“Look, can we do this another time?” I ask him. “Like, not on our siblings’ wedding day?”
“I’ve been trying to call you for weeks—you won’t answer my calls! If we don’t talk about this now, we’ll be avoiding each other until my mother’s funeral.”
“Dark,” I say. “But copy.”
“Just give me five minutes,” Matthew pleads. “If you want to go on hating me after that, you can join the club. I’m sure there’s a columnist at Glam Magazine who’s just dying to know that I get Botox in my armpits.”
“You… what?”
“I’m a naturally excessive sweater, ok? But that’s not the point. The point is…”
Matthew sucks in a big breath like he’s getting ready to blow up a pool floatie.
“I told them.”
Oh, shit. That’s definitelynotwhere I thought he was going.
“Mom, Dad, Harry?—"
“About you and Steven?” I ask.
Matthew sucks his lips over his teeth the way he usually does when he’s about to say something deeply offensive. So, like, constantly.
“Abouteverything.”
I swallow. If Matthew told them Stevenwasn’tthe reason Caleb missed watch, then that means…
I can feel the cold sweat rising to my forehead. Do the Warrens know about me and Caleb? Is Patricia waiting outside this very building with an angry mob? DoesJulesknow? I’ve spent the last three months trying everything humanly possible to forget about Caleb—to shove down the sense of loss that bubbles up everytime I give myself time to think—that I forgot to plan for what might happen if anyone found out.
“Before you go diving back into your fern,” Matthew says mockingly, “you should know that I left out the part about you and Captain Dreamboat. But Mom may have put that bit together herself.”
It’s ok, Stella,I remind my inner panicker. Jules is married now. And it’s a safe bet that the one thing old-money Catholic Patricia disapproves ofmorethan guests fraternizing with her crew is divorce. But the thought does little to calm my rioting nerves. Thanks to Matthew, now all I’ll be thinking about during the reception is Patricia combing through camera footage for Caleb and I sucking face in the elevator. Maybe she already has.
“Does she hate me?” I ask, my throat feeling suddenly dry. Was Patricia’s razor-sharp smile from the pews a thin disguise for the hit she’s planning on me after the first dance? Will I draw my last breath in blue crepe chiffon?
“Funny thing about that. I think mom’s beginning to realize that if she excommunicates everyone who disobeys her rules, she won’t have anyone left to torment. But I don’t think either of us should hold our breath for yacht invites anytime soon.”
I don’t bother telling Matthew that returning to the Vela Bianca is the last thing on my mind right now. Instead, I make a conscious effort to put my worry aside for a minute. I’m focusing on the wrong thing here. Matthew faced his biggest fear. He actually told his parents about his relationship.
“How did Harry take it?”
“He was awkward, at first. Just sort of blinked at me and kept saying, ‘Steven, Steven?’ I think it’s going to take a while for him to get used to seeing us together like…lovers.”He cringes as he says it. “And Jules… she helped, too.”
“Jules?”
I make a mental note to remind her about our no secrets pact. After her honeymoon, of course.
“I told her first,” he said. “Seemed a little less daunting. Andhonestly, I assumed you already had. She was there when I told my parents. And afterwards, when I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”
I think about the weight of carrying a secret like Matthew’s. I only kept my suspension hidden from Jules for a few weeks and I felt like I was being eaten alive. What must it have been like for Matthew to hide a part of himself from his family foryears?
“Does this mean you’re going to stop chasing supermodels for the tabloids?”
Matthew’s bushy eyebrows knit together.
“One step at a time. But anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. For letting me do it on my own time.”
Hugging Matthew is not the most natural instinct in the world. I hesitate as I put my arms around him, and the pressed edges of his suit are nothing compared to the stiffness of his shoulders. But something makes me squeeze him even harder, hard enough to make him hug me back. Something kind of like pride.
