I skipped lunch. My first opportunity to be finally alone. Weekend lunches are not an option. They are communal and questions would be asked.

I wished he wouldn’t have told me. How could he? How could he put himself in such danger?

I tried not to wink when she was giving me this glance. But now it’s in the open. She knows that I know … She knows he told me.

He is at her mercy now.

When I see her with N, she always seems so tender. I don’t get her.

At all.

Marrakesh was such a joy. I would have preferred to begin this entry with it. Suddenly, no words any longer. Just bodies. Just pleasure. Perhaps – love?

Maybe it is. It does feel like it. Maybe there is no more to it.

Then the Russian came.

The girl was … I don’t know how to say it. She was pretty, I thought. But maybe I’m not the best judge of this and my feeble observation is leading in the wrong direction. It certainly is. I’m tempted to strike the last few lines out. But let’s have this diary unedited.

She was … she was honest, I think. That’s it. She was genuine. But she also was…

She is past tense now.

He asked me whether it might have been fake. Bless him.

The dinner with Son of V— was hard to stomach. Perhaps this tells me more about who I still am than about them. I have to harden myself. But I also have to protect him.

Can I square this circle?