Arthur looked hurt by that. “I don’t,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” Rory said, with bite. “How come Gwen and Ellis know there’s something wrong with your aura and I don’t?”
Arthur took a sharp breath.
Rory turned, putting his back to the side railing so he and Arthur faced each other from opposite ends of the balcony. “You’re keeping secrets from me about youraura? That’smymagic in there. If I did something to you—”
“You didn’t,” Arthur said quickly, almost urgently. “Not like that.”
“Then likewhat?” Rory demanded. “Why do you keep these things secret from me? Did I do something to make you think I can’t handle your bad days, or your past? Look what happened when you kept secrets about Hyde.”
Arthur winced but said, “This is different.”
Rory swore under his breath. “I bet it’s not different,” he said tightly. “I bet you’re just always going to find some excuse not to involve me when things get rough for you.”
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it.
Rory ran a hand through his uncovered curls, the beautiful cap he loved that Arthur had bought for him still safe in his room. His anger and irritation were being drowned by hurt. “All that stuff you said, back in New York—that you’re here for me, that you’re gonna stick around—that meant something to me. But it was bullshit, wasn’t it.”
“Teddy—”
“No, Ace.” Rory was shaking his head. “I need to face it. Maybe you’re slumming, or maybe you feel sorry for me, but I’m not your equal, and you’ve never seen me as one.”
Arthur stared in shock. “That is not true—”
“I can’t trust your words when your actions tell me different,” Rory said. “And how am I supposed to trust someone who doesn’t trust me back?”
Arthur looked like Rory had hit him. “How can you say I don’t trust you?”
“Because you keep telling me I can come to you for help,” said Rory, heart aching in his chest. “But now it seems likeyouneed help, and you won’t come tome.”
A tense silence fell.
After several moments, Arthur abruptly turned, the railing against his stomach, his gaze going to the street four stories below. Staring down at the cars and sidewalk, he was still wearing his tuxedo, like something out of a dream against the backdrop of the Paris night.
Rory leaned on the railing, drained and hurt. Maybe this was it, the moment Arthur woke up and left him for someone better than a bastard from Hell’s Kitchen. Maybe Rory had just sped its coming up.
Except Arthur hadn’t left. He was still staring into the street, fingers wrapped around the railing of the tiny balcony.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, barely loud enough to be heard. “Life has given you so many reasons to be careful with your trust, and now I’ve gone and made you think you can’t trust me, because I keep expecting you to be vulnerable when I won’t do it myself.” His gaze rose, to the roof of the building across the street. “And I am so deeply sorry if I’ve ever made you believe I could look at you and not see an equal.”
Rory swallowed and folded his arms.
“But”—Arthur straightened his spine, and looked over at Rory—“I meant every word in New York. As long as you want me, I’ll fight to keep you.”
Rory blinked, his stomach swooping.
“I do trust you, and I am about to ask for your help.” Arthur’s voice was still quiet but steady, his gaze unwavering. “But whether you give it to me or not, I’m right here, and I’m not going to walk away.”
Rory groaned. “Aw hell.”
He strode across the balcony and took Arthur’s face in his hands, pulling him down to his height, so their eyes were locked.
“I’m sorry I snapped; you didn’t deserve that,” Rory said tightly. “And if you come to me for help I’m always gonna give it, because I’m so in love with you.”
Arthur took a breath. His arms went around Rory with crushing strength as Rory tilted his head back, and their lips met, the kiss stretching out for an endless moment above Paris.
Then Arthur suddenly froze. He pulled back, his lips an inch from Rory’s. “Get away from me.”
