“Yes?” he prompts, a little gentler now.
I go to the writing desk drawer and pull out an old newspaper article, folded and re-folded many times. When I unfold it now, I feel all the shame and the humiliation and the sorrow, all over again. But I hold it out to Oliver, silently asking him to take it.
He comes closer to take it from me. “What’s this?”
“Please—just read it.”
It’s a snarky gossip piece from one of Europe’s society magazines, the type that are rarely read in America, thank God. In fact, they’re rarely read in Europe these days, or only among the kind of people likely to appear in them.
Oliver begins to read the story, and I can see when he hits the crux of the matter, because he winces.
I do, too.
He reads it to the end before looking back up at me. “Elliot,” he says softly. “This was—you?”
I give a bitter smile. “Unfortunately.”
He reads it again, and I let him, though I could recite the piece to him off by heart, I’ve read it so many times.
Which musical English aristocrat got left at the altar last weekend? This Ardent admirer was all set to marry his beau in a notable same-sex union, but the other guy never showed up!
“It was an autumn wedding. It’s always been my favorite time of year, despite the weather. There were so many guests—so many people, and Martin just…well, as it says there. He never showed up to the wedding. I tracked him down afterwards, of course. Little by little I got the story out of him. He’d been bored and unhappy for a long time, or so he told me. He met someone on his stag night—someone new and fun and far less…serious.” I clear my throat, but if I stop now, I won’t be able to start again. “And so Martin decided to be spontaneous,” I go on. “He was holding the tickets for our honeymoon, so he decided to switch the flights earlier, and he invited his new lover along.”
“Oh, my God,” Oliver says faintly. The look of horror in his eyes is almost too much for me.
But at least it’s not pity.
“He was good enough to text me and let me know, after an hour of very panicked searching for him. I thought…I thought…” I shake my head. The terror I’d felt in those sixty-odd minutes when no one could tell me where he was—I had never felt anything like it. “Anyway, while Martin and this new chap of his were boarding the plane, I was explaining to the two hundred guests gathered at Arden Hall—including both sets of parents—that the wedding wouldnotgo ahead. But it wasn’t all bad,” I finish lightly. “Martin enjoyed himself very much in the south of France.”
“Oh, myGod,” Oliver says again, his eyes narrowing. “What anasshole.”
“Well,” I say with a small smile. “That’s what happened. I didn’t handle it well.”
“Who the hellwould?”
I probably shouldn’t feel so pleased with Oliver’s righteous anger on my behalf. “You’ve only my side of the story. Martin saw things rather differently. He said I was too demanding. Toocold. I find it difficult to be very expressive with my feelings—outside my music, that is. Anyway, as you can imagine, it was quite a story for a week or two. The news cycle passed on, but I…didn’t. I’m surprised you didn’t know already, actually. It’s still rather high up on the Google results for my name.”
Oliver gives a half-laugh. “I actually stopped myself from cyber-stalking you. I was so proud of myself. Elliot—if I’d known what happened—”
“If you’d known, then what? It’s not your fault I got my heart broken. Nor is it your job to mend it for me, and certainly not to put up with my selfish demands. I’m sorry that I’ve been so rude and so awkward while you’ve been here. The truth is, I like you very much, Oliver.Verymuch. And I wanted to hold on to that, to what we’ve been building up between us—even if itwasall in my mind—”
“No,” he says at once. “No, it wasn’t. It’s not. There’s…something here. Between us.”
We share a smile, and I feel the constriction around my heart ease a little. “Thank you for saying that. Still, as you said yourself—I’m leaving after the masquerade. It’s unfair of me to push for more from you, since my time here is limited. But I hope you can forgive me for this morning.”
He looks at me for a long moment. “Apology accepted,” he says at last, softly. “But Elliot—whydo you carry this around with you?” He holds up the article. “It’s hateful, and it’s only going to bring you pain every time you see it. So—why?”
He’s hit on something I wish he hadn’t. “I wanted a reminder,” I tell him reluctantly.
“Of?”
“Of the dangers of love.”
There have been many times I’ve wanted to read Oliver’s face during our time together, but none more than now. “Oh, Elliot,” he says, and after a moment, helaughs. A small laugh, but definitely a laugh. Stunned, a little hurt, I stand straight and tall as he puts his arms around me.
After a moment, I hug him back.
We stay like that, and I take in his strength and his warmth, and let my emotions settle again into calm.
