"Not sex with my sister, that would be extremely odd."
"It would," he agrees with a slight laugh. "What did she make you think about?"
"Whether I wanted to have sex or not."
His expression makes it seem as if he has a lot of thoughts.
"You have questions for me now," I say.
"I do," he says slowly. "But I don't know which ones are appropriate to ask."
I shrug. "I started the conversation." And it feels wrong to have been keeping this from him. We normally talk about everything, but I couldn't bring myself to write about my feelings about sex in my letters.
"What did you decide?" he asks slowly.
"Well, I tried sex a couple of times," I say. "Once with a man, once with a woman. It was all right."
He chuckles. "All right as in..."
"It's like parsnips," I say.
"You're indifferent about parsnips."
"Exactly," I say. "So I guess sex made me feel the same way. It wasn't unenjoyable, but I'm not searching for it. I'm also not avoiding it, so it's not like two sauces on the same plate."
"You have to know how that sounds," he murmurs.
"Veronica says that to me a lot, but the answer is that I don't."
"I think explaining that one would take us a little off-topic," he responds, checking the timer. Luckily, we don't have to make the custard until the pastry's had time to cool, giving us a chance to have our conversation, even if it does feel a little awkward.
"I think that's just it. I don't really understand why people are so driven by it all the time. But I don't think it's disgusting or anything like that."
He nods. "I think that makes sense."
"But you don't feel that way," I say. "Because you had sex with Camille."
"I don't think I feel the exact way you do, no," he responds. "But I don't want to sleep with someone without there being an emotional attachment. That's why things didn't feel right with Camille."
"But you said you were friends." I appreciate that he's being open about this, but I'm not convinced I fully understand what everything he's saying means.
"We are, and we were. But that's not enough of an emotional attachment. I guess I felt a bit like you did in terms of it being not particularly exciting, but not bad either."
"But you think it would be different with someone you love?" I ask.
"I think so. But maybe I'd be wrong. I've never slept with someone I love."
"Because the person you're in love with has no idea that you're in love with them," I say. If Veronica is right, then it's because it's me, but I don't know if she is, and I'm almost too scared to ask.
"Yes," he responds. "And I've only ever been in love with one person."
"Why haven't you told them?" I meet his gaze, not entirely sure what I'm hoping to see there. There's more than a small part of me that wants to hear him say that he loves me, even if I know that's unlikely.
"Because I've not been here." He checks the timer. "I need to get the pastry out. I'm not avoiding the conversation."
I watch as he heads over to the oven and carefully removes the pastry. It brings with it the wonderful buttery smell I associate with this kind of baking, which makes my mouth water but doesn't distract me from the topic at hand.
"You've been back at the castle for a couple of weeks," I say slowly. "You still haven't told her?"
