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He is, and I notice this with the completely detached, entirely rational, not-at-all-affected objectivity of a person who is absolutely fine, very fit. Significantly fit. The kind of fit that requires dedication. He is tanned and tall and leaning against the pool wall with the easy confidence of someone who has spent his entire life being found attractive and has made his peace with it. He is talking to Jan. Jan has his sunglasses on and is listening with the polite attentiveness he gives most people and showing absolutely nothing, which means I cannot tell from his face whether he is finding this man interesting or tedious or anything in between.

I walk back to the pool at a pace that is completely normal and not at all purposeful.

I sit down next to Jan.

I put my hand on his knee, my arm around his shoulders, and angle my body toward him in a way that, I am aware of this, leaves very little ambiguity about the nature of our relationship.

The man glances at me. Then at the hand. Then at Jan. Then, with what I must admit is quite good grace, says something amiable and moves on.

Jan watches him go.

Then he looks at my hand on his knee.

Then he looks at me.

"That was Bram," he says. "He is Dutch. He asked for a restaurant recommendation."

"How lovely," I say. Looking at the pool.

"He's here with his wife." Jan's voice is entirely neutral.

"Wonderful for him."

Jan looks at me for a long moment, the full assessment, taking everything in. "You came back very quickly."

"I walk at a normal pace." I take a sip of my drink.

"You practically ran." He sounds genuinely interested in this phenomenon.

"I was eager to get back to you." I take a sip of my drink.

He looks at my hand, still on his knee. Then at me. The corner of his mouth doing the thing. "Patrick." A pause. "You were jealous."

"I wasn't jealous," I say. "I was… I saw a man talking to my boyfriend in Bali and I felt strongly that I should be present for that conversation. As a supportive partner." I pause. "He was very fit."

"He was here with his wife," Jan says.

"I didn't know that at the time."

"You didn't know it and you still…” He stops. He is doing the thing where he is definitely smiling and will not show it. "You put your entire arm around me."

"I was cold."

"It's thirty degrees."

"Jan," I say, with great dignity, "I love you very much and you are the most attractive person at this pool and possibly in Bali and I simply felt that the situation warranted a physical demonstration of that fact. I don't think that's unreasonable."

He looks at the pool. The smile has arrived, the quiet one, the real one, the one he keeps for things he doesn't want to make a production of.

"You're jealous," he says. Warmly. Almost fondly.

"A little," I admit. "Mildly. In a completely healthy way."

He takes my hand, off his knee, properly into his, and holds it.

"Don't be," he says. Simply.

"I know," I say. "I just…” I look at him. "You're mine."