Congrats xxx.

*   *   *

I showed up at my parents’ half an hour after the party started. I only planned on staying an hour or so, and then I’d head out to meet up with Caitlin and some other people from our section.

I was feeling marginally more human after taking a five-hour nap and shower. I’d decided on a black cocktail dress that was probably a little casual for my parents, but wouldn’t look bizarre at a bar. I was stretching black-tie a bit, but whatever.

I spotted my father first, surrounded by his inner circle, a broad smile on his face and a glass of champagne in hand. He was in his element, holding court now that his seat was safe once more. However stressed my mother might be about the Capital Confessions mentions, he seemed completely unfazed.

“Blair.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek and a charming smile.

Between the two of them, my father was the easier one for me to handle. He was definitely a dick, but for the most part he didn’t care what I did. Big-picture stuff was important to him—who I married, where I went to school—but he wasn’t going to give me a hard time about my outfit or how much I’d had to drink, or whether my haircut made my face look round. My mother gave me a hard time about everything.

I smiled at his friends, some of the highest-ranking members of the Senate, men I’d known practically my whole life. I fielded questions about law school for a few minutes, wincing at my father’s suggestion that perhaps I’d transfer schools my second year. The way things were going, I highly doubted that was going to be an option, but I kept my mouth shut.

Finally, someone more important than me walked by, and my father left me for some glad-handing with a potential donor. One campaign down and he was already focused on the next. As much as I knew he was an asshole, it wasn’t lost on me that my father was really good at what he did. Serving people, not so much. But politicking? He had that down to an art and D.C. was his playground.

I didn’t know how Kate and I had ended up the way we did. When we were younger, my mother had definitely spent more time with me. Kate had been too much of a tomboy, had had little patience for debutante balls, etiquette classes, and ballet. She’d been the one my father had connected with the most, and as much as she’d hate to admit it, there was something similar about them.

They each had their own brand of ruthlessness.

I did a sweep of the room, spotting my mother chatting with some of her friends, diamonds sparkling, clearly in her element. I didn’t know if my parents loved each other, if they’d ever loved each other, but they had definitely found a way to make their marriage suit their individual needs. My mother had the money and position she craved; my father had the glossy photo op that helped keep him in power.

Even as I didn’t understand it, I recognized that it worked for them.

And then I saw him, and all thoughts of my parents fled.

My mother had told me the Wyatts couldn’t come to the party, that they were vacationing in St. Barts. That hadn’t been as good as them not being invited entirely, but I’d figured it was enough to avoid an awkward run-in between us.

Apparently, I’d been mistaken.

Thom stood in front of me, wearing a tuxedo like he’d been born to it. Hell, considering the similarities between our upbringings, he basically had. Something about the sight of him took me back—to my coming out ball, prom, the morning of our wedding.

He looked good. He’d always been handsome—tall, tanned, blond hair. He was All-American perfection—smart, funny, kind. It was difficult to reconcile the Thom I’d known growing up with someone who’d cheated on me.

I gripped the stem of my champagne glass, my body fighting the urge to flee, my chest tight.

He’d finally stopped calling a few weeks ago. I hadn’t listened to any of his voice mails, hadn’t been ready to face him.

He began walking toward me, apparently taking my frozen stance as permission to approach. Maybe it was. I didn’t even know anymore. I hadn’t been prepared for this, but now that it was here, I wasn’t sure what I felt. I wasn’t angry anymore. Wasn’t even really sad. He felt like a stranger with whom I’d once shared a few intimacies.

Maybe more than anything, I was just confused.

And then he was right in front of me, and I couldn’t avoid the moment anymore.

“Hi.”

I couldn’t make myself smile, could feel the weight of dozens of pairs of eyes on us.

So awkward.

“Hi,” I echoed, my head spinning, feeling as though I was having an out-of-body experience.

He swallowed. “You look nice tonight.”

Apparently, we’d been reduced to social pleasantries. “Thanks. You, too.”

This was too bizarre for words.

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” he asked, a pleading look in his eyes.

Shit.

I could do polite and superficial. Anything more seemed like a bad idea. I didn’t know what was left to say.

“I don’t—”

“Please.”

It was the look in his eyes that did it. Somewhere along the way I’d convinced myself that he was an asshole for what he did to me, but seeing him up close again, staring into the eyes of the boy I’d grown up with, it was hard to believe. I was hurt, but something inside me made the decision for me.

I nodded. “Okay.”

I walked out to the patio, the same one I’d stood on with Gray, Thom trailing behind me, ignoring the whispers that surrounded us. It felt like the longest walk of my life. When the fresh air hit me, finally, I could breathe again, no longer skewered by the intent gaze of a hundred prying eyes.

Thom closed the door behind him and stared at me. Silence stretched, filling the chasm that separated us. I waited for him to speak, figured that since he’d initiated this reunion it was up to him to set the tone.

And then he did.

“I’m sorry.”

My breath hitched.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he continued. “Ever. I didn’t think it would affect us. That I could pretend like it wasn’t a part of me. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“Wouldn’t affect us?” I choked the words out. “You had sex with someone else on our wedding day. In a church.”

His eyes got tight. “I know.”

“Just tell me why. Because that’s the thing I don’t get. If you knew you were gay, why did you get involved with me? Why did you propose to me? Why did you make me think you loved me? That we’d have a future together? You were my friend. Always. How could you hurt me like that?”

“I loved you, Blair. I always loved you.”

“As a friend.”

Guilt flashed in his eyes, and he nodded.

“Did you cheat on me when we were dating?” I asked, my tone hollow.

I figured I knew the answer to that one, but if he was going to give me some of it, then I needed all of it.

He stiffened. “Yes.”

“A lot?”

He shook his head. “A few times. I hated myself afterward every time. And each time I’d convince myself that I was going to end things with you, that I was going to come out to you, my parents, but I just couldn’t.”

My hands trembled. “Our wedding—seeing you and Brad—do you love him?”

“I do.”

I wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse, but on some level, the part of me that couldn’t completely erase our past was glad he’d found someone that made him happy.

I pressed my lips together. “When did you realize you were gay? Did you always know?”

He rubbed his brow, his shoulders hunched. “Did some part of me always know? Probably, yeah. I didn’t really recognize it then, maybe because I knew my parents would never accept it. I tried to do what they wanted me to. Tried to be the person everyone thought I should be. I asked you out because you were one of my best friends. I loved spending time with you. Loved you. And I thought that we could work together. That if I was with you, that other side of me would just go away. I didn’t want to be gay. Didn’t want to be different. My father gives a fortune to conservative political candidates each year. I knew how he’d feel.”