Afterward, Dennis did everything he could to show his gratitude. In all ways but the most essential, he was a wonderful husband. Although she could never entirely forgive him for his deceit, she didn’t want to become a victim of her own bitterness, and she forced herself to accept his friendship.

Her relationship with Terry was more complex. She held the place that was rightfully his, and some part of him resented her for it. At the same time, he was an honorable man, and he tried to compensate by becoming her tireless defender. It had been he, rather than her hardworking husband, who protected her from her father’s meddling. The night Dennis had died, she and Terry held each other, but even in the midst of her grief, she’d known his own ran deeper.

“How long did you stay married to him?”

“What?” She jumped as Mat’s voice penetrated her thoughts.

“Your gay husband. How long were you married?”

“A—a few years. And he wasn’t gay.”

“Come on, Nell. Why are you still trying to protect him?”

Because now she had his legacy to guard, and in some ways that was an even bigger responsibility than being his First Lady.

Mat set his Coke on the nightstand. “There’s a big hole in your story, you know. It’s a little hard to imagine why he’s trying so hard to find you.”

“It’s his family that wants to find me,” she managed. “They’re very conservative, and they’re determined to protect their image.”

He rose in a movement that was curiously graceful for such a large man. “Nell, I hope you’ve taken care of yourself. There are a lot bigger problems for women with gay husbands than a broken heart.”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant, and she wasn’t going to explain that there was no need to worry. “My husband was never promiscuous; he just loved someone else . . . another woman,” she repeated out of habit. “I’m not a fool, and I’m not a health risk to anyone. I was a blood donor less than a month ago. Can you say the same?”

“I’m not a fool, either,” he said quietly.

There was only one reason to have a discussion like this, and she felt too raw at the moment to face it. She set down her wineglass and stood. “I’m tired.”

“The night’s young.” He gazed over at her and smiled. “I’ll bet I was wrong about that kissing thing because you sure don’t look like a little girl, especially in that nightgown. Maybe we should try it again and see.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t.” Oh, but she wanted to, which was why she made herself head for the door. “Thanks for the wine.”

“I guess you don’t have the courage of your convictions.”