Monday, December 8, 7:20 p.m.

ANN

We are late and Jack is beside himself. Pacing inside the room and pointedly taking long hard looks at his watch. I am so scattered that evening. I must have tried on every outfit I have in my suitcase and nothing seems right. But I eventually settle on the outfit that has a short black suede skirt and a sweater set that is black and glittery and form-fitting ... when I finally am dressed and Jack turns from glaring out the window, I see the irritation drop away as his eyes latch onto my chest and I figure it was a good enough choice.

At the house, I pause at the door and slip my hand in Jack's. I feel my PR smile coming through for me as the door opens and John bows us inside. I won't let go of Jack's hand until he is forced to pry it out of his so he can take my coat off and hand it to John.

He knows me well enough by now, does Jack. He knows this means something and I am forever grateful that he hovers near me as we enter and as I am greeted by the Brothers and Sisters.

All there. All of them. And for the first time since I've known them, I cannot bridge the feeling of distance. It is a voluntary distance. One I have adopted lately. I think I have never been better because they never notice that I am more me than they know.

But from this distance, I watch them interact. The coy flirting. The outrageous flirting. The fun flirting. The sweetness of love between couples. The animation between Sisters. The gentle affection among the women. The masculine camaraderie. The little digs. The sly jabs that never disguise the real ties. The inside jokes. The sincere compliments. The telling stories.

And Jack is in the center of a lot of it. He is a remarkable man and I stay close to his side and let him carry the weight of social discourse.

For so long, I avoid Terry. He notes it. He does nothing about it and for the first time since our irritation with the other began, I feel tremendous guilt along with the pain. It was my fault, after all. I remember to be more aware that I owe him far more than I could ever repay. It is how I find the courage to finally speak to him. It is nothing remarkable but I am determined to remember that he is my friend, above all else. If he can be polite to me this night and ignore the nastiness of our last phone call, then I can do that for him.

And just as I think I am doing it all so right, along comes a Sister who asks about the tension between Terry and me.

Heather. Damn her but she is just a bit too astute.

And then Uma is wanting to chat with me, trying to draw me out and I want nothing so much as to keep up the pretense but it is tiring.

I use the age-old feminine escape route. I excuse myself and go to the bathroom.

I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and looked in my eyes as I washed my hands. Where's that pretty smile of yours, I asked myself. And there it came; right on cue. Plastered on good and secure. You can do this.

About plowed into her when I opened the door to leave.

Uma.

Waiting on me. Pushing me back into the bathroom and locking the door behind her. We eyed each other up. I still wore my smile. She wasn't fooled but then she rarely was anymore.

"What's going on? Have I missed something?" she asked me, in this rushing cadence of hers that always makes me feel like I'm running to catch up with her.

"I don't know. You've been awful busy tonight. Is there something happening?"

She made that 'tut' noise at me that she does. Her face squenched in disapproval. She looked a bit like a schoolmarm. "I'm talking about you, not me."

"Well, I might have missed whatever it was as well. I haven't actually heard any juicy gossip yet tonight."

"Ann ... stop bullshitting."

"I don't know what you mean."

"What's the matter with you? You are acting like you are some business acquaintance." She strummed her fingers on the counter and looked a bit bored with my act.  Oh boy. I was losing my audience and I hadn't even started the tap dance yet. "This is me ... you and me ... we go back..."

And isn't that at least part of the problem? Like I'm going to tell you, I'm thinking, and risk ruining such a special night for you and the man you love? I see that happening. Even I'm not that selfish. Went on the aggressive retreat tact. Knowing that Uma always asked in this convoluted way if she was really just fishing and didn't quite know what was going on. "Back far enough for me to know that if there was something you wanted to know, you'd just come out and ask me."

"Okay ... why are you and Terry behaving like that? This has been going on for weeks. Will someone tell me what is going on?"

"Behaving? I can't imagine what you mean. We're fine." So, she had called my bluff. I could bluff, too, right? Well, okay, so I could lie. But she just looked at me and I knew she needed something plausible or she'd never let it go. I sighed and leaned against the counter. "Look, we had a bit of a disagreement about Max. He's not Max's biggest fan and he's not too thrilled with me getting closer to him. But so what? That's between us and we'll resolve it. That's all it is. And really it's not even about me -- it's still part of their pissing contest with each other. Which is why Max is not here, frankly."

