed how to disembark. The boat below them was buoyed slightly by the current, and he did an odd little dance back and forth from the floor to the side of the boat as the driver attempted futilely to steady them by gripping one of the pilings.

"Do you need me to hold your hand?" Matsson asked.

Cora couldn't tell whether or not he was joking until he did, indeed, extend a hand. Roman slapped it away, finally making his way onto solid ground with a slight leap. Without pause, he moved keenly behind Matsson and up the stairs that climbed the side of the island.

Matsson acknowledged Cora with a nod.

In comparison to when she had seen him at Kendall's birthday, he appeared more relaxed. Still, her initial impression was burned into her mind. There was simply something about him that made her uneasy, even as he smiled down at her.

"Do you need me to hold your hand?"

She rose with some effort, arms extended for balance. Begrudgingly she nodded as she made her way to the side of the boat. He gripped her hand in his, his palm surprisingly soft. Wordlessly he pulled her upwards, baring most of her weight as she alighted onto the dock.

"Thanks." She mumbled.

"Does that man know he's your fiancé?" His tone implied a joke but she was far from amused. She wondered how little she could get away with speaking. He continued as if she had replied. "He's ... ah, he's interesting. A character."

"Mm, aren't we all?" Her hand trailed the railing as they made their way upwards, using the support to hide her limp. Something told her it wasn't working.

"So you would say that for yourself? A character?"

She didn't know how to respond, which only emboldened him.

"It was rude of me to not introduce myself properly before." He continued without much pause.

"You don't say."

"I do say, that's what I said it."

He had a unique cadence to his voice, she supposed it was the remnants of shedding his native tongue. He walked beside her with his hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders rounded in a noticeable hunch. From what she knew of GoJo, she supposed his posture was indicative of spending so much time at a keyboard.

"You don't talk much," he continued. "Just loud when you're drunk."

"I wasn't drunk." Cora replied, her voice thin.

"Seemed pretty drunk to me."

"You were wrong. My condolences."

"I like your outfit." He said, suddenly switching subjects. "Very Belluci."

It took her a moment to realise he wasn't trying to speak Italian to her, instead referencing the actress. She adjusted the cuffs of her striped cotton twill, which was tucked into a pair of belted jeans. On her feet, a pair of Prada platform sandals. Softly she pouted. Was he trying to hit on her?

"Thanks, I guess. Sorry I can't say the same for yours." She replied. He guffawed, eyebrows jumping briefly.

"Amusing. You are very amusing."

They stopped at the top of the stairs, Roman eyeing them from a short distance. Cora couldn't quite read his expression, he could have easily been bored, but she thought she saw a tightness in his mouth. Cora wondered how much of their conversation had been carried by the wind.

Matsson's villa rose from the green surrounds, standing bold in bright yellow with aqua trimmings. The gardens were sprawling as he led the way, well-maintained and lush. Despite the beauty of the property, Cora couldn't help detecting a hint of darkness, the shadows thrown by the high hedges were opaque and the air held no bird song.

Cora trailed behind the two men as they traded stilted remarks. She could tell Roman had little love for Matsson, his posture stiffening the moment they had fallen into lockstep. Once he did glance back at her, as if to make sure she hadn't disappeared. She felt her heart leap in her chest, nursing the feeling even as he turned away.

She had slept with AirPods in the night before, rolled onto her side at the very edge of the bed. It hadn't mattered where she had slept, Roman had taken to the couch.

Sleep hadn't come easily to her. Instead she had flickered through her phone until the early hours of the morning, closing her eyes as she let the music lull her racing heart. The Beatles, of course, had been her first stop, but she had continued scrolling past the end notes of 'Here Comes the Sun'.

Cat Stevens, Cass Elliot, The Roches. Cora drifted off to the crooning of Morrissey and found the room empty when she awoke.

They stopped by the edge of the island, where the earth gave way steeply, the full scope of Lake Maggiore spreading out before her very eyes. As the men exchanged comments on the view, Cora lingered a distance from them, arms to chest, eyes resting on the blue.

