“All you did was care for a woman who suffered from depression. All you did was help another woman going to live her life.”
“Yes. I suppose so.”
It’s awful of me to be relieved that he didn’t love Andrea. That they didn’t even have an intimate relationship, though then I have follow-up questions about all the other women he might’ve been with. “Who do you sleep with?”
“You, sparrow.”
“Before me.”
He lets out a slow breath. “There are always women who want danger. I’m happy to oblige. I told you, my reputation suits me. And in many ways it’s well-earned. Do not think that I am some kind of tragic figure, or a savior. The fact of the matter is, I have leaned into this for all these years. You would like to hear that I’m actually good and celibate, wouldn’t you? I am so sorry. I cannot count how many women I’ve taken to bed. And I don’t know their names. Nor do I care to learn them.”
He’s saying that to distance me. It’s also true, though. I see it in the tortured lines of his face. What I also see is he’s not proud of this. It isn’t nothing to him. He doesn’t like the man that he’s become, and that is a stark, shocking revelation.
He’s made the world hate him, but even more than that, he hates himself.
He is pushing me away here, and I’m not quite sure why. If his marriages really are a source of pain or if it’s something else.
“Well, as long as everyone consented,” I say, looking down at my dinner.
He laughs. “A funny thing coming from you.”
“What’s that?”
“Many would argue thatyoudidn’t consent.”
“I did,” I say. “And have a hundred times since.”
“Our age gap is very problematic,” he says. “And I am a king. You were forced into the marriage.”
“I want you,” I say.
“You didn’tchooseme.”
“I don’t know exactly what you want me to say. I didn’t. I didn’t choose you. I don’t hate you. And you aren’t…forcing me to do anything. Ever. When we have sex I actually feel like I understand you. Or something close to it.”
“You should go to university.”
Suddenly, his prickliness, his relentless pushing me away, makes some sense, but that’s the only thing that makes sense.
“What?”
I’m shocked by what he’s saying.
“You had a tentative acceptance anyway, didn’t you?” he asks.
“Yes. I did. But—”
“I am absolutely certain that if I make a phone call you will be admitted to the university.”
“I don’t wantyouto get me admitted. I worked hard for this on my own.”
“You cannot have everything,” he says, his tone stern. Angry. “Please don’t be unreasonable.”
“I don’t understand you,” I say. “You told me that there was no way that I could do this. You told me that I couldn’t go anywhere, and now we’re in England, and then you told me that you were simply carrying me in a cage. So what is this, and what am I supposed to make of it?”
“I am trying to give you what you want, and you are being fucking ungrateful.”
“I’m confused,” I say. “Because you’ve made it clear that while you want me to have the things I want, you mainly want it your way. You don’t care about what I want exactly.”
