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But Bennet was right to turn him down. The shame that emanated from him . . .
He could not entangle himself with someone who’d hide their relationship. Or, if not hide it, be continuously embarrassed by it.
He’d done the right thing.
He groaned and rolled his head against his knees.
Bennet celebrated New Year’s Eve quietly with Lyon before slipping into bed, still shaken by Darcy’s kiss. He dreamt of it. It clung to his lips like a ghost.
He woke exhausted and thankful they were heading back to Cubworthy in the afternoon. After breakfast, he escaped into the fresh air and found himself back on the bench at the summit, hand splayed over the slats where Darcy had sat.
He sank back against the bench and laughed at how ridiculous he was being.
His phone vibrated. An email.
He sat upright.
Dear Bennet,
Once more, I am deeply sorry for kissing you last night. I’m ashamed of myself for not acquiring your permission. Had I done so, this level of mortification—and repulsion on your part, I imagine—could have been avoided. I promise, I’ll never do it again.
Maybe this email invades your boundaries. I agonized all night whether or not to write it, and felt, in the end, I needed to for my own sanity. I hope you continue to read, but I respect your decision either way, and I will not write again without your explicit permission.
A few topics were brought up last night that I wish I’d been in the right frame of mind to address.
Firstly, while I had enjoyed a glass of red wine at Caroline’s, it was not more than would have allowed me to drive legally. I was fully aware of what I was doing when I kissed you, and I would have done it without the ‘social lubrication.’
Secondly, I only wished to help you and Lyon both. I may have overstepped, but you were sick—quite frankly half-delirious—and I wanted to take some parental labor off your plate.
Thirdly, I consider my lack of pride in my sexuality a personal weakness, and I want to overcome it. I am in awe of your boundless courage, your wholehearted vibrancy, and your confident optimism. I wish to get there. It has taken time and reflection to realize that. It will take more to change.
Lastly, and most painfully, Will. I would like a chance to tell you our history from my point of view.
I liked Will in high school, and he and Clara were close friends and both kind to me when I moved from England. At first things were wonderful, but then I fell for Clara. I was consumed by her energy and beauty, and so relieved that I was attracted to her when I had, until then, only crushed on boys.
I told her my feelings. Told her how I’d bought this book—The Charioteer—and got lost reading it. I wrapped it up in a cookbook dust-cover so my parents would never know.
She was curious about this side of me. She said the idea of me being with a boy was a turn-on. I made a mistake. I wanted to give her that thrill, so I kissed Will. It was after a party, and Clara was watching from across the room. I had my eyes on her the entire time.
I never should have done it. I’d guessed Will might be interested in me and I used his interest for my own gain.
For this, Will has every right to be hurt and angry.
I apologized to him for it and I thought he took it well. My relationship grew more intense with Clara, and the following summer she fell pregnant. It was not ideal, but we wanted to make it work. We were insanely in love. I asked her to marry me. My heart was one hundred percent in it, and so was hers. Will, though, felt it was wrong.
On our wedding day, he took Clara aside and told her I was gay and would never truly love her. Then he told both of our parents. It caused an uproar, and our parents—who had been civil, if not charmed by the idea of us marrying—left the celebration. What was supposed to be a happy day was filled with tears and heartache.
Her family cut off contact with me and our firstborn. Mine was financially supportive, but otherwise, all our connection severed. No one believed we would last.
Will was waiting for us to break up.
He visited us, but we were so angry at how callously he’d outed me, that we told him we didn’t want to see him again.
Despite what everyone thought, Clara and I had a fantastic relationship. We loved kids, and in quick succession had two more. I was happy, and I believe so was she.
Will, however, wouldn’t stop. He followed us in town. He took pictures of us when we had disagreements and sent them to me with captions about living a lie. Sometimes there were notes on my car telling me he could help me through this. Whenever I was ready, he’d be there. At points, we considered obtaining a restraining order, but he always backed off again in tears and apologized, claiming he was trying to move on.