"Max. Always bloody Max," she muttered. And then she scooted up onto the counter and took a seat. Getting comfy. And this worried me. It should have. "Did Terry upset you? Heather mentioned something about chat one night ... was he nasty?"

I swept my hand in the air and gave her a dramatic eye-roll with a little laugh. "That? He was on the rag. It was no big deal."

"He can be very unreasonable sometimes. SRH."

"SRH?"

She gave me her little giggle. "Semen Retention Headaches ... the new male PMS. And they think we have dick envy."

"Boys will be boys, eh?" A lame comment for sure but I thought it closed things off nice; two women sitting in a bathroom dissing on men.

I thought it was over. I thought I was off the hook. But then I think I must have lost that PR smile and let her see the real me that night. Because she reached out and stroked my arm, saying softly, "You just seem a little forlorn tonight. Everything all right with Max?  Is he ok?"

And there I found it. My place to divert attention to: Maximus. I jumped in with both feet and moved the subject to a safer place. God but I am an idiot. "I feel like I'm adopting Max as my cause. You have to feel sorry for him, don't you, if that's the case? I mean, look at the poor guy -- no Number 1 and his Number 2 won't be with him and the only Sister who's after him is the one who fights him constantly. How's that for his ego, you suppose?"

"It will spark him up a bit."

"He's sparking all right." I waggled my eyebrows at her and we both started laughing.

"Anyway ... you seem to be doing less fighting and more fucking these days... if you'll pardon my language."

I gave her my grin, a genuine one this time, and cocked an eyebrow. "It's been ... an interesting week."

"Really?" she asked with this little sigh.  "Gonna tell me all about it?"

"I know you'll think I'm crazy but all week, I kept wishing I was you when I was with him." My eyes opened wide at the shock on her face. "God, that sounded odd, didn't it?"

"Why? You didn't want any sex?"

"Well ... no. I just meant that I can't understand most of the shit he does. And I just kept thinking, if I was Uma, I'd understand him."

We traded smiles. I know she knew what I meant. "I can barely keep up. You know, they never really prepared us for this at Uni."

"Agreed. But you just know stuff about his culture and his times that I'll never get. It really makes it tough to relate to him."

"Yeah, but he still throws me," she said and I let it pass because I heard the regret in her voice.

"And he did things ... he just surprised me sometimes."

"Did things?" A pause. "Yes ... he is unpredictable. Just when you think you have him sussed, he does something..."

We were both silent for long moments. I had this flash of memory and just blurted it out. "I mean ... can I really believe that he'd be sentimental? Max? Do men like him really get that way? It seems so ... un-Roman to me."

She gave me that 'tut' again. "Of course. They were so sentimental. A strange mix -- brutal and sentimental. Cried easily. It wasn't unmanly."

And in that moment, I realized how much I'd missed just talking to her and not feeling like I had to keep things in. "Like one night ... we had this huge argument that really was just a case of us not understanding the other's viewpoint. I thought ... I don't know what I thought he'd do but once we figured it out ... It just seemed to really bring out this other side to him. I mean, he was ... sentimental. Like from nowhere it seemed he's reciting this beautiful poem he said he learned as a boy to charm the ladies. And you're right; it wasn't unmanly at all. It was ... amazing, really."

I saw this smile on her face and wondered what memory of Maximus that had triggered in her. "They were very romantic, you know."

It still amazed me. My voice was hushed. "Imagine him telling me a poem in Latin. It was beautiful."

"Roman love poetry is amazing. Wonder which one? He won't be like Lach - Max knows hundreds by heart."

"This one was something by a poet named Cata-something. Oops. Don't I feel like the idiot? Can't even remember the poet's name."

"Catullus?"

"That's it!" Why did I just know that Uma would know this?

"Well, it won't have been one of his rude ones. I like them best," she said quickly and started laughing. I was laughing with her in a second. Something about the way she laughs at moments like this.

"No, it wasn't rude. It was pretty. He said it was a man to his mistress, telling her they should make love despite what people would say because life's too short. He told me he and his friends memorized it as youths to charm the ladies. I imagine it worked quite well ..." I was just rambling on, all dreamy eyed, like no one had ever quoted a poem or sonnet to me.

"Da mihi mille basia?" she asked quietly. When I frowned in confusion, she quickly added, "Sorry... 'Give me a 1000 kisses?'"

