Fuck. How was I doing the opposite? “I didn’t mean to,” I whisper-yelled. “I just mean—you know—you’ve got a right to be part of this.”

“That’s not the reassurance you think it is.”

Shit, this was turning into Drag Race all over again. “Can’t you let it be?” I tried. It was the wrong thing to try.

“Lucien.” He was using my name a lot, which was never a good sign. “I absolutely don’t want to denigrate anybody’s values. But places like this are… Well, I’m sure for people who like to express themselves in this kind of way that they’re very empowering. But for me…” Now he ran a hand through his hair. Also not the best of signs. “It’s like this whole event is telling me I’m doing my identity wrong if I’m not draping myself in rainbows at every opportunity. Ironically, it makes me feel judged.”

It was nothing he hadn’t said before. It was just extra weird for him to be saying it at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding while we were surrounded by my ex-friends. Because there was a part of me that still belonged here and hated that he didn’t. “I think that’s just in your head.”

He gave a cool blink. “I’m aware. But I’m also aware that I’ve told you on more than one occasion that I don’t feel especially represented by this kind of thing, and you’ve consistently failed to believe me. So I sometimes think it might not be quite as much in my head as all that.”

Fuck, were we having a fight? Was this a fight? Had I tried to show off my amazing barrister boyfriend to my arsehole ex and wound up having an embarrassing fight in the middle of said ex’s fabulous queer wedding? “Oh my God, Oliver,” I hugged him in the hope of de-escalating. “I didn’t mean to make you feel… Shit, I’m a crappy boyfriend and you’re so great for doing this for me and you don’t have to like anything you don’t want to like and we can go if you—”

“Luc? Luc O’Donnell?” I turned to see a man with an obscenely expensive suit and no sense of timing making his way around the edge of the dance floor towards us.

It took me a moment to recognise him. “Jonathan?”