"Shy?" Matsson queried her, glancing over his shoulder. When she shifted her gaze towards him, she found his dark eyes prying at her chest. Cora couldn't hide her annoyance and it seemed neither could Roman.

"Eh, she's just mad I pulled her away from the breakfast buffet before she could nab another clementine." He said tightly. Quickly he attempted to regain Matsson's attention. "So, you're feeling good about this, right? Confident?"

"Can I ask you something both?" Matsson asked, ignoring Roman. His eyes hadn't moved.

"Can I say no?" Roman said. Matsson laughed, turning back to the man. The sound of his chuckle fell away quickly, his face giving way to grave seriousness.

"I mean you could, but you won't."

"Right. Gotcha. Ask away then."

"What would you say your greatest weakness is?" As much as he tried to hide it, Cora caught Roman's stray glance in her direction. Matsson continued. "You know, I just ask because success has started to bore me. It's so regular. And you Americans, it's all you ever want to talk about. Why you have the fastest car, the biggest house. How many dicks you sucked to claw your way to the top."

"Uh huh ... " Roman nodded, unconvinced. He could no longer hide that he was bothered. After a brief pause, he shook his head. "You're shit out of luck because I'm not gonna tell you. As far as you're aware, I have no weaknesses. Sorry not sorry."

Matsson was jovial as he nodded in return. "A man of boundaries. I can respect that."

"That's me, baby, boundary man." Roman ran a hand through his hair, watching Matsson as his attention returned to Cora.

"And you?"

"Pass." Cora replied curtly.

"That's no fun," Matsson said. "A united front when it suits you both?"

Irritation gripped her. "Fine. I run from fires I start. Is that good enough?"

"I mean, we all need to know when to throw in the towel," Matsson replied.

"She does love her towel throwing." Roman attempted a tight smile but it sat on his mouth as a grimace. "How about we just get down to business?"

"Thought you were all foreplay." He gestured towards a pair of bistro seats below the shade of wide umbrella, not too far from the pool. Matsson turned back to Cora, raising his eyebrows. "I like to conduct my business in private. You're welcome to wander the gardens."

She searched for Roman's input but he'd already settled into his seat, hands clasped in front of him as he rested the points of his elbows against the high table. Their eyes met and he shrugged imperceptibly. Ok guess I'll go fuck myself, she thought darkly.

"Sure. Whatever."

Matsson joined Roman as she stuffed her hands into the pocket of her jeans, heartbeat in her ears as she tucked her chin down. Internally she assured herself that this was fine, that the last thing she needed or wanted was to sit through another conversation where all business terminology buffed her brain smooth, but the humiliation stung no less.

Cora paced forward until she was well out of view, only then letting her shoulders relax. The air around her seemed to thin now that it was just her and her thoughts. As she cut along an emerald lawn, sun hot on her skin, she felt herself tracing the contours of her childhood home like the ridges of a long-forgotten scar.

On Sundays Regan would don a waterproof apron and a pair of battered gloves - weeding, pruning, tending. She was most proud of her hydrangeas, perfect clusters of scallop shaped petals the colour of duck eggs. Try as she might, inevitably a lick of dirt would find its way onto her cheek or jaw, but she remained no less elegant, her skin cast olive from the hue of the greenhouse glass. The scent of it floated back to her - wet soil, harsh sap, sweet petunias.

Cora shook her head hastily, knocking her thoughts loose.

Was this the holiday getaway Stewy had recommended? Facing dejection and repressed memories? Cora sucked in her cheeks, knowing she was playing fast and loose with the meaning of his words. Rehabilitation of the soul this was not, in fact it was quite the opposite.

She glanced towards the nearby villa, its doors left open. Isolation bred trust it seemed. Curiosity and boredom urged her into the cool quiet of the villa, where her footsteps hit uncomfortably loud against the hard tiled floor.