"Yes! That's it!" I clapped my hands at the luck that she'd know the poem. Waggled my eyebrows at her. "Oh, I remember that part well. You should hear it in his voice. Or maybe you have."

But she wasn't smiling anymore. Her voice was serious and ... confused, I think. "He said that to you? Jesus."

"Jesus? What's with that reaction, Uma?"

"I didn't expect that one. That's all," she said quickly, sliding off the counter like she was drawing this conversation to a close.

Oh. God. I knew it then. I'd just crushed some special memory she had with Max! I felt awful to have been so stupid, so insensitive. I grabbed her arm and stopped her from leaving. "Oh, no, Uma. Tell me this isn't a replay of the Cort song -- the one he sang to all the women and they all thought it was for them? Did Max tell this one to you and ... I mean, I assume it's in his arsenal, eh? I'm sorry if I just messed this up for you."

"No. He never said it to me. It isn't like that." She drew herself up. Stiff upper lip and all, eh?

"I'm sorry. I feel I've said something to upset you, Uma."

"No. Not at all. Just took me by surprise ... take no notice. He's just a very unpredictable man."

I tried to recover some class and grace. I knew she was upset but if she wanted to hide, I wasn't going to press her. After all, I hadn't wanted to be pressed by her that night. So I purposely tried to lead us away from the minefield. "Yes, he is. I am never sure what to expect with him. Perhaps it's one of his charms."

"One of his many." My eyes darted up to her face; she had this small, wistful smile on her lips and she was somewhere else entirely. And then her eyes focused on me. "Do you understand that poem, Ann?"

"Just what he told me. He told it to me in English after he said it in Latin because, of course, I wouldn't have understood it otherwise."

"I mean it isn't just a simple love poem."

"Then what is it?"

"Roman poetry is very loaded with meaning and symbolism. They were very literate people."

Giving her a wry grin in the hopes it would break the sudden tension in the air. But also because I think I didn't maybe want to know where this was going. "Which is another reason to have been you when I was with him. I don't even get most of the symbolism in English poems."

"You know when someone gives you a flower and the Victorians ascribed meaning to every flower?" I looked away from her and felt something shake in me. Did she know? "Well, poems were like that to them. There is always a subtext. He knows you don't know that but he wouldn't have chosen that poem idly."

Flowers ... meanings ... symbols ... poems. I remembered the flowers. "He's into subtext, I'm learning. He brought me flowers the last night I was there and told me their meanings."

"Max? Flowers? I don't believe it!" she told me sharply. Our eyes met. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you this ... or maybe he wants you to find out."

"Or maybe it was just a pretty poem he remembered saying to young women to get in their pants," I said.

"No - he wouldn't have used that poem. There are plenty of others for seduction." And then she gave me a little grin and rubbed my arm. "And they didn't wear pants."

It cracked us both up. It was the perfect touch.

As we sobered up, I realized something. She wasn't going to tell me even though she thought I should know. But she wasn't going to do it unless she knew I wanted to know. And that meant I needed to know.

"Okay, now you have to tell me. What's the subtext of the poem?"

I waited as she hopped back up on the counter. A delaying tactic? Trying to organize her thoughts? Trying to decide how much to say? When she leaned back into the mirror over the counter and hugged in on a knee, I knew she'd made up her mind to just tell me what she knew she'd want to know if she were in this position.

"Catullus was a young handsome poet but pretty impoverished. He met a very beautiful woman called Clodia; she was the sister of one of the most dangerous politicians in Rome. This is Caesar's period ... Julius. They were all scrabbling for power." She looked at me hard. "Okay ... no more history."

Licking her lips and looking up at the ceiling. Continuing but this time, it was a story I knew she treasured. "They had a very passionate affair. She was a free thinker and sexually adventurous."

For just a moment, I had this moving picture in my brain of my times with Maximus ... of our adventures, our passion. And I started listening harder.

"She took him places he had never been," Uma was saying. "And then she moved on to new pastures. He was sick with love but he didn't know how to tell her. He wrote a series of poems to her and read them in public. He called her Lesbia -- no lesbian connotation!"

In my best smart-ass voice: "Whew. I was getting worried what he was trying to tell me."

"Mea Lesbia," she said, dropping into Latin and gazing at me. "Vivamus, mea Lesbia ... 'Come let us live, my Lesbia, and pay no heed to the sermonizing of old men...'"

