The Lie

  “You won’t have to worry about that,” I tell her. Natasha is leaning forward in her seat, staring at me expectantly.

  “I trust you Brigs,” she says. “You’re a good teacher and frankly you deserve a little good fortune.”

  Ah. So that’s why I was given the exception. The pity vote. Well, I’ll fucking take it.

  “Thank you so much, Sarah,” I tell her graciously. “And tell that to Charles and Phillip, too.”

  I hang up the phone and Natasha is already grinning at me, her eyebrows raised. “Well?”

  “They discussed it with your beloved Professor Irving,” I tell her.

  Her eyes go round. “Oh no,” she exclaims.

  I shrug, smiling. “Well, I don’t know, I guess the old bastard likes you after all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They said I can keep my job.”

  She nearly jumps out of her chair, clapping her hands together. “Are you serious? Brigs this is amazing! Oh my god, I can’t believe it.”

  “Well, we have to pretend we don’t know each other when we’re at school,” I tell her. “Which means no more office dates like this. But I think we can make up for it when you move in with me.”

  “What?”

  “Come live with me,” I implore her. “Today. Tonight. Let’s get your stuff and get you the hell out of there.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks though her eyes are already dancing with the thought.

  “Natasha, you’re pregnant with my child,” I remind her, automatically smiling at the thought. It will never stop getting old, never stop feeling amazing. “And we’re free to be with each other outside of the school. There’s no one to fear. Unless Winter has any objections, you’re moving in with me.”

  “Okay,” she says quietly, blinking at me in amazement. “Tonight?”

  “Right fucking now,” I tell her, getting up. “Come on, let’s go. You’re pretty much packed aren’t you?”

  She nods. “And Melissa?”

  My smile is probably wolfish. “I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”

  We leave the school together, both of us anxious, excited, delirious. It’s all moving so fast and yet it doesn’t seem fast enough. I want her in my flat, I want to wake up to her every morning, I want to live with her shining beside me. The fact that we’ve just (narrowly) been granted freedom almost feels like we’ve been pardoned from jail and the way we rush through the streets together, touching, kissing, laughing just cements this.

  But we aren’t out of the woods yet. When we get back to my flat – our flat – I have to fight against the urge to take her the moment we step inside. We still have something important to deal with and our nerves won’t rest until it’s put to bed.

  Because the Aston Martin probably won’t make it across town and wouldn’t fit any of her stuff regardless, we have to hire a van. Luckily I’ve seen Max make plenty of deliveries to and from The Volunteer with his van, so we head across the street and see if he’ll do us this favor.

  “For you,” Max says, tossing me the keys with a big smile, “anything. I’ll just add it to your tab.”

  “Thanks, mate,” I tell him and soon I’m in the driver’s seat of an aging van from the 80’s, heading to Wembley with Natasha at my side.

  It’s one hell of a nerve-wracking car ride.

  Natasha is ringing her hands, biting her lip so hard I fear she’ll draw blood.

  “Relax,” I tell her, placing my hand on her leg. “I’m here. With you all the way. You don’t even have to face her if you don’t want her, just stay in the van and I’ll take care of it.”

  She shakes her head, exhaling noisily. “I won’t hide from her. Not anymore.”

  We pull up to her building and her face falls when she sees the light on in her flat but to her credit, she gets out and we trudge up the stairs to her floor until we’re standing right outside her door.

  “Are you ready?” I ask her.

  “Nope,” she says, trying to smile. She sticks in her key, hopefully for the last time, and the door opens.

  We step inside. The sound of the telly blaring comes from the living area.

  “Natasha?” Melissa calls out from the room.

  The two of us wait in the hallway, staying silent.

  Finally Melissa walks out of the room and stops dead when she sees us.

  She blinks at us in surprise for a few beats before her face hardens into hatred.

  I wiggle my fingers at her. “Hello. Bet you didn’t expect to see me tonight.”

  “What the fuck are you doing with him?” Melissa asks Natasha, though I’m noticing she’s not coming any closer to us. I think she’s scared of us, that we should be so bold. “Why is he here?”

  Natasha and I exchange a glance of who should go first.

  Natasha looks back to Melissa and shrugs. “He’s helping me move out.”

  “Move out? You found another place already?”

  If I’m not mistaken there’s a tiny bit of hurt in Melissa’s voice. It makes her human for once.

  Natasha swallows thickly but straightens up, head held high. “I did. So Brigs is helping me move.”

  Melissa is back to glaring, that sliver of vulnerability gone. “Bullshit. You’re together again aren’t you?”

  “Actually,” I tell her, walking a few steps toward her. Melissa shrinks back against the wall. “We are together again. Natasha is actually moving into my flat. Tonight. We’re going to live together. And see each other, as you can imagine.”

  “You…you can’t do that,” she says, looking between us. “You can’t…I’m reporting you. I told you I would and you give me no choice.”

