Page 69 of Omega's Faith

"No." A small smile tugs at his mouth. "There were some once at a church picnic before I was born. Half the congregation got food poisoning and Pastor David banned them after that."

"Wow."

"Pastor David said it was God testing our faith."

"By giving you all digestive distress?"

"The Lord works in mysterious ways." He's definitely smiling now, and something in my chest loosens.

Henri returns with the second course of soup. The sun has fully set now, and the terrace lights create a golden bubble around us, separate from the city below.

We fall silent as we eat. I don’t really know what to say to him. We have so little in common other than neither of us wanted to get married to each other and that’s a topic of conversation that’s almost certain to one of us pushing the other over the balcony.

And it’d be Jonah shoving me because I might have called Jonah a little bitch more than once, but sober me knows who was being the bitch in almost every interaction we’ve had.

Jonah takes a deep breath and looks at me, and I can see he’s thinking that same thing. He’s searching for a topic of conversation that isn’t going to lead to a fight.

"So... what was it like growing up," he says finally, clearly finally settling on a subject.

Good for him for trying.

I lean back, thinking. “Well, my parents died when I was four. Mom died of cancer, and then Dad had a heart attack. Both within six months. Bad luck, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “I barely remember them. It was a long time ago. I vaguely remember wanting to be an astronaut. Or possibly a dinosaur." I take a sip of water, wishing briefly for wine. "Diana took over after that, although she wasn’t there that much. She also took over as CEO of Colborne Industries so that kept her busy. I mostly had a series of nannies. They were nice enough.”

“Sounds lonely.”

I consider the comment. “I suppose so. It was my childhood. When you’re a kid, you don’t know any different. You just accept things for what they are. Good and bad. I had good things too. I’ve had opportunities most people can never dream off. I know the media paints me as a poor little rich boy drowning his sorrows. But it's never been that simple.”

“Isn’t it? Why else do you drink so much? All the partying?” He asks the question and then he stills suddenly and I can see him wondering if he has overstepped and broken whatever fragile truce we have going.

I think it over for a moment. "No," I say finally. "I party because I love it. The energy, the music, the way a room full of strangers can become your best friends for one night. Dancing until your feet hurt and your shirt's soaked through and nothing matters except the beat." I meet his eyes. "It's about feeling absolutely, completely alive."

He's watching me with an expression I can't read. "You really love dancing that much?"

"It's one of life's greatest simple pleasures. Pure hedonistic joy. The music gets into your bones and suddenly your body knows exactly what to do, and for however long the song lasts, everything makes sense."

"You don't need alcohol for that," he says, and there's a hint of that judgment that usually makes me bristle.

But tonight, with the city lights below and his scent wrapping around me like silk, I can't find it in me to argue.

"You're right," I admit. "I don't need it. I just... got used to it being part of the package."

Henri appears with the third course. It’s lobster that melts on my tongue. We eat in silence for a moment, but it's not uncomfortable now. There's something shifting between us, some wall coming down brick by careful brick.

"Your turn," I say. "Tell me about growing up in the Fellowship."

His face lights up, and I realize I've never seen him talk about home without defensiveness before.

"It was wonderful," he says simply. "Not perfect—nothing is—but wonderful. I’m close to my family. There’s a lot of love."

"Sounds nice."

"It was. Is." He pauses, pushing lobster around his plate. "I know you think it's a cult—"

"Jonah—"