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“Like, you’re jealous.”

I considered lying. I have lied to kings. I have lied to God. It seemed a poor time to start being good at it.

“Yes,” I said. “A little.”

He stared.

“I watched you laugh,” I said. “You had not laughed with me in three days. I stood there by the pillar with a chest full of snow, and I thought, he is happy. He is happy without me. That is correct. That is how it should be. And then I thought I would very much like to burn the building down.”

Lex’s mouth opened.

“I am not going to,” I added. “I wish it understood. I will not burn it. I do not own you. You are free to dance with whomever you like, to dine with whom you like, to be seen with any man or woman on earth.” I took a breath. “I am telling you only because you asked me once to be plain.”

He said nothing for a long moment. And then, quietly, “I was jealous of Kelsey Marsh.”

“I know.”

“I said the worst thing I could think of. I told you we were fuck buddies. I said you could do what you wanted. I hated it. I hated it the second I sent it.” His voice cracked. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to say I’m jealous without it coming out as a punch.”

“You may say it as a punch,” I said. “I can bear it.”

“I don’t want to punch you.”

“Then you may say it in whatever way you like.”

“I’m jealous,” said Lex, staring at the floor. “I was so jealous I couldn’t see. And I’m sorry. And I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I didn’t mean the fuck buddies, or the coaster, or the rules.”

“What coaster?”

“Never mind.”

“I know about the coaster. I merely enjoy hearing you say it.”

He looked up. He laughed, wetly, and wiped his eyes on the back of his wrist. “You’re the worst.”

“Yes.”

“Come here.”

“I would like that.”

“I mean it. Come here. “

I crossed the room. I stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the heat off his skin, and he reached up with both hands and took my face and kissed me.

It was not a test. It was not a dare. It was the kiss of a man returning home after a long war, and I made a sound against his mouth that I would not care to hear again.

“Turn around,” I said, some time later. “If you will.”

We were standing in the middle of the room, and neither of us was quite sure how we had got there. My jacket lay on the chair. His shirt hung open to the waist. His hands were on my shoulders and mine were on his hips, and we were both breathing as though we had run a very long way.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I would like to see the clasp. I want to be certain that it sits properly.”

“That is the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“It is a genuine concern.”