“Were you in love with him?”
“Yes,” I say, simply. James and I put each other through the kind of reckless passions Gwendolyn once talked about, joy and anger and desire and despair. After all that, was it really so strange? I am no longer baffled or amazed or embarrassed by it. “Yes, I was.” It’s not the whole truth. The whole truth is, I’m in love with him still.
“I know.” She sounds exhausted. “I knew then, I just pretended not to.”
“So did I. So did he. I’m sorry.”
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