“Talk to me.”
I hunch my shoulders. “I know I’m uptight. But what does everyone expect? I thought my family was happy, but it turned into a battleground overnight, all thanks to—” I bite my tongue.
“You can say it. Thanks to Barry’s affair with Mum.”
“And now Dad and Molly want me to play happy families like everything is fine. Well, it’s not. Mum’s heart is broken, and I-I?—”
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“You have every right to be.” Archer pulls me to a halt, steps before me, and holds me by the hips.
I rest my forehead against his and take a few deep breaths. “I don’t want to take it out on you.”
“You’re not. You’re venting, which isn’t the same thing at all. Everyone needs to vent sometimes.”
“Even you?”
He smiles. “Even me.”
“Does Molly tell you to go out and get laid often?”
Archer laughs and encourages me to carry on walking. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“It’s cringy.”
“Eh, I’m used to it. I’ll ask her to tone it down around you.”
“Thanks. I don’t need Molly thinking about my sex life. Or Dad. Especially not Dad.” I shudder at the thought.
“You don’t talk about that stuff with your dad?”
“Never. I asked him for advice once, but he said he couldn’t give me any because he didn’t know what two guys did together.”
Archer squeezes my hand. “Is he okay with you being gay?”
“I think so. He’s never said much about it. I didn’t feel like I couldn’t come out to him, but he’s also not the type of person who’ll ever wear an Ally T-shirt or a ‘You’re Safe With Me’ badge or anything.” I kick a loose piece of stone off the path.
I’ve never thought too hard about whether Dad does or doesn’t approve of my sexuality. He’s always been a stern, hard-to-read man. As he hadn’t yelled at me or kicked me out, I figured he must be okay with it. Not that I care what he thinks of me anymore. I lost all respect for him the moment I discovered he was screwing his secretary behind Mum’s back. Except that isn’t true, is it? I care too much about his opinion. I always have.
Is what Archer and I are doing any better? We’re not cheating on anyone, but we are lying.
“What would help you relax?” Archer asks.
Doing him, but that’s not an option.
“We could check out the shops and see who can find the craziest souvenir,” he suggests.
I smile. He’s so sweet.
“I bet we can find somewhere to get massages. It’ll be a lot cheaper than back in England. Have you ever had a massage?”
I shake my head. “Have you?”
“Nah. Mum swears by them, though. Woah. Have we stepped back in time?”
The modern hotel complexes provide a stark juxtaposition to the shopping area we’ve walked into. The buildings look like they belong in the nineteen seventies, and we’re walking on whatcan only be described as ‘crazy paving’. Nearly every building is a cafe or bar with wicker chairs and tables arranged outside. Signs for British beer and food are everywhere. The flags of every country imaginable fly on strings stretched across the pavement, the fabric cracking in the breeze.
