“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. And besides, don’t act like there isn’t some part of you that secretly enjoys playing this eternally woeful, tormented role. If you were happy, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.”

“That’s not true.” I was surprised to feel myself blushing. “Stop trying to fuck with me.”

“I’m just intrigued, that’s all. You wear this mask of moral superiority. So does Mortensen. Yet, here you two are, sneaking around.”

“You don’t understand. We’re in love.” The wry look Roman gave me immediately made me regret my words.

“Oh, I understand. Believe me, I do.” I kept my eyes on the road. He had once told me he loved me, and I’d thrown it back in his face. “If you guys were so in love, why’d you break up in the first place? You were fawning all over each other the last time I saw you.”

“For a lot of reasons,” I mused. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is.”

I sighed. Edmonds was about twenty five minutes away. This was going to be a long drive.

“Well, not that it’s any of your business, but I mean, there were a lot of things going on. We were having communication problems, for one thing.”

“How terribly mundane.”

“And I was starting to freak out—you know, about how he could die. I didn’t think I could handle that.” I waited for Roman’s snide response to that, but there was none. “And, of course . . . I mean, there was always sex. I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand the thought of stealing part of his life away. Our love wasn’t dependent on sex . . . but well, it still muddled things up.”

“And now you have no problem with sex.”

“Because I can’t hurt him now! Look, I can’t help the timing—or the fact that we still care about each other.”

“Or the fact that each of you have significant others.” Now I stayed silent. Roman tipped his head back against the seat thoughtfully. “In all my observations this week, I’ve got to admit, I like Maddie.”

“I like her too,” I said quietly.

“But that guy you’re dating? Well, I think you can do better.”

“I’m almost starting to wish you’d kill me.”

“Oh, I’ve thought about it,” he said. To my dismay, the joking was gone from his voice.

Again, I refused to look at him. “I’m sorry . . . about Helena. I never meant for that to happen.”

Roman gave a laugh that sounded like it choked him. “Oh? What did you think would happen, then? A slap on the wrist? I survived it, and I was still in pretty bad shape.”