Gen leads the way inside.

"I'll take these up to your room," Mark huffs under the weight of our luggage, and I flash him a grateful smile as we clack over the mosaic-tiled floor of the cavernous entrance hall.

Gen sets the tray on the polished oval table in the centre of the hall, and my gaze wanders to the gilt-framed oil paintings hanging along the wall. They're portraits of Gen and Jared.

"Isn't that a little egotistical?" I grin teasingly as we follow Mark and Gen up the stairs.

"Jared's idea," Gen tilts her head back and laughs. We reach the top of the stairs and turn down a burgundy-carpeted hallway.

"This is where you'll be staying." After passing half a dozen doors - how many bedrooms does this place hold? - we finally pause outside a cream-painted door facing us at the end of the corridor.

"Wow." Vicki drops her bags just inside the room and I try not to gape too obviously as I step in behind her.

The voile curtains of the four-poster bed shift gently against the breeze from the open windows, and a wraparound veranda lays outside a set of double doors. There are two floor-to-ceiling wardrobes for me and Vicki to hang our clothes in, and a dressing table with a large, lighted mirror. A deep wine-coloured armchair in the far corner of the room complements the luxurious cream of the walls and carpet.

"Would you like me to run you two a bath?" Gen opens a door opposite the bed and gestures to the large bathroom beyond it.

Vicki accepts eagerly but I shake my head.

"Um, I'm good, thanks. Thought I might go down to the yard and find Jared, let him know we've arrived."

"Sure," Gen replies brightly, and I'm vaguely aware of Mark leaving after making sure all of our bags were propped against the bed. "He's down there right now, at the barbecue with some of the other men."

She hugs Vicki one more time. "If you need anything, just let me know. Misha, I'll show you to the backyard." After kissing my wife goodbye, I follow Gen.

Wow, this place deserves a spread in 'Better Homes & Gardens.'

Gold-and-wine striped sofas, a fireplace, gorgeous arm chairs, even a grandfather clock...everything strategically-placed. Everything opulent.

Soon we're back in the circular hallway and I glance down at my clothing, feeling sorely underdressed.

"Everybody's in the yard right now," Gen explains as she leads me through the nearest set of double doors. That explains the empty interior. "We're about to have lunch."

"Outside?"

We enter the room and I make out heavy brocade drapes, tied back from French doors that open onto the yard and allow sunlight to pool onto the polished wooden floorboards.

"Yeah, it'll be fun. Then we can go down to the lake for a swim and watch the sun set."

The backyard is unsurprisingly immense, and I greet everyone I recognize in the throng of people. Finally, I spot Jared.

"You made it, shorty," he laughs and wraps me in a bear hug.

"Watch where you're flailing that," my voice is muffled against his shoulder and he gives me a teasing prod before going back to probing the meat. "Dude, I feel like I'm at a five-star resort. I knew you and Gen were loaded but..."

"It'll be a fun weekend," Jared simply smiles. And I'm reminded why he's one of my best friends: his surprising modesty.

The hot air is shimmering directly over the barbecue and the mouthwatering scent of hot dogs and burgers wafts towards me on the breeze. I inhale deeply, stomach instantly voicing its approval.

"Need a hand?"

"Nope, it's just about done. I'm gonna keep it on for a bit longer and then you can help serve."

"Sure. I'll just go ask the girls if there's anything I can do to help in the meantime, then."

Jared nods and I head off towards Gen and Dani.

The two are conversing animatedly while draping table clothes onto the wooden, backyard tables. The flimsy red-and-white material keeps fluttering free in the breeze. They laugh as they try to pin the corners down with water bottles.

"Can I help?"

"Misha, you can go inside and start bringing out the food," Gen replies absently before resuming their engrossing conversation. The two women start giggling at something and, feeling awkward, I slip into the shady, cool interior of the cottage-mansion.

The kitchen table is packed with decadent-looking platters of various sizes and colours. My eyes drift over the eggs, vegetables, dips, several kinds of bread and cold cuts. There are cups, plates, cutlery and juice bottles on the counter. Too much for one man to carry.

I pick up a platter of smoked salmon on crackers.

"Need a hand?"

Looking up, I see Vicki coming towards me. Her hair is still damp and she's changed into a button-down shirt and capris.

"I feel like I should be wearing a ball gown," she hisses in my ear, picking up another platter. "Like I'm gonna sully everything I touch with my inadequacy." I smirk. It's obvious she's a writer.

"Same," I confess.

We carry what we can outside and then return for more, this time with a support staff comprising of Osric, Mark and his wife, and Sebastian.

At long last, we sit down at the long tables to eat, Vicki on one side of me and West on the other. Jensen sits across from me, damn him.

I sigh and prepare for an awkward meal.

We still haven't talked about what happened. Hell, we've barely talked at all. But we don't need to because I've already come to accept that this whole thing is my fault. I should never have gotten in bed with him. I was drunk and tired and I don't know what else came over me, but it was a stupid move.

Of course, he had no reason to freak out. Or ignore me. Jensen is the kind of guy you can talk about anything with; I've never had trouble sharing my problems with him. So why is this so different?

"Pass the caviar, Mish," my wife whispers in my ear. She smiles sweetly at me and something knots in my stomach at the sound of Jensen's nickname coming from her lips.

"Don't call me that," I mumble before I can stop myself. I don't want her to take it the wrong way; it's just...

Just what? The voice inside my head is exasperated, chiding me as Vicki stares at me expressionlessly.

"Are you okay?" This time I can read genuine concern in my wife's eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, sorry."

Lies. I can practically feel Mr. Fizzles scrutinizing me with narrowed eyes, and anyways, Vicki knows me too well.

For a moment I debate telling her everything; maybe she can help me figure out what's going on here, because it's beyond me.

"Okay," she replies tentatively.

She's clearly not convinced, but I don't want to say anything more because Jensen is right there and I'm not sure how much of this he's hearing.

"Here," I say cheerily and pass her the platter she asked for. She eats her cracker like a hamster. A cute sexy hamster.

I go back to picking at my food, but I'm not really hungry. Or maybe it's just that I can't eat.

The stupid table may be long, but it's narrow. And Jensen and I both have considerably long legs, so our knees keep brushing randomly under the table.

Each time, a tingle goes shooting straight to my spine like electricity. I look at him to see the effect the touch has on him but he's irritatingly indifferent to the contact, joking and smiling and not even glancing at me.

Jensen and Jared try to involve me in conversation. We talk about our wives and I even interject every once in a while with a teasing quip that earns me a playful punch from Vicki. We laugh about past panels and stupid things we've said. Jensen folds his napkin into the shape of a dick and passes it to me without saying a word, so there's that. At one point Jared cracks a joke about Castiel; apparently I have a 'baby face.'

I am considerably less than impressed.

"The baby in a trench coat crap is getting old, Jared," I glare in warning at my costar. But, of course, he only grins and shakes his head, rustling those commercial-worthy locks as he does so.

"Come on, it's still funny. Admit it."

Before I can stop him, he reaches over and wraps an arm around my neck, ruffling my hair with his fist. "There," he grins wickedly at his work. "See? Totally debauched, got that just-been-fucked look... Adorable." He punctuates the word with a fork jab in my direction.

What is it with everybody obsessing over my hair?