Despite a lively exterior, Matsson's villa boasted a brutalist flavour with a hint of Scandi - the drawing room she had walked into possessed a polished concrete coffee table, an arrangement of light wood seating, a lone lightbulb hanging from black cord. It was a jarring transition from the outside, even considering the kind of person Matsson had presented himself as, and it took Cora a beat to find her senses.

"Wonder what the kitchen looks like." Cora muttered to herself, glancing to her left where a long hallway ran adjacent to the exterior windows. Her feet carried her forward before she could consider the consequences of snooping. She could always say she was finding a glass of water after all.

But Cora didn't make it so far. Instead her eyes caught on a large painting on the wall of the hallway, so large she had to take a step back to fully survey it after she had come to a halt.

It was an oil painting of two snakes, a dark entanglement against an ivory backdrop.

Their long bodies were draped over and under one another, it was impossible to track their continuity, but their end was easy to glean - both of their mouths were clamped on the end of the other's tail. Cora didn't know what it was about the piece that made her pause, nor why it gripped her so potently. She stepped towards it, hand extended.

"Do you know it?" Matsson's voice froze her in place. Cora's hand dropped to her side. He was standing where she had entered, one side bright from the bright outdoors, the other thrown into gloom.

"Just looking for a gla- The bathroom." Cora squeaked, confusing herself in her own haste to speak.

He ignored her, but she swore she could see a glimmer in his eye. He arrived by her side, turning to face the painting, awaiting the proper response to his question.

"Um," Cora muttered, recovering from her shock. "No. I don't know the artist."

"No, do you know what it means? The ouroboros."

Cora shook her head, her defences faltering at his forwardness as she looked back at the painting.

She'd never paid much attention to the analytical side of art, abstraction hadn't ever appealed to her much. She was, after all, the drunk of any dinner party she'd ever attended, and as such had managed to avoid most heady intellectual conversations. It could also be said that a woman so accustomed to being watched might stray from the dissection of object and muse.

"It's a symbol of cyclical renewal." Matsson began, turning to follow her gaze. "The snake kills itself, births itself, all while replenishing itself in the process."

"Well, can't be healthy." Cora muttered under her breath. She heard him laugh in response.

"I had a similar thought at Kendall's party."

Cora bit her lip, skin prickling with the sensation of his watchful gaze.

"Well, a lot of unsavoury things happened at that party, as with most parties in New York." She replied stiffly.

"You know I was watching you that night because I was thinking to myself, 'What exactly is this person doing? They don't have a clue. Not one fucking clue!'. I wondered, you know, is this a 4d chess move from Logan. If I wasn't seeing something that he knew."

Cora could feel heat creeping onto her cheeks, biting the inside of her mouth to stop herself from further betraying the deeply unsettling sensation that had appeared inside of her.

"But it wasn't much of a puzzle in the end. At least from Logan's POV it seems obvious."

"Oh, does it?" Cora's voice was an octave higher than normal as she spoke.

"Yes, of course. I said so, didn't I? Put lipstick on a hand grenade and hand it to his sons, see what happens. Looks like they played hot potato."

Cora could have pulled a muscle at how tightly the muscles in her neck tensed then. "Well. It sounds like you have everything figured out."

"I'm not knocking you. I'm impressed. Like I said, I thought you had no idea, but I looked you up. Your history. That's why I point this out. Death and rebirth in perpetuity." He jabbed his finger towards the painting again. "Reminds me of you. A compliment."

"You have a strange way of complimenting." Cora replied. Matsson smirked.

"I've been told that." He paused, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a black Sharpie. Cora frowned, it seemed strange for a tech billionaire to carry such a rudimentary object. "I want to give you my number."

"Why would I do that? I think that sounds like the last thing in the world I'd want."

Her disbelief was at the surface now, no longer could the force a mask for the sake of polite conversation. He blinked at her, as if to say 'are you finished?', and unfortunately she was.

"Because you're eating yourself." He replied with so much assuredness that it sent shivers throughout her core. "And when you see yourself on the other end of that, you're going to want to call me."

