“Theo, he left his wife. And if he’s finally admitted—far too late, the idiot, but still—that he wants to make his life with you in it, and you...” She trailed off, put a hand over his. “Do you love him?”

“God.” He put his legs down, interlaced his fingers with hers, closed his eyes. “I wish I didn’t.”

“Do you want to be with anyone else?”

She knew the answer. Had known since that night in the bell tower.

He shook his head.

“Mmhmm.” Then he heard a smirk in her voice. “He a good fuck?”

“Genni!”

She blinked her eyes at him, playing the coquette as always, and then she leered.

“Ugh, all right,” he mumbled under his breath. “The fucking best. Christ, his cock—”

“Let’s stop there, shall we?” She shivered in disgust. “I am already struggling to keep this appalling whiskey down. But Theo, darling—maybe you can—oh, I don’t believe I’m saying this—but maybe you can be happy. With him. Really, truly happy. And the world—it’s better than it was, you know, back then. It would be...easier.”

His voice was small. “I’m scared, Gen.”

“I know.”

“What if—”

“Fuck the what-if. You’ve been what-iffing for too long. Just—do the thing, all right, because you deserve—”

A knock at the door. He looked up, a little fuzzy, hot tears in his eyes, and—

Of course. Who better to see him breaking down in his study. Again.

“Gardner.”

Jack stood in the doorway, absolutely awkward and out of place, but he—he didn’t notice the mess, any of it, and didn’t even glance at Genni or her French lace stockings with frilly garters. He was just staring at Theo with such naked intensity that—fuck, maybe she was right.

Theo felt Genni tense next to him. She glared at Jack, then kissed Theo on the head as she picked up her jacket, stood, and muttered, “Do you want me to stay?”

He shook his head, reluctant but certain. He guessed this confrontation was inevitable, like they’d been hurtling toward it for twenty years. Hopefully he could get it over with fast and then get so damned drunk that he forgot his name.

Or maybe—he looked at Jack’s face—maybe there was something—

“All right.” Genni kissed him again, and in a whisper, “Just try, would you?” She crossed to Jack, the heel-clacking noise angry and brutal. “You!” she barked, and jabbed at his chest. “Testicles!”

“Understood.”

As she left—muttering with artistic profanity all the things she wanted to do with his intimate parts—Jack kept looking at him, and looking, and Theo—he was a mess, the burning butt of a cigarette in hand, and whiskey in his bloodstream, and he loved him, painfully, without doubt, and it was the absolute fucking worst, and—

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here,” and he dropped to his knees like a dramatic madman, the remains of the Ming vase cutting into his skin, “To beg.”

Jack was gone. An irrefutable fact. A truth.