When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

o…O…o

They don't talk about it. It's yet another thing that he knows that she knows that he knows, but neither will acknowledge it. Because that's too dangerous. To acknowledge that she is engaged to another man acknowledges that they haven't acknowledged it so far. And that acknowledges that there's a reason for the lack of… acknowledgement.

He wonders if it's possible to overuse one word.

What he doesn't know is if she knows. He's been discrete with his own… and his brain supplies 'liaison' as though he's involved in something cheap and degrading. He tells himself that it's to protect her. They've agreed that their… liaison… won't affect their respective positions. He's not even sure, anymore, who he means by 'her'.

He refuses to acknowledge that he fails to mention it to anyone because it feels like infidelity, betrayal of the worst kind. And if Sara fails to flit through his mind as he welcomes Kerry into his house, then there's no way that he'll admit, even to himself, if Carter ever flits through his mind as he takes her to his bed.

Because that way he feels like he's betraying all three of them.

And he does that, anyway, every second that he laughs with the young, vital woman that doesn't have a clue. His enjoyment is always marred by the knowledge that he shouldn't, he couldn't be as happy as he once was. Some bridges you burn, others you detonate, rendering the way back impossible in sheer moments.

And he knows, in his heart of hearts, that it's not fair on any of them. Least of all the one who realises none of it. And yet, he won't tell her. He takes her out to dinner and wakes her up for breakfast and he remains silent on what will eventually drive them apart. But she is too young and too beautiful to see this as anything as sordid as a clandestine affair… and he grimaces at his own choice of words again… so he tells himself that there is no way for her to be hurt. And that makes it alright, if the innocent remain so.

And so they dance. He doesn't mention the woman in his bed, and she doesn't mention the man in hers.

It doesn't stop him wondering, though. If Pete's youth and lack of black history is keeping her as happy as she should be. He has no doubt that the other man is keeping her happier than he could. There came a point when he realised that even if she thought she wanted him, he couldn't. There would be something immoral in tarnishing her with himself, in allowing his darkness to infect her. But he kept up the pretence, a little. Because he couldn't bear for her to think that he didn't care. Because if anyone in this world deserved to be loved, it was her. And if anyone in this world didn't deserve to love, it was him.

But like the foolish man he was, he hoped. And dreamed. But the castle that he'd built came down. And the bridge that had been smouldering for months suddenly incinerated, lost to him forever.

But they smile politely, and pretend that they are friends, and lie for the comfort of the other.