  “No, you do have a choice,” Natasha says, coming over to us and going right up to Melissa’s face. I’ve never seen her so brave. “Maybe we can’t choose who we fall in love with but you can choose whether to be a total cuntasaurus or not. You don’t have to report us but you want to and you will because you’re unhappy as fuck with your life.” She shakes her head, her tone softening. “You know, I tried to be a good friend to you and I’m sorry I wasn’t but I’m not sorry any of this happened. It let me know who you really were deep down. And it let me and Brigs be together in peace.”

  Melissa is just shaking her head, flabbergasted. When she can’t find the words to say to Natasha, she narrows her eyes at me. “You won’t find any peace. I’ll make sure of it. What’s wrong is wrong and you’re both wrong.”

  “Go ahead,” I tell her, folding my arms across my chest and looking down at her. “Go and report us. But you should know, I’ve beat you to it.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve turned myself in. Had a meeting with the dean, the department chair and Professor Irving. I told them everything, the whole truth. That we loved each other once and we love each other now. And guess what, Miss King? We have their approval.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Well, you really should. But you know, feel free to take it up with them.” I pause, my mouth curving into a smile. I’m about to tell a lie but it’s one I feel good about. “I mentioned you, you know, what you’ve said, what you’ve threatened me with. So they’re kind of expecting you to come by.”

  Natasha’s eyes dart to me, knowing I’m lying, but I keep my focus on Melissa. I can practically see her crumbling in front of us. There goes her plan of attack.

  I go on. “Or you know, you could just let it go. Accept that Natasha is happy, that I’m happy. Forget about us just as we will forget about you.” I tilt my head, giving her a sad smile. “Because believe me, Melissa, we will forget about you. We have each other. That’s all we need. Well that, and our child.”

  Her eyes bug out. Mouth drops open. She can’t even speak.

  Natasha fills her in. “I’m pregnant. And we couldn’t be happier. So after all this is said and done, I guess we have you to thank. If it wasn’t for your bitterness and anger, your jealousy and insecurities, we wouldn’t have had to sneak a
round so much and have all that awesome sex. So thank you for that, Melissa. And thanks for making me move out and giving me a great excuse to be with the one I love.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I tell her, trying to sound sincere. “Especially for all the sex we’ve been having.” Melissa is still speechless, her face flaming pink. I look to Natasha. “Shall we get packing?”

  She nods, trying not to smile and we head into her room and get to work while Melissa stands out in the hallway, bewildered and unsure what to say or do. Luckily, it’s easy work for us since Natasha had already packed it all up. We take down the boxes and pile up the van in three trips.

  During the last trip, Natasha, with hands full of movie posters, calls out into the hallway. Melissa has been in her room the whole time, trying her best to ignore us.

  “We’re going now,” Natasha says, her voice echoing down the hall. “You know, it doesn’t have to end this way. We’ll be seeing each other at school I’m sure, so if you want to make things easier between us, I’m game.”

  Silence.

  Natasha looks to me and shrugs. I adjust the boxes in my hands and give her a look that tells her she tried her best.

  “Okay,” Natasha calls out to her again. “I’ll take your silence as a sign you want my forgiveness. Well, I forgive you Melissa. Life is too short to hold grudges, guilt, shame or anything other than happiness. One day, hopefully you’ll realize I’m right.”

  “You’re bloody right about that,” I say, as Natasha pauses at the door, waiting for one last reply. When it doesn’t come, she slowly shuts the door. “I’m proud of you,” I tell her.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I think I’m proud of me too.” She stares back at the door, a symbol of another life, and sighs. “You know I meant it too. I won’t hold a grudge. I’ve seen what it can do to a person.”

  “Let’s get you to your new place,” I say and we head down the stairs, pack up the rest of the stuff, and drive off into the night.

  ***

  Later that night there’s a pile of boxes in my drawing room, a dog snoring on the couch and the woman I love lying in my arms. Inside her is a new life, a new beginning, a new chance.

  Outside her is a man who loves her more than he can even understand.

  And outside us both is a world that keeps spinning, a mad world capable of bringing us to our knees and yet never ceases to be beautiful.

  EPILOGUE

  Natasha

  Six Months Later

  “Got everything?” Brigs asks, eying me in the mirror as he adjusts his bow-tie.

  The man looks disarmingly handsome in a tuxedo and I have to take a moment to drink him in like lemonade on a hot day.

  Of course this makes him stare right back at me, shaking his head. “I can’t get over how beautiful you look,” he says, voice rich and low, all the emotions of the last six months just simmering beneath the surface.

  I roll my eyes. “You mean despite the fact that I’m a waddling pregnant woman,” I tell him, looking down at my belly. Thank god this wedding dress is empire-waisted and kind of camouflages my bump. What it doesn’t camouflage is the fact that my body has turned on me and turned into a fat, bloated monster with an insatiable appetite. You know those pregnant women who you can’t tell if they’re pregnant or not if you’re looking at them from behind? Yeah, that’s not me. My ass has only gotten wider, not to mention all the other parts of me. Shopping for clothes has become extremely depressing, so I just schlep about in leggings and baggy sweaters.

  Of course the dress is absolutely beautiful and I’m so glad I don’t look too horrid. My hair is half up with some height to balance out my lower half, though my roots are coming in like crazy since I can’t dye my hair anymore. Or have caffeine. Or drink alcohol. Or enjoy sushi. Or, you know, life.

