Page 17 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

I’ve never seen him outside a suit before, and I can’t help but notice and appreciate the way he carries himself. Upright, confident, and casual.

Without a word, he picks up the tray. I grab the whiskey, meet him at the door, and open it. We sit on opposite sides of the table on the terrace as dusk turns to night. He takes a sip of his drink, inhaling deeply and leaning back in his seat, propping his feet up on another chair.

I do the same.

“So,” I say, after a few silent moments pass. “What’s your story?”

With a sidelong glance, I catch his half grin.

“My friends say it’s awkward that I open every conversation like this, but I’m bisexual.”

Admittedly, I find that amusing. A short laugh puffs out of me. “It’s an interesting place to start.”

“I like to get it out of the way,” he says.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“Not in any meaningful way. Don’t get me wrong, I have enough company, but I haven’t been in a relationship in years.”

“Any particular reason? You can always refuse to answer.”

“No, it’s fine. Yes, there’s a reason. The only serious relationship I’ve had messed me up. It’s been over for a long time, but I’m finding it difficult to want to invest in someone again. Once bitten, I guess.”

“Marianne’s been my only serious relationship,” I tell him.

“I guess you chose wisely.”

“Hm.” I take a longer drink of whiskey and stare out at the darkening sky.

“How long have you been married?” he asks.

“Twenty years.”

“That’s impressive by a lot of measures these days.”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“Marriage is complicated.”

“I feel the need to quote Tolstoy again,” he says.

I chuckle. “It’s widely applicable.”

“But you never wanted kids?”

“It wasn’t in the cards.”

“Any particular reason? And you can tell me to back off, too. This shit is strong.”

The whiskeyisstrong, and that’s why I have no problem answering. “When we first met, it seemed like the thing we’d do—have a family. But my focus was always Marianne. I never thought to want more than being with her—being there for her.”

“Vague. Is she as devoted to you?”

He can’t possibly mean anything by the question—couldn’t possibly know the way I live in virtual exile, and yet I can’t help but feel the slice—like a knife wound to the abdomen. “She is not,” I say and drain my glass.

Clearing my throat in the ensuing silence, I add, “To the marriage, she is—I’m an ideal partner for her, and she says as much. We make a good team. But it’s been a while since we were anything more than partners.”

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