The Lie

“You heard me. I make you uncomfortable because you want me, plain and simple. I don’t blame you. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. And I definitely won’t tell anyone.”

“Melissa, if you don’t leave, I’m going to have to bring this up with the university,” I tell her, trying to supress the anger that’s starting to flare up. “It goes both ways. Hitting on a teacher is just as frowned upon as the other way around.”

The smirk begins to fade. Her eyes narrow. “You would actually report me? Just for talking to you?”

“Yes,” I tell her. “Because this isn’t just talking and you know it. I’m going to pretend I don’t know what the bloody hell you’re offering, but between you and me, I don’t fucking want it.”

Her head jerks back like she’s been slapped. I don’t feel bad, but as I see the scorn churning in her eyes, I’m starting to regret being so harsh. She’s not the type to take rejection lightly, I can see that now.

“What did you say to me?” she whispers.

“I said, get the fuck out.” I point to the door. “And the next time you want to speak to me, I’m making sure we aren’t alone. And if we are alone, I’m making sure to record it. Do you understand? I don’t know what fucking game you are playing here with me, but it ends here and now. I’m not interested in you and I wouldn’t be even if you weren’t my student. Once you accept that, the easier this semester will be.”

She glares at me. “You’re a right prick you know that? Fucking wanker.”

“I’ve been called worse by people more important than you.” I jerk my head to the door and bring out my phone. “And I have no problems hitting the record button right now if you truly wish to make this more difficult than it is.”

She sucks in her breath through her teeth, seeming to simmer, then shakes her head. “You’ll regret this.”

I give her a sour smile. “No. Don’t talk to me about regret. You don’t know shit. Now, go.”

She blinks at me in some sort of raging shock before she whips around and storms out of the room. I exhale loudly, trying to gather strength and clarity into my lungs and head.

I need to talk to Natasha about her, I just don’t know how to bring it up. I don’t know what problems it’s going to create for her, and the last thing I want is for her to get kicked out. Melissa is in charge of the flat, and if Natasha were to ever tell her something, Melissa’s jealousy would rage and Natasha would be gone. She couldn’t live with me, not long-term anyway, while I still have a job. I take my chances with dating Natasha in secret, but living together is another risk entirely.

The best I can do is just encourage her to move out on her own at some point, without telling her exactly what Melissa is like. Melissa knows the kind of hell the both of us had to go through. No real friend would then blatantly go after another’s man like that, whether things had ended badly or not.

As the rest of the week goes by though, I find myself unable to bring it up with her, even though the sneaking around is starting to feel tiresome instead of exciting. When we go out to dinner together or to the pub or the movies, when we’re just strolling around the city, we try and pretend we are strictly platonic. London is a huge city but a small world all the same. Even though we both mess up from time to time, holding hands and stealing kisses in public, we’re both always so aware that someone could see us. And no, she’s not my student, but it’s still a risk.

That’s why when Friday rolls around, I’m borderline ecstatic. I’m taking her up to Edinburgh to meet the family, a place where we don’t have to be a secret, at least not in the present. I’m also nervous, anxious, and a whole slew of other things that has my heartrate a few notches above normal.

Natasha comes to my flat after her classes, just in time to see Shelly the dog walker take Winter out. She’ll be watching him in the flat while I’m gone, but the fuzzy bugger tends to panic whenever I pack up and leave. This way he just thinks he’s going for a walk and that I’ll be here when he returns, though I swear he gives me the stink-eye when he goes out the door.

Natasha is pacing through the drawing room, wringing her hands and gnawing on her lip.

“Are you a bundle of nerves too?” I ask her, amused to see her like this.

“Of course!” she exclaims. “I’m meeting your fucking parents. And your brother. I’ve only heard about them all a million times.”

“Then you know by now that they’re lovely people,” I tell her, putting my arms around her waist and smiling down at her. “They’ll love you.”

“But they don’t know me,” she says. “They don’t know the real us.”

I sigh, closing my eyes. “I know. But they can’t.”

“They have to,” she says, and I open my eyes to see hers searching me in a wild dance. “Don’t you see? It’s not just meeting the family. It’s about living a lie.”

“We aren’t living a lie anymore.”

“Then what do we say?” she asks. “When they ask us how we met?”