His face turned ashen then, and I almost regretted asking. Still I didn’t change to topic, because I wanted to know. “He didn’t. He had about one more year left here when we ended things, but he left early, asked for a transfer. He never really liked Addis.” He raised a shoulder, trying to feign an indifference I could see was not really there. “This was his first posting in Africa, and I think he would’ve preferred something in Asia or Europe. Somewhere less ‘rough,’ as he liked to say.”

His face was a mix of sadness and mortification, and I felt so pissed on his behalf. The guy must’ve been one of those who went into the Foreign Service expecting to jump from European countries to “exotic” locations, only socializing with other expats. God forbid they had to interact with the people who lived in the countries. Unless, of course, they wanted to use them as part of the entertainment.

“What happened then? Did he cheat on you?” I asked, already pissed off for him.

Elias shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “Americans, you’re always so direct. To be honest, I don’t know if he cheated,” he said, again trying hard to seem unaffected. But I could see in his knitted brows and the lines around his mouth that it still bothered him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Byron was very adventurous in bed and he was always teasing me about being too conservative. I wasn’t interested in sleeping with anyone other than him, and that made me a ‘victim of my country’s antiquated moralistic beliefs.’”

I felt like shit for pushing him, and almost told him he didn’t need to explain, but before I did, he spoke again. “I overheard him talking to one of his colleagues about me, and what he said was not something a person who cared for me would say.” He shook his head and looked so embarrassed. “When I confronted him, he tried to convince me I heard things out of context, but it wasn’t first time he’d been disrespectful. I think the hardest part for me was that I trusted him.”

I wanted to hold his hand, comfort him as he spoke of things that were clearly still painful, but I couldn’t. Not out here in the open. I touched his knee under the table instead, which was not nearly enough, but already much more than I could probably get away with. “That’s so fucked up, Elias. I’m sorry.”

His expression was one of resignation. “I opened up to him about painful and personal things, and he turned around and used those same things to talk to me like I was some kind of simpleton.”