The Lie(46)

Silence. I glance at her to see her staring down at her hands, her face round and sweet and sad. “Oh. Well, marriages are hard work, I imagine. It must be normal.”

“That’s what people want you to believe,” I tell her. “But I’m not sure I’m willing to settle for that. Not when I know how good something can be.”

I let those words hang in the air. I’m not sure if Natasha picks up on it.

She stares out the window. “There’s always marriage counseling.”

“She wouldn’t go.”

“You don’t know that,” she says half-heartedly.

“I do know,” I tell her. I don’t bring up the fact that I’d suggested it last year when I first started having troubles in the bedroom with Miranda. To be frank, I couldn’t get it up. She didn’t take as much offense as I thought, but even so, I wondered if there was some underlying issue.

The problem still persists, not that I’ve tried to make love to her in months. It’s just…easier this way.

“She’s perfectly happy to just let things be,” I tell her.

“And you’re not.”

I knead my hands on the steering wheel and catch a look at myself in the rearview mirror, at how tired I look. “I’m not happy at all.”

As Otis Redding plays, we fall silent. Trees and fields and small towns baking under sunshine pass outside the car.

“Are you happy now?” Natasha finally asks. “Right here, with me?”

I clench my jaw. How blunt this lovely girl is. No boundaries. No fear.

I look at her.

She looks back at me.

“Yes,” I tell her. I can’t lie. “I’m always happy with you.”

And yet the truth is so hard to swallow.

Her eyes dance softly, her smile a delicate profession. “I’m happy with you.”

My breath leaves me. I can’t explain how her simple words make me feel. It’s as if my soul has been gently nudged awake from a long slumber and she’s the first sight I’ve seen.

There’s nothing to say to that. Just this understanding of how each of us feel. We make each other happy.

I almost reach out with my hand and place it on hers, just to feel her flesh, her warmth, but then the warning bells go off, ringing in my ears.

“You’re leaving,” I say suddenly. “Next week is your last.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

“I’m nowhere near done with the book.”

“You’ll find someone else to help you with the research.”

“But someone else isn’t you.”

“I guess I’m irreplaceable,” she says smartly, though when I glance at her, her expression is pained as she stares out the window.

Eventually we arrive at Balmoral, only to see the gates are closed.

“Maybe the Queen doesn’t want visitors today,” I tell her as I put the car in park, engine running.

I expect her to be disappointed but she just shrugs. She takes a sip of her coffee, now cold, and winces at the taste of it.

“Maybe we could find another castle nearby,” I suggest.

“It’s fine, really. This was never about the destination, Brigs. This was just about spending time with you.”

She’s slowly undoing me, thread by thread. I stare at her in near awe, this wondrous creature who wants to spend time with me. This rare and beautiful being who says I make her happy, maybe as happy as she makes me.

“Whatever do you see in me?” I ask her quietly. I can’t help it.

She tilts her head, frowning at me. “I see you. What do you see?”

I suck in a breath through my teeth, the words hesitating in my mouth. I let them go.

“Everything,” I tell her with a pure ache in my chest. “I see Natasha. I see everything I shouldn’t want. Everything I do want. Everything that makes the world keep turning on its axis. You have no idea what you do to me. No idea.”

She leans forward, eyes pleading. “Then show me what I do to you.”

“You’re leaving,” I whisper.

“Show me,” she says more urgently. “Show me.”

I oblige her.

I grab her face in my hands, my fingers pressing into her soft cheeks, and I kiss her. It isn’t gentle. It is hard and feverish and wet as my lips crash against hers, as our tongues flow over each other, uninhibited. The fire inside is spreading everywhere, filling every hollow part of me. I let out a moan into her mouth as she returns my kiss with wild desperation, her hands holding my biceps tight, her nails digging into my shirt. My cock twitches in my pants, nearly a surprise, and I’m suddenly aware of how acute my desire for her is.