Inside my brain, I heard Max's voice in that night ... his version of this poem's beginning: "Vivamus, mea Anna ..."

"She threw his love in his face time and time again," Uma continued. "His poems became progressively more disillusioned until some are quite hateful. But they are all very beautiful and tell of the pain and joy of love ... and how once captive, you can never be free."

We looked at each other. I felt the room was too small. I couldn't even think. I know she knew what a confusing mix of emotions I'd be feeling.

"That's why I was surprised," she said gently. "You wouldn't say that poem to anyone except a woman who you loved very, very deeply."

"But why would Max say this poem to me? Uma, you have to believe me, there's no love here between us. It's not me he loves."

"Makes you wonder though, doesn't it?"

"I simply can't believe that. He doesn't feel that way about me," I said, and in my voice was a bit of anger. There just was no way ... no way could it be Max getting in too deep with me. I didn't want to hurt him. "Unless ... this must just be him on the rebound."

"Don't be so sure," she said. "One thing is clear, Ann. He feels more than he is showing ... and that poem is proof."

I turned from her and felt sick. If I'd been alone, I would have thrown up. I punched the wall with my fist. "God. I feel horrible. You don't know what I did."

"What did you do?" she asked me and I felt her warm hand on my back.

"Before this night, I think it was the day I got in, he wanted to play a game. He wanted me to be the object of his romantic impulses. See if I was woman enough, he said." I turned and looked at her. Ashamed for feeling like I'd trifled with his emotions when he was so vulnerable. "I thought he was just feeling lonely."

"Well, he is lonely ... but he is used to loneliness. What did you tell him?"

"I told him I knew it wasn't me he felt that way about. And then he backed off."

"Did he fear to give too much of himself away?"

"But that isn't the worst of it, Uma. Because, later, after this night when he told me the poem? Something happened and I ... I don't know why I did it ... but I asked him to play the game with me -- to let us pretend for the rest of the time I was there that he felt romantic about me and I would pretend to believe it."

"And now you wonder if it was a game or not?"

"And I wonder how much that hurt him that I would say that." In my mind, our last night together played and I didn't know how I'd ever face him again.

"He never really plays, you know? It is not in his nature..."

I shook my head hard at her. "No. He always plays games with me. Why would I have not thought it was a game?"

"His games are his desires that he cannot articulate. He is not a frivolous man, Ann. If he wants simply to get his rocks off, he behaves differently."

"You're wrong. He likes games. This is just one of them."

"It depends how you define 'game.'"

And then I blurted it out; it was what I'd always rather assumed with Max. "He's pretending that I'm you. That's all this is. A bit of fantasy for him."

She rolled her eyes and gave me this annoyed snort. "That is such crap."

"No. It's not. It's always been that way with us. He only ever sought me out because we were close."

"You should be ashamed of yourself ... he knows exactly who you are. Whatever reason he had in the beginning is different now."

"Then he has to know I don't need this shit right now," I said with this pissy sigh.

"That may be why he talks in riddles. Give him the benefit of the doubt," she told me, tilting her head to peer at me. "But he cares, Ann - or he would simply fuck you and share nothing with you."

"God. What have I got myself into this time?" I whispered it out to her and I think I would have cried but there were too many other things happening to even process tears by then.

I felt her wrap her arms around me and I put my head on her shoulder. "You have got yourself involved with a very, very beautiful man."

Growling at her in frustration and wishing she hadn't just said that. "Max was so perfect because nothing would ever happen between us."

"Famous last words."

"If he's so beautiful, then why do you avoid him so?" I said, full smart-ass mode and knowing the answer already because she's told me before.

"Because he is so beautiful to me. Isn't that obvious?"

"Yes, it is. And I know you find that dangerous to what you have with Terry."

Whispering against my hair, as if she was in awe of the memory: "Do you know how close we came? A hair's breadth away. I can't go that close again to the fire. I will get burned ..."

Pulling away from me and we stood there ... so close ... and ... she gave me this enigmatic look ...  saying: "... And I won't be the only one."

Not understanding ... not knowing if I should pry. Opting to let her have her privacy but taking a guess at her meaning. "But things have changed, haven't they? I mean, you and Terry are so insulated from the rest of us."

"Oh, yes ... things have changed ... but all things stay the same."

"Not really, Uma. Not everything does." Saying it to her soft.