Cora didn't know if it was the tone of his voice or his glacial gaze that impressed his words upon her, the weight of them heavy on her chest. Inside of her mouth was sandpaper as let out a soft noise of indignation. His expression remained the same as it had been when he had spoken, unerring with a hint of self-satisfaction.

Was her house of cards so obvious that even a near-stranger could spy it from a mile away?

"Well ... You can hardly write it on my arm." Cora said stiffly, watching the sheen of the marker's plastic casing shift as he rolled the pen between his fingers. Black would show beneath thin cotton sleeves. She suspected even Matsson wished to be discrete. "Don't you own a phone?"

"Show me your stomach."

Cora laughed uneasily. When it became obvious he wasn't joking, she bit her lip. Was she really going to do this?

Hesitant, she tugged the bottom of her shirt free from the waist of her jeans and inched it upwards until she had bared her midriff. His expression remained fixed as he uncapped the Sharpie. Cora's eyes found the ceiling as the cold tip of the pen began to dance across her skin, the pungent smell of chemicals hitting her nostrils. From his starting place, she could tell he was writing the numbers backwards, with nothing else to focus on, she drew each of his strokes in her mind.

For a second she felt his hand brush against the side of her waist before he straightened back upwards, stashing the pen away.

"The bathroom is the third door on the right." His voice was suddenly formal as he nodded towards her. "I'll see you when you're out."

≪ °❈° ≫

They were in a boardroom in Milan, smoothing out the details of the GoJo deal, when all hell broke loose. One second Cora was staring out of the window, chewing on the inside of her cheeks. The next Logan's voice had broke the polite lull of conversation, requesting the room to be cleared.

The blunt edges of her voice jolted Cora back to the land of the living. Roman was shifting in his seat like a restless child, trying to avoid Logan's gaze and instead attempting to summon Cora's. His eyes were wide, and he looked almost like he was trying to signal to her. She mouthed 'what?' across the table, raising an eyebrow, but before he could answer, Logan was speaking again.

"What the fuck do you call this?" He said, slamming his phone face up onto the table. He'd unlocked it to the message app, the screen at max brightness. Cora narrowed her eyes as he pushed it to the centre of the table, coming to a stop in front of her.

"Wh- Oh, are you fucking kidding me, dad? A little warning?" Shiv said, recoiling.

"Is that ... Oh no." Olivia clamped her hands to her mouth, continuing to repeat the sentiment of denial behind the safety of laced fingers.

Cora could only stare. The image was unmistakeably Roman's junk. Before she even had the time to process a response, Roman had began to babble.

"Y-yeah sorry dad, just a bit of a misclick. Sorry, just all of these business meetings get me really ... Worked up. Honest mistake. Can you blame me? I mean you k-keep putting me in boardrooms around Cordelia, well I'm just gonna start whipping it out an-"

Her head was beginning to fill with white noise. A low sharp buzz, like cicada song, swirling in her ear canals.

Did he truly expect her to lie for him? Cora's bottom lip quivered, looking from Roman to his father. Maybe she had to. Maybe this was suddenly part of the deal. Cora's daydreamed marital hellscape hadn't included infidelity, if that was what you could call the photo, but the concept had not been far from the front of her mind. She hadn't thought it would happen quite so quickly.

Gerri summoned the room's attention with a cough.

She sat nearby, her hands clenched over one another, eyes bugged from her head as she stared down at the boardroom table. Her lips were pouted so severely that they were almost a straight line cutting against her skin.

"I think this is all just a bit of a mix up, Logan. I-"

"Wait, why are you jumping in here?" Shiv said, laughing. She arched a thin eyebrow, addressing Cora as she shook her head. "I know that ... There's been a few differences here as of late between you both bu-"

"But we all know the truth of the matter." Gerri continued for her. "We all know ... Well, we know who it couldn't have been for."

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Shiv shoved her seat away from the table, standing quickly. She turned to her brother, her face stiff with disbelief. "Please tell me you didn't try to sext Gerri."

Suddenly Karl's voice, projected from a set of speakers, cut off Shiv.

