“Uh…because you’re in mourning?” I offered. He looked incredibly confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You—I mean, wasn’t she your partner?”

“Y—yes.”

“She died two—almost three—years ago. You painted the house black. You wear all black,” I said. “You’re visibly upset whenever her name comes up, and you’ve never talked about her, or even what your life was like when she was alive.”

“I’m not still mourning Carey,” he snapped.

“Well—then what the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked, but nicely.

He laughed. “Nothing,” he said. “Can you believe that I’d rather talk about you?”

“No. I have a ton of questions. For starters—” I was about to ask about the lawsuit, but he cut me off.

“That doesn’t mean I can talk about her.”

“Weren’t you together for a decade?”

“On and off for fifteen years. But it was not a perfect relationship by any stretch of the imagination.”

“You can’t omit fifteen years of your life.”

“I know that,” he said. “I—I cannot talk about it. I cannot discuss Carey, or my life with Carey.”

“Why?” I could not help myself. “Why on earth not?”

“I—I can’t. There’s things you don’t talk about either. You don’t talk about your mother. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say anything about her other than she lives in Florida and you don’t go home.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“My mother is only sad.”

“Well, for me, Carey is only sad.”

“But I’m asking you to. If I told you about my mother, would you tell me about Carey?”

“No,” he said plainly. “I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t,” I said, shoving my chair back from the table. “That’s different.”

“No—I would, but I can’t. You shouldn’t care. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Is this because of what’s happening with Charlie, and the work you’re holding hostage?” I asked, the words landing before I could take them back. He looked at me the way he’d looked at Marlin—angry, hurt, betrayed—but I didn’t stop. “Because—I’m not going to run and tell Max everything you say.”

“Apparently you are, because she’s telling you all about our business,” he snapped, and then we were two dogs fighting, circling each other.

“She didn’t tell me that,” I said, exasperated. “Max never talks about you. At all. She has her own things going on. Charlie did. He says you’re holding Carey’s work hostage and that it’s all over money.”

At that Tyler turned almost purple. “Why the fuck is Charles Eliot talking to some random painter about our business? God, that guy is such an asshole.”