She shrugged at me and her eyes seemed to close down on me. The mood shifted like we'd broken the moment in two. "You don't approve of me and Terry, do you? Is that what this is really about?"

I was taken aback. And I was hurt because I felt like I'd been doing all I could to be supportive of their dreams; even at my own expense. Did they really view me this way? My voice was carefully neutral and moderated to appease. "I know I don't have the right to an opinion, and it's not my life, but what I see between the two of you is so beautiful. How could that be wrong? And who am I to disapprove or approve anything?"

"He doesn't belong to me alone ... I don't wish to keep him from anyone."

Ignoring that ... diverting her: "So, no, that's not what I was meaning. I just meant that you seem so incredibly solid and full that maybe there's some space there for Max that wouldn't threaten anything with Terry. That's all I really meant. It's the romantic in me. But I think you and I just don't really view the relationships the same way. And that's good. It's nice having all the different perspectives. Makes us more flexible, eh?"

"As far as Max goes, one day, if he still wants me, which is unlikely, I will see him again ... but now is not the time."

"He'll want you. Trust me."

She raised her eyebrows at me. And then she surprised me by diverting me. "Do something for me ... talk to Terry ... get him alone somewhere tonight ..."

I leaned into the mirror and pretended to be fixing my hair. Adopting a nonchalant voice and body language. "I'm not getting him alone tonight, Uma. It's his night. He needs to have fun with everyone."

"Maybe a dance? You know how he likes to dance."

Christ. Would she not give this up? What was she -- his pimp? For God's sake, he hadn't ever needed one before. I smiled at her reflection and shrugged. "Nah. I don't feel much like dancing. Not tonight."

She laughed at me, saying, "Then that is exactly the time when you must dance!"

"We'll see." Giving her my mother's answer to everything I would never take a 'no' for. Softening it with: "Maybe you should let go of a bit of the hostessing work and take him out for a spin on the dance floor yourself. I bet he's missing you."

She waved my suggestion off. "Terry and I can dance whenever we like. Tonight I am last in the queue. And that's fine by me."

Awkward silence between us. I looked around the bathroom. Wondered if I could escape yet.

Uma said, "So ... You and Max just spent a week being romantic. Can you walk straight?"

I gave her this surprised groan. So Uma. Coarse reference to sex right as she reminds me of what she knows I don't want to think about. "Well, I was walking relatively straight but then Jack got a hold of me."

She hooted in response. "God. Max followed by Jack. You will have been ruptured."

Taking her cue, seeing my 'out.' "Can you see the pathology report? Death by sex."

"Death by insertion of mighty sword and gun ... but she had a smile on her face."

"Absolutely. But you know Jack!"

"I still bear the scars."

"I still bear the smiles," I slid in quick and she snorted with laughter.

Her hand was on the door. "Hey...who's your money on tonight?"

"I am out of the loop I see. Let me guess. Dino and Terry running a book on who does the big nasty in the conservatory?"

"Yes. There have been some very interesting partnerships already. You can smell the lust."

I tilted my head and gave her a mock frown. "And you and I for once are being so chaste ... sticking close to our men and being real ladies."

"I hope they don't leave stains on the upholstery."

"I'd have the cleaners on standby."

"Contract cleaners," she said with a laugh. We were getting good at this, Uma and me. Wonder if either of us were really fooled?

"Apparently the men have Arthur on good odds to score."

"With who?"

"Dunno. You never know with him."

We both nodded sagely. Though I say truly, Diary, I do not get the attraction but it seems I may be the only one. Suddenly, someone was banging on the door.

Bud's voice from the hall: "Who the fuck is in there? Find a room."

"Let's give him a thrill, shall we?" I whispered to Uma and she nodded enthusiastically. "I'll open the door, you drag him in. I get the front, you get the back then we'll switch ... or we could fuck with his mind and pretend we're making out in here."

She gave me that Hurricane Uma grin and whispered, "Better ... wait ..."

Her face right at the door, she shouted in this breathless voice: "Wait ... I'm just ... coming ... ahhhh ..."

I jumped in next to her, giving my own breathless cry of ecstasy: "Wait ... me too ... wait for me ... ahhhhhhhhhhh."

"Oh God ...again ...more ..."

"Oh my GOD! ... Uma!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Ann!!!!!!!!!!!"

I thought we'd die at the sound of Bud's strangled cry: "Jesus Christ!"