"Lo- Should I come ba- later or n-" He said, the screen at the end of the boardroom table turned blocky, creating a pixelated collage. "Priv- 'Te matter and I- News from the hos-"

"Someone turn him off." Logan barked, jabbing a finger at Olivia. "You. You turn him off."

"Gotcha! Turning him off!" Olivia squeaked. Her eyes were a stark white against the saturated canvas of her skin. She almost managed to tumble in her haste to stand, her side clipping the arm of her chair.

When Cora turned away from her, Shiv had managed to recover. Gone was the indignation, now replaced by a steely resolve. What stood out most was the sharpness of her bright blue eyes. Cora had seen this look before, but not for a long time, a decade and some change. This was student class president Shiv, valedictorian, head honcho. This was her best friend.

"Gerri, I think you should step outside." She said tightly. "I think you can imagine you remaining in here any longer is a conflict."

"Well, I ... " Gerri appeared startled, blinking rapidly. "It really isn't that big of a dea-"

"Outside, please, Ger." Shiv's smile was aggressively professional. She placed a hand on the back of Roman's chair. Cora's eyes fell to meet his, her stomach turning. Shiv was not the only one in the room eerily reminiscent of the past.

Her body was finally catch up to her, she'd been splintered in two the moment she had realised just what was on Logan's phone. All of the sudden, Cora was shivering. Inside someone had triggered her pilot light, a flame of self-righteousness fanned. Anger vibrated, a belly full of hot coals.

"Really?" Her breath shuddered from the back of her throat. "Is this how it's gonna be?"

"Cora ... " Roman began.

What happened next lasted barely the span of a blink. One moment he was looking at her, pleadingly, the next he had ducked. Flying through the space where his head had been, a ballpoint pen cut the air and landed with a harsh clatter against the far wall, so hard had the force propelling it forward been.

The frantic panic of the room ceased instantly, leaving only a silence so stifling that Cora felt it crush down on her abdomen. Only soft sounds continued. A watch clock's hands, Shiv's fingers against her brother's chair. The slight wheeze at the tail end of Roman's exhales hung heavy.

"I told you not to fuck it up." Logan said, his voice measured.

"You can't just throw something at him." Cora's mouth was slack as she spoke. No one was more surprised than her that she had managed legibility. She felt Logan's ire shift to her. "You can't."

"I can do as I like with my son." He replied. "And you'll do very well to remember that."

Her breathing was terse under Logan's hard stare. From the corner of her eye, she could see Olivia clutching her hands in front of her, shoulders pulled inwards, as though she were trying to make herself very small.

"Fine. But I'm going back to the villa. You all can sort this out." Cora muttered, rising. "Olivia."

She knew there was nothing she could say to change the situation, and she had a sneaking suspicion staying would make it worse. Roman hadn't reacted to her words. He'd recovered, straightened up, eyes fastened to some invisible yet undeniably distant horizon. He was there and yet he was not.

Olivia didn't need any further coaxing, taking the long way around the board table to avoid entering Logan's orbit. As Cora passed him by, she knew his focus was squarely on his son. Before she could leave, Shiv stopped her with a hand to the shoulder, leaning to brush her lips against Cora's ear.

"Don't worry, leave it to me. I'll deal with this. But you owe me." Cora nodded in response, sweeping the room once more before departing.

It was safe to say that Cora drank that night, beginning the moment she and Olivia arrived back at the villa.

She began modestly, white wine at first, the sweet kind that tasted more like sparkling grape juice than anything with an alcohol content. She poured herself near-half the bottle and spent an hour of dwindling sunlight wandering the outer reaches of the estate barefoot to avoid any unwanted conversation.

At dinner she sat as far away as possible from Roman as she could, mostly drifting around Willa and Connor as he talked their ear off about Italian politics and played 'devil's advocate' for Mussolini. With Shiv out for Caroline's bachelorette party - Cora had managed to snake out of it by hiding beneath the bed long enough for people to simply stop searching for her - and Olivia too mortified to make eye contact with her, she was free to unleash the beast she had kept stifled since the debate.

