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“What do you mean?”
“As a gay man in the US—and one from such a prominent family—I have an obligation to be visible. To help others feel confident enough to be their true selves. To fight against injustice wherever I can. To be a positive role model.”
“No, you don’t.”
He gives me a look. “Of course I do. It’s like voting. People have died to have the right to vote. And still, so many Americans don’t bother. Standing up for LGBT rights is the same. My life is easy because of other people’s struggle and sacrifice. I owe it to them to continue their work.”
I draw in a breath. “Wowzers trousers. There’s a lot to unpack there.” Rubbing my jaw, I say, “Walk with me. We can come right back, but you’re entitled to a reprieve, at least.”
Sam relents. “For a few minutes. Just let me text and say where I’m going.” He pulls out his phone, types for a moment, and then returns it to his pocket.
Down the sumptuous corridor, large double doors lead out to the warm evening. The hotel has expansive private gardens with teak benches. Outside, we start walking in the moonlit night. No one’s around. Music floats out from a band in one of the ballrooms.
“I get what you’re saying,” I say, a small jolt of nervous energy running through my body with how I’m going to phrase this. But I trust Sam. “I mean, yes, lots of people all over the world still don’t have the same rights you and I have. But I’m not going to adopt some guilt for being born in the right country or being alive now instead of a generation ago—or simply for being me. I can’t help those things, and I don’t have to prove a damned thing to anyone.”
Sam stares at me. “Ialwayshave to prove myself.”
“Haven’t you already done that? You went to law school and are a licensed attorney.”
He shrugs. “That means I worked hard in school. Big deal. I’m an adult now and need to pull my weight.”
“Well, okay,” I say slowly. “But you don’t have to live your life for others. You can do thingsyou’repassionate about.”
“I’m passionate about gay rights. I have to speak up, and being visible as part of my family helps what I do carry more weight. Since I’m not famous in my own right, I have to accept certain limitations in exchange for that extra visibility. Unlike someone I know…”
“Ouch. I’m restricted in the way I act as well.”
“True. But you can get away with more than the average person.”
“Get away with?” I smirk. “What exactly do you think I’m getting away with? Aside from the record contract… which I’m not shirking, by the way.”
“I assume you have wild parties and… things.”
“What, like orgies? I can assure you I don’t. I’m actually quite boring.”
Sam puts a hand on his hip. “NowthatI don’t believe in the slightest.”
“Mostly, yeah.” I lean into him, my voice quiet. “If you must know, there was a phase when I had a lot of escapades that involved nondisclosure agreements. Or, well, professionals.”
An eyebrow is raised. “I can’t believe you just told me that.”
“I can’t believe I did, either. But it seemed safer to use a professional than to find someone random.”
“I understand. It makes the rest of us wonder if we could ever compare, though.”
I laugh. “Are you thinking you’d want to be a part of the comparison?”
He sputters, and oh, heavens, I adore making him blush.
“I’m only teasing.” I lower my voice and murmur into his ear. “And I haven’t done that in years. With professionals, that is. Not tease.”
Sam gulps. “Good to know.” The band inside shifts to a slower tune. “We should get back,” he says.
On an impulse, I grab his biceps, feeling his strength. Yum. “Stay a moment more. They won’t miss us.” I lower my voice. “And besides, they’re dancing inside. I don’t know how to ballroom dance, and it always makes me feel awkward to stand around while everyone else spins and twirls.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I could show you. I mean, if you…”
“Yeah?”
