I opened my mouth to say something, anything, in my defense, but quickly closed it. Most of these photos were souvenirs of my summers sharing a house on Fire Island—at the Gaga theme party I’d been wearing a subdued Star Is Born shag and white tank top, and sure, Callum and I had owned Speedos. I wasn’t embarrassed by any of this until now, because the pictures had been sent to a batch of friends, the only people who’d cared.

But I felt slapped in the face by a fundamental contrast between my life and Edgar’s. He was under tabloid surveillance every second of every day. I could stroll to Starbucks in my sweats or wear a rainbow jockstrap and tutu at a Burning Man party without a second thought. Edgar could never attempt any of this, not without an instantaneous worldwide backlash from strangers dissecting everything he wore or said, everyone he stood next to and, God forbid, anyone he had sex with. His warning from our night before was becoming a neon billboard.

“I . . . I’m so sorry,” I sputtered, “I had no idea. I was so happy, and I wanted to remember the moment, and share it with Edgar.”

“And you’re a civilian,” said Gerald, “which is a luxury Edgar cannot afford.”

Edgar had been silent and watchful, weighing his response. While we hadn’t done anything wrong, I’d betrayed him. He’d told me about his awful and particular problems with his past relationships, so often centering on privacy. I’d listened, but with the ear of a tourist or an Instagram follower, hungry for details of a celebrity’s life and misfortunes. I was like most people, because I’d supposed that an invaded life and exposure to the relentless bitchery of a cruel and thoughtless public were simply the price to be paid in exchange for multiple castles, private air travel and gluttonous helpings of adoration. I’d considered this a fair trade: stardom for scrutiny.

But sitting here, as Edgar dealt with my mistake, and with his family and his country, I couldn’t let him shoulder this or make excuses for me or be as generous and sympathetic as I knew he’d be. It wasn’t fair.

“Okay,” I said, “this is all my fault. I’ve been having such a great time, without thinking about fallout or consequences. So I’ll bow out. I don’t want to keep messing everything up, especially not for Edgar. I’m sure that you’re all amazing at your jobs, so please fix this, and if there’s anything I can do, please, please tell me, but the best and most helpful move I can make is to disappear, forever. And put my phone under the wheels of a truck. And I’m so sorry.”