She kept her glass filled to the brim, having graduated to red, her lips staining purple with hearty gulps. Cora didn't particularly like wine, despite her level of tolerance even she was susceptible to the effects of being 'wine drunk'. Far from the warm happy feelings that she had heard wine gave others, it tended to make her near-catatonic.

Indeed, it only took her three glasses before she had sprawled her upper body against the table, nodding with half-open eyes as Connor recounted yet another unhinged Twitlonger that Panhandle Pete had reportedly made. Apparently there had been some great falling out after the convention that had to do with Willa.

" ... and then he quoted tweeted Elon Musk, demanding that I get deplatformed. So much for being against the violation of people's liberties! The Janus-faced buffoon!" Connor exclaimed, putting his phone down. Willa nodded in response, her smile a little looser than usual. Evidently she was glad that Connor had managed to shake this particular supporter.

"Yeah for real Con, fuck this Peabody guy." Cora slurred.

"See! That's exactly what I said. My campaign advisor? Not so much. The thing is he ... " Connor's voice trailed off into a distant hum as Cora saw Roman from the corner of her eye. She had caught him staring at her again.

Sheepishly he pulled his gaze away, head bowing down to stare at his hands. The night wore on.

When she eventually stood, her legs wavered beneath her, a leaf trembling in the wind. Faintly she heard Willa's voice calling after her, but the wine was heavy in her veins, the heat of her body urging her to find someplace cool beneath the stars.

The place she managed to find was a bush, which she promptly collapsed into after the toe of her shoe caught on an uneven edge in the path below her.

Cora's footing loosened as yelped, falling like a sack of potatoes into one of Caroline's hedges. It sagged beneath her, brittle sticks tearing at the cotton of her shirt, but surprisingly the plant caught her fall. Rather than pull herself upwards, Cora decided to stay that way, upper body supported by the shrub as her legs dangled askew on the path that had betrayed her. She sighed in resignation.

Out in the country, the sky stretched far and wide, unadulterated by the smog and noise of pollution. In the distant, she could still hear the evening festivities as a dull murmur, like they were taking place in a reality adjacent to the one she found herself in, just out of reach. Despite herself, Cora relaxed against the foliage, closing her eyes as her body sagged beneath a wave of exhaustion.

"Look, I'm sorry, but are you quite alright there?" Tom's voice made her jerk suddenly. She had the distinct impression that she'd managed to drift off, her eyes groggy with sleep. "It's just ... You've been in there for quite a while."

Cora winced as she nodded, twigs digging into the crown of her head. She didn't have nearly the strength to pull herself upwards. Tom appeared at the corner of her vision, frown creasing his forehead. With a tsk and a sigh, he extended his arm to her. Cora groped it with both hands as he yanked her upwards in one smooth motion.

She was on her feet again but unfortunately the necessary momentum to free her had bestowed an intense wave of nausea. As Tom watched, utterly aghast, Cora suddenly clutched her gut, turned around to the very bush she had fallen into and proceeded to projectile vomit into it.

"Well ... At least it's not on my suit." Tom muttered beneath his breath. "Alright, guess we better get you to your room. Find that fiancé of yours."

"Nooo I don't think that's necessary, actually." Each word's vowels were plied messily open.

"Yes, as much as we've recently began to see a little more ... Eye to eye?" Tom said, stringing a chaste arm around her shoulders. He helped to steady her as she recovered against his side. "I'm still not quite at the point where I'm perfectly happy to be responsible for whatever you get up to when you're shit-faced. Respectfully."

"Gotcha. Respectful."

Tom marched her back to her room, which proved to be quite the effort. She was particularly uncoordinated that evening, and even when she wasn't busy stumbling dangerously close to a Ming vase or a hallway table, she had a frustrating habit of cutting directly into Tom's path and stopping him in his tracks. His annoyance was palpable, but he held his tongue, and for that she was grateful. The truth was, she was stalling. She didn't want to return to the bedroom, to the oppressive silence muffled only by the ringing in her ears. Cora just wanted another shrub to accost, a bucket to throw up in, perhaps a falling asteroid to take her out of her misery.