  It might sound like I’m not enjoying being pregnant and I guess that’s kind of true. I know it’s nature’s miracle and all that bullshit but honestly, I’m a sweaty, foggy-headed insomniac now whose hands look like they belong on a Cabbage Patch Kid doll. I just want Ramona (yes, named after my literary heroine, Ramona Quimby – only fair since Brigs would have named him Sherlock if he was a boy) to be born already so I can see her cute face and see which of us she’ll resemble. If she could have my boobs and Brigs’ eyes, she’ll win at life.

  Unfortunately, being pregnant has also made me horny as hell. Brigs doesn’t seem to mind and neither do I. I mean, I get to fuck him all day so there are no complaints there and even though I feel like a fat, flabby mess, he’s turned on all the time. He even makes me feel beautiful – at least he tries. It’s hard to feel gorgeous when your thighs look like cottage cheese but luckily my hormones don’t care if I’m self-conscious or not.

  Even now as we’re getting ready to leave, the sight of him in his tuxedo makes my stomach ignite with heat, my legs pressing together to try and relieve the pressure. The only problem is, we don’t have much time before we hop in the Aston Martin and drive to Hyde Park for the ceremony.

  The truth is, Brigs and I applied for our marriage license two weeks ago. We didn’t tell anyone. Everyone – his family, even my family – thinks we’re going to have a big wedding in the fall. But really, it just wasn’t sitting well with either of us. The minute we announced we were engaged, it was like everyone in his family turned into characters from an episode of Bridezilla. With Lachlan and Kayla getting married in the summer, and those plans in full swing, including all of her friends and their cousins in the States coming over, Brigs and I felt like things were getting out of hand. It stopped feeling like it was about the two of us and we wanted to keep that feeling.

  So we decided to elope. Or elope as much as you can in the UK. This ain’t Vegas. We went to the register and applied for the license, then just yesterday went back and said our vows officially.

  Today though, we’re having an actual ceremony – it’s not legal, but since we’re already technically married, it’s just for our own sake. It’s just us, Winter, Shelly the dog walker, and Max the bartender, officiating. Who knew the grizzled drink slinger was a celebrant?

  I know that all our families will probably be disappointed and hurt by us doing this on our own, but they’ll thank us later when that’s one less wedding to worry about. Besides, there’s a baby on the way and that’s taking up enough of their time and energy as it is. It’s taking up my time and energy and I’m still going to school on top of it.

  Plus, we’ve hired a great photographer to capture the moment and will have a big party next week when we go back up to Edinburgh. For our honeymoon we’ll take the train down to Marseilles to see my father and I’m hoping once the baby is born, we can fly my mother out here from LA. Even though we still don’t have the best relationship, we’re working on it. Being with Brigs has taught me that we have to make amends while we can and that second chances don’t come by often. Since I reached out to my mother, and she’s been reciprocating, I feel this is as good of a chance as any.

  “Are you nervous?” Brigs asks, coming over to me.

  “No, are you?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Not a bit.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “Maybe.”

  I reach down to adjust my shoes. I’m wearing white Converse. No one will know and heels have been killing my back lately, along with everything else.

  “Bloody hell, your tits look fabulous,” Brigs murmurs and just the silky way he says “tits” has my blood flowing hot. I glance up at him and he’s staring right down my cleavage. My boobs are absolutely out of control, which drives him crazy.

  “Don’t fucking say tits,” I scold him, trying to straighten up.

  He puts his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down to my knees on the plush rug. “No, no. Stay down there. Don’t ruin this view. I doubt I’ll get to see this again.” His voice is so low, sliding over me like butter. “You in a white dress, with those tits. So fucking innocent looking.”

  I know we don’t have a lot of t
ime, but I don’t really care.

  “Only I’m not so innocent,” I tell him, playing along. I reach for his zipper and undo his pants, shoving them down his hips. His cock juts out in front of me, thick and long and beautiful. Completely mine now.

  I’ve married this cock.

  I take it in my hands and lick him, suck at his precum and let the taste hit my tongue like a tonic. I don’t care what any woman says, when you’ve got a dick as big and excessively thick as his, giving blow jobs is fucking addicting.

  He gives off tiny grunts and low moans as I find his balls, knowing exactly where and when to tug, as I bend and lick around his crown and all the way along his rigid shaft, the heat coming through his skin. The desire inside me is building until I’m tempted to slip a hand between my legs, and I can actually feel him get bigger, thicker, inside my mouth as I work at him.

  “You’re going to ruin me,” he groans. He goes to grab my hair and then stops, remembering my hairdo. “Sorry,” he says, his voice breaking with lust, making fists at his side.

  I suck harder, aching for him to come, to feel his release down my throat. First blow job as man and wife and I don’t want to hold back. I want to set the tone for the rest of the marriage. I grab his ass, feeling his muscles flex as he pushes into me, slowly at first, then his thrusts become wild, his voice louder and I want his cum so fucking bad. Everywhere, anywhere.

  But he grabs his cock at the base and pulls it out of my mouth, sliding past my lips with a delicious heaviness.