“Which obligations?”I ask, and I hate that my voice goes quieter.I hate that part of me still wants to bargain.
“You know which,” Daniel says, soft and certain.
I do.
And suddenly I’m eighteen again, standing in my parents’ office with my hands curled into fists so I won’t shake.I’m telling them I’m bisexual like it’s a grenade I’m tired of holding.I’m saying it because they’re furious I chose hockey over their planned path, and I’m angry enough to burn down the bridge myself.
Their faces back then weren’t shocked.
They were offended.
As if my truth was a personal inconvenience.
“You were made aware,” Daniel continues, “that the Winthrop family requires certain standards of conduct.You had to be discreet about the men you ...choose.”
There it is.
Notbe careful.Notprotect yourself.Justbe discreet.Like my life is a stain they want to hide.Like Monty is a scandal.Like Vesper is collateral.
My grip tightens on the phone until my knuckles ache.
And all I can think, fiercely and stupidly, is,Not her.Not him.Not them.
Not Vesper, with her brave smile and her filthy jokes and her eyes that look like she’s already fought wars nobody knows about.Not Monty, who watches doors and sleeps like a soldier and touches me like he means it.Not the family we’re building out of wreckage and stubborn hope.
“I’m thirty-four,” I say, and my voice is calm now, which scares me more than anger.Calm is what I get right before I do something irreversible.“Not thirteen.What I choose to do with my life is my problem.”
“That is irrelevant.”
I swallow, because my mouth is suddenly dry.“What exactly are you calling about, Daniel?”
Another pause.
Then, “Your parents have been advised that you are currently cohabitating with ...certain individuals.”
My heartbeat doesn’t spike.It slows.That’s the thing about real fear—it doesn’t always come with adrenaline.Sometimes it comes with clarity.
“Ah,” I say lightly.“So we’re doing this.”
“We’re doing what is necessary to protect the family.”
“There it is again,” I say.“Protect.Handle.Control.Pick your favorite.”
Daniel ignores the sarcasm like it’s a fly buzzing near his ear.“Your parents will be issuing a statement.”
My coffee turns to acid in my gut.
“A statement about what?”
“About your personal life,” he says.“And about your suitability as a representative of the Winthrop organization.”
My fingers curl around the mug.
“Do not,” I say, voice suddenly too calm.“Do not drag my personal life into your corporate masturbation fantasy.”
“That language is unhelpful.”
“I don’t care.”
