Chapter 0232

Daniel blinks at me for another second, I think a little appalled at my suggestion that he kill his uncle, before he sees the irony on

my face and realizes that I’m making a dark joke. A bad joke, admittedly, but one I hope will break the tension.

Thankfully, Daniel does laugh, shaking his head and dropping it a little as he tugs at the bow tie around his neck. “It’s so insane,

Fay,” he sighs, and when he continues to fiddle with the tie I brush his hand away and untie it for him.

“Itis,” I say, leaning in to put a hand on his cheek and make him look at me. “Honestly, Daniel, there’s so much we don’t know.

And nothing else we can do about it, at least until tomorrow. So should we just...”

“...Get really drunk? And not talk about it?” he finishes for me, and I grin at him, glad that we're on the same page. “Hell yeah,”

he says as the bartender comes back and places our two drinks in front of us.

We both grasp our glasses and clink them together as the bartender moves away, smiling at each other.

“To our engagement,” I say, feeling a little hysterical, “which has survived, somehow, despite all odds.”

“Our engagement,” Daniel agrees, smiling with one half of his mouth as he shakes his head and downs his drink, signaling to the

bartender for two more. I laugh and toss my shot of tequila down, savoring the burn in my throat, wanting the relaxation and

tender oblivion that it promises.

And then, impulsive, I lean closer to Daniel and press my mouth lightly to his, kissing him because I love him and because I’m

grateful for him.

The kiss is sweet, short and easy, but Daniel laughs when I pull away, glancing around the room. “Come on, Fay,” he murmurs.

“Cool it, or you'll ruin my reputation here.”

I stare at him for a moment, confused, and then slowly I start to look around the room and realize that everyone around us at the

bar or the little booths...everyone is sitting in same-sex couplings.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, my face breaking into an excited smile as I whip my face back to Daniel, thrilled. “Did you bring me toa

gay speakeasy!?”

“Welcome to Green’s,” he says, giving me a little smirk and raising his newly-delivered second Manhattan to me. “The most

discreet, private, and expensive gay club in our fair city.”

“Ohmygod,” I say again, so fast and excited that it’s all one word, looking around again, absolutely buzzing with curiosity. “Do you

come here all the time? Why do they call you Mr. Green?”

“Be cool, Fay,” Daniel laughs, putting a hand on my shoulder and obliging me to sit back in my seat as he hands me my drink.

“As I said, I’ve got a reputation here.”

“Are you Mr. Green?” I ask, my eyes wide. “Do you own this place?”

“No,” he replies, grinning at me. “Every member is Mr. Green. It’s supposed to be anonymous. It’s kind of...the one place in the

city where I can go to a gay bar and...not worry about who sees me.”

“Oh,” I say, my eyes going wide as I realize how important that must be for someone like him. “Well, I love it,” I say, grinning

widely. “Thank you for bringing me!”

“Well, who can I trust if I can’t trust my fiancé,” he says with irony, taking a big gulp of his drink.

“Beards are notoriously trustworthy,” I point out with a happy sigh, nodding along with him.

And then, over the course of the next few hours, as we laugh and chat and talk about nothing and everything all at once, Daniel

proceeds to get very, very drunk.

I drink with him, of course, but I start

to notice that when I’m on my second

drink Daniel's on his fourth. And

my third, his seventh. Batiel’s bigger

than rag, bourse — he can handle

more than I can — but still, I start to

see his eyes go half-shut as the night

passes and his words slur together. I

don't chide him, realizing that this is

what he wants, perhaps needs, after

our stressful evening. Please read the

original content at .

Daniel is...sensitive, I know. And while

this is my first time at this “maybe

my dad will get whack or payer’

r 0 ive gqmiarhiny he's dealt with

a iste. And perhaps the strain on

him...l guess it makes sense, ina

way. That he’s just so sick of it that

all he wants to do is wipe it from his

mind. Please read the original

content at .

And there is something about it that I

find tempting — the idea that I co

wipe it all out, topaforetiene’t few

Hourscand Pace none of it. But there’s

something else in me that wants to

stay sharp, that isn’t finished with the

night. Please read the original

content at .

And as I see Daniel's phone, resting on the bar, continuing to light up with text after text, I realize what it is.

“Give me that,” I say, reaching for the phone as Daniel signals the bartender for another round.

“Ignore him,” Daniel suggests lightly, waving a dismissive hand. “Fuck Kent. Fuck Natalia. Fuck ‘em all.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” I murmur, entering Daniel’s password (which I obviously have memorized) and clicking open his texts to

find at lest six from Kent demanding to know where we are.