“I have no illusions that Jack wasn’t the asshole in that situation.”

His head shot up, and she continued.

“My hus—” She rolled her eyes. “Jack Gardner is many wonderful things. A great dad, philanthropist, all that. But I know, better than most, that he can be a selfish prick.”

“Oh.” Theo felt very small. And kind of vindicated, a gift he didn’t expect to receive from Meg Daugherty.

“And he’s also very easy to love.” It came out in a rush. “I understand—”

“Margaret...”

She stood, facing him, the strap of her nightgown sliding down one shoulder, and with uncharacteristic tenderness she took his face in her hands. “I’m not angry at you, all right? I know that you—you and he—” She blew out a breath. His cheeks tingled where she touched them. “Just. Thank you.”

She was thanking him, and for what?

He remembered staring at her picture in the paper—beautiful and ethereal in the engagement photo, in a canary-yellow sundress, Jack holding her, and Theo had hated her with such bitterness that he thought he’d never recover, and he’d smoked a whole pack of cigarettes and ashed all over her perfect fucking face.

He laughed, still bitter in the deepest parts of him. “Why? Why thank you?”

Her eyes were kind, meeting his, like she knew exactly how he felt. “For letting me borrow him for a while.”

He couldn’t say anything, words and doubts and shame stuck in his chest. She patted his cheek and let him go. Charles sat there, apparently having decided to politely ignore the uncomfortable exchange, but as Theo left, he shot him a gentle smile.

Theo thought he might be all right, someday, with calling him Charlie.

He was back in his house by eleven thirty, undressed and under the covers by eleven thirty-five, and he still felt Meg’s hands on his face. He spread out, naked skin delighting in cerulean silk sheets, nestling himself in the middle of his down mattress. Trying to enjoy his luxurious life.

He couldn’t sleep.

At midnight, he got up, grabbed his phone, and typed out a text in his usual curt tone before he could stop himself. Just four words, and maybe—maybe he could have—

They really were—the marriage was clearly over. He didn’t want to hope, didn’t want to unlock the thing in him that he’d hidden for so long, but—

He read it over, once more, and sent it off. As he lay in bed, the words echoed, over and over, so endless that he heard them in his sleep—

Jack, we should talk.

“Should we get a cat, do you think?”

Theo was in their tiny kitchenette, fully nude, staring at the remains of Jack’s box of sugar—because he sweetened even his instant coffee, the heathen—holes chewed straight through, and granules loose on the counter.