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Andrew’s stomach fell. “Oh. Uhm. But . . . but I thought—”

Prudence began to laugh. “Heavens, it’s much too easy to tease you. Andrew, I’m thrilled that you finally seem to be feeling at home here.”

Andrew let out a breath of relief. Prudence chuckled.

“You’re welcome to eat the pie in the kitchen, but I recommend watching the snow fall while you’re still awake. I’ve been in my bedroom watching it myself, even though I ought to be sleeping, but the street lamps are certainly bright enough, so I thought I might as well enjoy the sight for a while. It’s a pretty storm.”

Andrew and Edwin looked at each other. Both of them shrugged.

“Do you want to take the pie upstairs?” Andrew asked. “Watch the snow from the bedroom?” His eyes widened. “Oh! Or we could go to the studio!”

Edwin smiled and nodded. “Sounds fun.”

Andrew stabbed his fork into the middle of the pie and picked up the plate. Turning, he held firm to the plate’s edges and started toward the hall, silently praying he wouldn’t trip on the way. Edwin followed.

“Thank you again, Prudence,” Andrew said as they passed her.

“Good night, boys. Enjoy.”

Andrew and Edwin walked upstairs together. Once they were in the studio, they pulled one of the sofas closer to the large windows and then settled down to eat. Edwin held the plate (probably the safest option, rather than having Andrew attempt to hold it) while they went back and forth having bites of the pie, watching the snow fall as they filled their stomachs. When they were almost finished with their food, Andrew sat back and looked out the window. He was so happy that Edwin was there, staying the night with him. Being with Edwin in the studio, enjoying the sight of the blizzard while the minute hand crept forward, inching them closer and closer to midnight, felt like something special.

Just like Edwin was something special.

Andrew shifted his positioning so that he could watch Edwin for a while instead. He couldn’t help but marvel at how handsome Edwin was with his face illuminated by light from the nearby candles. Over the next few minutes, while Edwin worked on finishing the pie, Andrew continued to stare. His thoughts soon returned to Edwin’s confession from earlier. What had it been like for Edwin when he’d realized that he was a man for the first time? Andrew could still remember the moment when, as a child, he’d realized that he liked boys. Or, rather, he had realized that the manner in which he liked them wasn’t the same manner in which other boys liked them. It had taken a while, from that point, to realize what it meant for him.

“Edwin?” Andrew asked. “Can I ask you something about the time you tried on one of your father’s suits for the first time?”

Edwin finished chewing and swallowed.

“Sure. I think.”

“Nothing bad, I promise,” Andrew said, huffing a half laugh that was colored with unease. “But, well, what was it like? You said that when you put it on, that was when you really realized, for the first time, that you were a man?”

Edwin’s brow creased, and he hummed a little.

“Yes and no,” he said after a moment. “It was as though I had always known, but also . . . not?” Letting out a soft sigh-chuckle, he set the pie plate on the floor and raked a hand through his hair. “I’d known, for the longest time, that something was . . . different. About me. About how I was raised and how people perceived me. But I couldn’t . . . put my finger on the reason, exactly. Not until I tried on that suit.” He crossed one leg over the other, resting one ankle on its opposite knee. “And then, it was like . . . like the moment I saw myself in the mirror, I was seeing someone who was much more me than the me I typically saw. And I was so elated. Just . . . beside myself with pure, unbridled happiness. Oh, Andrew, it was as though, at that exact moment, everything fell into place. But then . . .” His expression turned sorrowful. “Then, that very intense burst of happiness was followed by other things. Confusion and fear. Uncertainty. I had no idea how to move forward with the realization I’d had. I had no idea how to hold onto the truth. And I panicked. I buried it and swore that I’d never let myself think about it again.” He began to fiddle with the cuff of the nightshirt, finding a loose thread and twirling it between his fingers. “Obviously, that failed. Spectacularly, I might add. Because from that moment on, I not only knew that much of my life was a lie—something I had already felt for most of it—but I knew why. Eventually, I couldn’t stand to keep living that way. And so, I got very drunk and told William the truth. And then I told my family, as well.”

“Was William . . . kind about it?”

“Incredibly kind. He tormented me a little, too, of course, because we’re so close, but nothing mean. He’d tell me that I was tying my cravat wrong, for example, insisting that his style was better, even though I knew it wasn’t. Or, oh God, other fashion-related choices he tried to convince me to make, though I rarely ever took them. I mean, my father was a tailor. I knew my way around men’s clothing.” He made a sound in between a laugh and a hum. “I think Will just wanted to help, only he had no idea how. Not after he’d already given me one of his suits to alter and wear. Overall, though, William was, and continues to be, the best friend a man could ever ask for.” Edwin looked up with a simpering smile. “Even if he can be a bit of a brat sometimes.”

Andrew laughed, and Edwin laughed, too.

“Does that . . . answer your question?” Edwin asked.

“It does.” Andrew took Edwin’s hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. “Thank you for telling me all of that. It means a lot to me that you feel comfortable enough to share these kinds of things with me.”

Edwin lifted Andrew’s hand and kissed it.

“It means a lot to me, too, Andrew.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Edwin

Edwin was standing next to the edge of Andrew’s bed, his stomach churning unpleasantly, not from him having eaten too much pie but from something else: the realization that he shouldn’t keep his binding cloth on while sleeping. Behind him, the stairs creaked as Andrew came back from having returned the empty pie plate, and Edwin’s stomach churned harder as the sound became louder.

Edwin knew he had to take it off. He’d learned that lesson back when he’d first begun experimenting with binding his chest. On his first (and last) night wearing the cloth to bed, he’d woken up in a panic, feeling as though he couldn’t breathe. It had taken him an embarrassing amount of time to figure out that it was from his chest being constrained and not because he was having honest-to-God issues with his heart or lungs.