Roman answered the door in a white t-shirt and grey sweats, his hair slightly tousled from time spent wrestling with sleep. He stepped aside as Tom helped her past the threshold.

"Thanks." Roman muttered, gesturing to Cora. "For bringing her back."

"Well, what else is family for?" Tom forced a casual smile to his lips, showing a little too much teeth. Roman looked unimpressed.

"Y'know Tom, I can't say I've ever thought of you in quite those wor-"

"I'm gonna vom." Cora said, rudely interrupting them as she staggered off towards the ensuite.

"That's my cue. I've seen enough of that for tonight." Tom said with a nod. "See you both at the ceremony."

"Yeah totally. God willing, I guess." Roman muttered as Cora's side collided with the door frame. She groped for the door handle, almost falling as it swung inwards. Roman darted forwards but it was too late. She collapsed to her knees, crawling the rest of the way to the toilet.

With a sigh, Roman quickly reached out to bundle her hair into a ponytail with his fist. Seconds later Cora was retching loudly, fingers taut against the sides of the porcelain bowl. Once, twice. She straightened up slightly only to be hit over the head with the image of Logan's phone sliding against the boardroom table. Gerri's pursed lips. Roman's fear. Shiv's voice, a whisper, scratching her brain. "Don't worry, leave it to me. I'll deal with this. But you owe me."

A punch to the gut and she was wracked with one more violent convulsion.

Cora remained still as she recovered. Eyes, nose and mouth wept. Roman turned on the sink, wet a spare hand towel while keeping her hair in place. He crouched by her side, gently tugging her upwards to face him.

Roman said nothing as he wiped her mouth, apparently a joke here was too undignified. Cora studied him through half-lidded eyes. It dawned on her that he had perhaps seen her in every possible light, save for a good one. It did not bring her solace. It was only now, after she had spun so far from the truth, did she realise how badly she had lost her.

He chucked the soiled towel into the sink when he had wiped her chin fully clean.

"So are we even?" She said finally with a voice of gravel. She felt his hand loosen in her hair.

"You fucked my brother," he replied flatly.

"You sent your dick to Gerri."

"Yeah ... After I found out that you fucked my brother. Do you need me to repeat that again? You, Cordelia, fucked Kendall, my brother."

She balked. "W-well you've done things too. You're not some fucking angel. We're both not perfect."

"The crime of telling you to not snort coke and drink yourself to death?" Roman replied. Far from annoyance, he sounded resigned. "The crime of not letting you have your way?"

Cora swiped his hand from her hair and he let it fall.

"What about all the little things? Don't they count for something?" She said, her voice trembling, knowing how she sounded in that moment but ploughing ahead anyway. "Being ... Condescending, looking down on me, only bothering with me when it was convenient for you. When you got something out of it. Why am I the last person to find out you don't fuck? Why did you hold a grudge against me when it was my mother who died? Was your grief over me leaving so much bigger than that? Where was my sympathy? Where's my chance to be aloof, to pretend like you never existed? Shouldn't I have been the angry one?"

Cora's voice was sharp with equal parts exasperation and anguish. He watched her patiently, not saying a thing as she continued.

"I've always been the vulnerable one, the one who takes the fall or suffers the humiliation. I'm the one who's spent their life fielding questions about you, because apparently my pining was written all over my face. They placed bets on me. They asked me what happened between us. Shiv blamed me for what she thought happened and dragged me over the coals for years. Where's your penance? Where's your pound of flesh?"

"That's not true." Roman shook his head. "You know that's not true."

But she had started and she was not stopping.

"Why did you never tell me? About the deal? What went through your mind to justify that?" Despite everything she had summoned, her voice faltered suddenly. "God, do you realise how pathetic it made me feel when I found out? It killed me, Roman, it snapped me in half."

"I was a child." He whispered. It was all he had the strength to say.

"So was I."

"And I wanted to see if it was real." The thin skin of his eyelids fluttered delicately as he spoke. "I just wanted to know for sure, that you really did like me for me."

