Page 143 of Gilt

“She didn’t do anything. She was the perfect daughter. I was the reason she got sent away. I suppose they thought that they’d better keep their real problem child close to home.”

“But why send your sister away?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“I think that the main reason was because Jessica was my only ally in the house. She understood me and more than that, she sympathized. Our parents weren’t just hard on us. They expected perfection. I was their dirty little secret. Their son that liked to play with his sister’s dolls. It was easier to send the only other person that knew away. Jessica made a lot of friends there—powerful, rich friends. She’s marrying some duke or baron or something next year. I haven’t even met him,” Jonas confesses. “I guess it was better for her to go there. Sending me away would have been a reward for what my parents saw as acting out. So, I stayed here and with Jessica and her dolls gone, they shaped me into a man, by their standards. Lacrosse, soccer. Any sport imaginable. When I hit high school, they didn’t encourage me to date. They demanded it. If there was a party, I had to be there. Drinking, sex—they could forgive all my sins as long as they were red-blooded, male sins.”

As he spoke pieces of Jonas that had always been a puzzle to me began to click into place. When we’d dated, he hadn’t breached the second base barrier. Being with him had been warm and comfortable. Of course, I’d been smitten as a kitten. What girl wouldn’t have fallen for the second coming of Justin Bieber at that age? When he’d gotten together with Monroe, I assumed he’d wanted sex and she’d been a more willing participant. That’s how I’d wound up in his best friend’s bed trying to prove something to myself. But maybe Jonas hadn’t wanted to have sex with me…or her. But if that was the case, why had he?

“It was fine for a while. I had a girlfriend that didn’t mind making out, and she was nice. She never pushed me for more, and I don’t think she suspected who I really was.” His eyes stray over to mine, and I can see the silent apologies in them. “And then I screwed up, and Monroe West was there to catch me as I fell.”

“Monroe has never caught anyone,” Jameson says coolly.

“I don’t mean that she helped me,” Jonas clarifies. “She saw my indiscretion as an opportunity. She had a secret of her own, which she revealed to me along with some pretty damning cell phone photos. It was my worst nightmare but she gave me an out. She wanted the whole school to know that she was taken. All I had to do was get drunk and screw her at a party with enough witnesses.”

“Why?” The question I’ve wanted him to answer for years slips out, but I’m not the one asking. Hugo is.

“It was the perfect alibi. I knew it would get back to my parents, and that in their own messed up rationale, they would think they fixed me. Do you know how fucked it is when your dad pours you a whiskey and slaps you on the back for something like that? I mean, they bought me a car. As far as they were concerned, I was normal again. All I had to do was sell my soul to Monroe.”

“What did she have on you?” Hugo demands. Jonas is skirting the issue, and even though all the clues are there, we all need to hear him say it.

“I was drunk. I spent a lot of my time my freshman year drunk. It was easier to cope most of the time. Emma usually came to the parties with me, but she stayed home for some reason.” He looks at me to see if I remember. I do. I’d gone out with Becca that night. Jonas had acted strangely after that night. Every day it felt as if he was going through the motions. I’d expected him to dump me, but he’d chosen a far more humiliating and hurtful way to end our relationship.

“I remember,” I say softly, and try as I might, I can’t place any forgiveness in my words.

“I didn’t know what I was doing when I kissed him.” Jonas barely pauses to let the truth sink in before he goes on. “He was drunk, too. More drunk than I was, but even as I did it, I knew I was lying to myself. He was straight and he probably would have kicked my ass if he knew what I did. I barely remembered it myself. I thought maybe I’d dreamed it until Monroe showed up with photographic evidence. She left it up to me. I could help her cover up her own secret and ensure that no one found out the truth or she could blast the proof all over Facebook. I didn’t know what my parents would do if they found out, but, honestly, I was more ashamed. I didn’t want to lose my friends. So, I went along with it. I am truly sorry, Emma.”

His words work like alchemy, melting the cold, stoniness in my heart and creating acceptance. I’d held onto my grudge against him long enough, tricking myself into believing it was merely unrequited love. “I forgive you.”

“Are you saying you’re gay?” Hugo asks in a strangled voice.

Jonas takes a deep breath as if to steady himself. “Yes, I am. I’m s—”

“Why are you sorry?” Hugo cuts him off. “It’s not a big deal, man.”

Another moment of acceptance and maybe Jonas can finally shake free of the fear that’s crippled him for so long, but the terror lingers in his eyes.

“I need to tell you something.” His voice is shaky and my breath catches as realization dawns on me. Jameson grips my arm as if he senses my urge to interrupt this confession before Jonas gets hurt.

“It was you,” Jonas admits. “Monroe caught me kissing you.”

Hugo’s eyes widen and then he does the last thing I expect: he laughs. “I’m flattered. If I played for that team…well, you know.”

“You’re not pissed?” The tension in Jonas’s body relaxes and he practically slumps to the floor. He’d been bracing himself for a fight.

“Look, you’ve seen me drunk. I doubt you’re the only guy I’ve kissed.” Hugo continues to roll with it. “I get why you didn’t tell me, but I don’t understand why you had to be The Dealer.”

I suck in a breath and wait for his response. Jonas might have less to atone for than I previously thought, but this was thing I wanted to understand.

“It’s simple, really. The whole world was going crazy. I saw all of you there that night, and I was so tired of hiding who I was. Those pictures all tell more of a story than you think. That one of you”—he looks to Hugo— “carrying that girl? You just made sure she laid down on a bed.”

That wasn’t the conclusion I’d drawn when I saw it. That photo might have been innocent but what about the others. What story was he trying to tell? “And the others?”

“It’s felt like karma has been on vacation for too long in Belle Mère.”

“So you took over her job?” I guess.

“Someone had to. I know that whoever killed Nathaniel West was there that night. It was the perfect opportunity to hold people accountable.”

“While still hiding,” I bite out.