Convulsed in laughter, we slung the door open and each grabbed an arm of the horrified cop and dragged him inside with us. Uma slammed the door shut and I said, "Want sloppy seconds, Bud?"

"I just wanna piss," he said gruffly. Poor boy -- he looked it, too.

"Don't let us stop you," Uma said.

"I guess that means we know who just had some in the conservatory if he can't get it up for us," I said.

"Hey, who's shade of lipstick is that? It's not Darcy's and it's not Isobel's," she said as she tugged on his collar. "Aha! I know who! We must alert Dino for the betting pool."

"So was she good, Bud?" I leaned in to ask him.

"Behave," he growled at me.

"I think you're the one misbehaving, big guy."

He gave me this 'Bud look,' shook off and began washing his hands. "Now, as you were, ladies ... don't let me interrupt."

"You're not staying?" I asked him sweetly, batting my eyes.

"Come on there's a queue ... they all think we've had a threesome," Uma said, ushering us both out.

"Hey, there's Arthur. Who's that he skulking after? Izzy?" I said. Bud's head whipped around and he took off with this growl he does. Uma and I started walking down the hall, heading for the kitchen. "Bet Arthur's getting more than the birthday boy."

"Don't count on it. He's got them lined up for later."

She was ahead of me; I never even tried to hide the wince. Put on the gay PR voice. "Yikes, how could I have ever thought such a sacrilege!"

"Providing he goes easy on the malt," she said.

"You know I got the case of Viagra for the gag gift. Maybe he can use some of it later if that's a problem," I said with a chuckle.

"I can just see him sneaking a few tablets."

When she glanced at me, we both shuddered. "God. Imagine Thornie on Viagra. That's enough to give me a heart attack."

"God. Would I ever sleep again? It frightens me to think of it."

I gave her a grave nod. "Truly."

"We'd have to get one of those tranquilizer guns they use for mad bull elephants."

"Or get him a mad female elephant."

"Yeah ... let me ring London Zoo."

"He'd bring her to her knees."

We looked at each other. Wide eyes. I could imagine our mental images were similar.

"Have you ever wondered what he must have been like at 18?"

Actually, as odd as it sounds, this was safe territory for me. "It has been the source of a few fantasies."

"Yeah ... me, too. Bet he was awesome."

"Course, I also fantasize about an 18-year-old Jack coming in for shore liberty after a three-month abstention."

Uma's eyes misted over. "It would be like a tidal wave. You would be drowned in a sea of spunk."

"Isn't that a lovely thought? ... I might have been able to take him on myself at that age. I'd certainly have tried."

"I'd have had a go ... I was always up for a challenge but he wouldn't have looked twice at me. I was hardly what you would have called buxom. He would have thought I was a reefer."

I shook my head at her and chuckled. "Jack wasn't only after big boobs."

"I bet he was at 18. He would just want flesh and plenty of it."

Time slowed ... I got this visual ... I had to shake myself out of the reverie. "God, that's making me hot. I need to go find him."

"Go, Ann, go!" she chortled. I stood there ... suddenly reluctant to just leave on that note. It seemed rude after the heart-to-heart. I think she sensed my hesitation. She rubbed her chin and looked thoughtful. "Let me see. The study's free ... and there is a great leather couch ..."

My head shot up. "Leather?"

"Thought that would cheer you up."

Big sigh. "Leather. Where is Jack?"

She grabbed my arm. "Here -- two glasses of champagne and I'll tell Jack you're waiting for him. Go and do your worst."

"Oh thank you! But I'll do my best, I assure you. Nothing but the best for Jack."

I was almost out the door when she called out to me: "Good girl, I never doubted you."

"Just give me a few minutes so I can get the knickers off and the bra unhooked ..." And I was off and running ... but here's the thing, Diary. I'd so love to say that images of Jack home from the sea were littering my brain.

Pretend all I want around Uma, but what was uppermost in my mind was that text message from Maximus ... the one he'd sent me after I'd left him in Dubrovnik. 'No more pretending,' it had said. I paced in the study and waited for Jack. And thought of Max. I pictured him on that balcony, staring out to sea, facing in this direction. It wasn't the sex, it wasn't the arguments, it wasn't the challenge. It was the vulnerability that did it to me; it was that moment when the innocent boy in him came boldly out to confront me.

 The passion of our unconventional relationship.

I would have given a lot to have been able to put my arms around him that night and sheltered him. How unexpected.