“Why?” she asked.
“Because I was married,” I said, almost helplessly. “Because I loved you?—”
Diana froze, and then it hit me.
I used the past tense.
“Did you?” she cut in. “And do you still?”
I flinched.
“I cared about you,” I corrected, the words feeling fragile. “I still do. You’re my wife. My best friend. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Care isn’t the same as love.”
I drew in a deep breath. “There are different kinds of love.”
“And you stopped feeling the romantic kind. That’s if you ever did.”
I winced at that.
Diana’s expression tightened. “So instead you said nothing.”
“Yes.”
“And let it carry on.”
“Yes.”
She let out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and something sharper. “Do you have any idea how that sounds?”
“I do now.”
“And when exactly did you realise?” she asked. “That this was more than a case of passing thoughts?”
I hesitated. “A few years ago,” I admitted. “Maybe longer. I don’t know exactly when it crossed from questioning into something more definite.”
Her eyes widened. “Years.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think I deserved to know?”
“I did,” I said quickly. “Of course I did. But by then…” I trailed off.
“By then what?”
I swallowed hard. “It felt too late.” My voice cracked a little.
Diana stared at me. “Too late?”
“Yes.” I forced myself to meet her eyes. “Because what was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry, I think I might be attracted to men’? After we’d built a life together? After we’d been married for years?”
“Yes.” I didn’t miss that flash of anger. “That isexactlywhat you should have said.”
“I know that now. But at the time it felt like—” I struggled for the words. “Like I’d tricked you. Like I’d married you under false pretences.”
Her expression flickered.