The Lie(82)

I especially don’t mind it now with Natasha at my side. Our seats are in first class and the car is relatively empty. We’re able to sit beside each other, her hand in mine, my fingertips tracing circles over her skin. We kiss and laugh and share coy smiles, and it’s like we’re finally free to just be us.

It feels good to be home too. London is growing on me, but Edinburgh will always be home, my true love, no matter how many bad memories are locked here. Stepping off the train at Waverly Station and hearing the Scottish accent everywhere makes me feel like another weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

That said, when we call for a cab to take us to my parents’ house, a few jitters sneak back in my heart.

It does feel wrong to have to hide the truth from my family. And I won’t lie if it comes down to it. But I want Natasha to be judged for who she is and not her past. My parents are as accepting as they come, as are Lachlan and Kayla, but even then if they knew who she really was to me, they’d look at her differently.

Nobody likes the “other woman.” No one wants to relate to her, to empathize with her. No one likes a philandering man either, but when it comes down to it, I am their son and they’ve seen me suffer—they’ve seen my guilt and grief. I wouldn’t walk away from any confession without some form of condemnation from them, but Natasha is the one who would really be burned. They don’t know her. They don’t know what she’s been through. They don’t know how she feels about me. I want them to see all of that first before the truth comes out.

I’m protecting her, plain and simple. Protecting us, this fragile, beautiful thing we have growing between us, that gorgeous freefall I couldn’t bear to have end for any reason.

“This is it,” I tell her as the cab pulls up in front of the house.

“This is so cute,” she coos, staring out the window with wide eyes at the house, the iron gate and stone wall, the overflowing squash and kale in the gardens.

We grab our bags and the cabbie speeds off just as my mother flings open the door.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were already here? I could have picked you up!” she exclaims with wide eyes, sounding both angry and excited.

“I didn’t want to trouble you,” I tell her, putting my hand at the small of Natasha’s back and ushering her in through the gate.

“Brigs, you know you’re no trouble at all,” she says, pressing her hands together as she smiles broadly at Natasha. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t have met you at the train. My son has an awful habit of being so secretive about things.”

Natasha and I quickly exchange a glance. “It’s no worry at all,” she says smoothly. “It’s very nice to meet you. You have a lovely home. And a lovely son.”

Now my mother is positively beaming at me. “Isn’t she darling?” she asks. “Natasha. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“What is this, another one?” my dad says, leaning against the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets. “First Lachlan brings home a pretty gal and now our other son does. We’re going to be the most popular house on the street.”

“Don’t mind my father,” I tell Natasha. “I take after him. See those glasses? He’s a nerd at heart who never quite figured out why a woman like my mother took any interest in him.”

“Hey,” my mother admonishes, walking back up the path to the steps and eyeing me over her shoulder. “A smart woman knows a good catch when she sees one. Seems Natasha is just as smart as the rest of us.”

We go inside the house and my father runs our bags up to my old bedroom until we figure out later who is sleeping where.

“Lachlan and Kayla will be here in an hour,” she says. “They’re doing a fundraiser at the shelter today. A car wash.”

“I’ve heard a lot about Ruff Love,” Natasha says as she takes a seat on the couch and my mother starts pouring everyone tea and getting out the ubiquitous shortbread cookies.

“Well, they’re definitely influential enough to get Brigs to adopt a dog. How is Winter doing anyway?” my mother asks me as she sits down.

I shrug. “Sheds everywhere. Shits everywhere. Nothing’s changed.”

She shakes her head, unimpressed.

“You want the truth?” Natasha asks her, leaning forward in a conspiratorial voice. “He’s in love with that dog. Treats him like a baby.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” I exclaim. “I do not.”

“You do,” she says, eyes sparkling. “You can’t see it because you’re in it, but you dote on that dog like nothing else.” She looks back to my mother. “When I’m not over, the dog sleeps with Brigs, in bed, under the covers.”