"Well you denied me that same question altogether, didn't you?" She said, a note of finality in her words. "Because now I'll never truly know. You win. I lose. Are you happy?"

"Do you even need to ask that, Cora? Do I look happy to you?"

He had gone from crouched beside her to collapsed against the bathroom floor, a shaking arm keeping himself upright. His eyes watered at the rim, he had barely blinked during the entirety of their conversation. Regardless, she couldn't deny his distress.

Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head.

"We both lose."

They were both quiet for a while after that. Silence filled the void of the bathroom, broken only when Cora reached gingerly upwards to close the lid of the toilet and flush her sick down the pipes. She folded her arms against the lid and rested her head. She would have a horrible hangover tomorrow, but what panged the most was the crushing grip around her chest.

"At least we agree on that." He said finally, pulling his legs toward his chest. "For the record, no one ever asked me if anything happened except Shiv, because they all assumed I struck out. Dad held a grudge for a while."

"Is that why he threw the pen?"

"Something like that."

Cora closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. I know nothing can ever take back what I did, but I'm sorry. I shouldn't hav-"

"I don't need the details." Roman stopped her quickly, but his tone was slack. "I ... Fuck, I don't even know. I don't forgive you, not right now. But maybe I could. In the future. The distant future."

Hope stirred in her chest, she straightened to lean her back against the adjacent wall. They faced each other, the toes of their feet an inch apart.

She took him in, searching his face. Could she gamble her life on the possibility of forgiveness? Or would they keep chasing one another's tails, trying to consume the other, begetting a cycle that they had perpetuated since youth. What other sins could they knock off? What new divine punishment could they bestow upon the other?

"I'll let you finish up." Roman muttered, standing. Cora watched him leave, her hand forming a fist beside her on the cold tiles.

"Roman, can you please hold me?" Her voice was hoarse. Roman paused in the doorway of the bathroom. His face was unreadable. "Please. I know I've asked so much of you, but please."

"Alright." He said after some thought. "Just wash yourself up. I'll be waiting."

Roman was lying on his back when she finally emerged from the bathroom after scrubbing out her mouth, the skin of her chin still damp from soap and water. His arms rested against his chest, one ankle pulled over the other. Through the window, the moon was big in the sky, his gaze turned towards it. He remained still as the bed sunk beneath her, Cora turning onto her side and facing away from him.

She dreaded the worst as he made no move to comfort her, pulling her legs upwards to her chest. The beat of her heart was a queasy flutter and steadily climbing into the gritty confines of her throat. Cora held her arms close to the desperate beat, her fists squeezed tight. Silently, she willed for him to do her this grace.

Finally the mattress shifted. Roman's arm slipped around her waist, his face burying in the mess of her hair. He clung to her with such fierce desperation that for a moment, she thought she had slipped into a dream, so unreal was the hot press of his warmth against her back.

Cora remained frozen until she could bare it no longer. Slowly she turned over, his forearm grazing the flat of her stomach, the hold on her unbroken. His face was bathed in shadow, the rim of his body traced in a celestial glow. As their eyes met, her heartbeat dampened to a murmur.

Roman remained deathly still, fear clutched in his eyes.

"I want to kiss you." Cora's voice trembled from her. She was as delicate as porcelain.

"You can't." Roman croaked. "I'm not ready for that."

"Do you think you ever will be?"

His breathing shuddered. She feared he would turn from her then.

"I don't know, Cora. I really don't know."

"I understand." And she did, but it hurt no less. "Is there anything I can do? To make things better. To make everything ok again."

"I have to give it some thought." He replied. "But I ... I don't know if things have ever been ok, Cora."

"Yeah." She replied, her voice forlorn. "I think you might be right."

He reached forward then, pulling her towards him - their foreheads pressed, limbs entangled, warmth shared. And she ached in her chest, sliced through was the gristle and membrane of her heart. For there was violence in the tender, sweet notes leaving bitter - how they had always been, even in entropy.