The Absolutely True Story of Us

by Melanie Marchande

  I'd like to say it took me a couple of weeks of cautious, demure flirting and casual coffee dates. But he asked me out for dinner that night, and I said yes. It was wonderful. I had just enough wine to get a little giddy, and I kissed him in my front hallway until I could hardly catch my breath.

  He said he'd noticed me, too. The books I was reading on my lunch break, the way the wind ruffled my chestnut-brown hair. After Andrew, I meant to be cautious. I wasn't going to let myself fall too fast and too deep. I had to keep my wits about me.

  I invited Dean in for coffee after our third date. Never got around to making that coffee, but he did spend the night. From that moment, I never hesitated, never doubted, and never looked back.

  After two back-to-back betrayals, I really am starting to wonder what the hell is wrong with me. Not that it's my fault, per se, but I must be doing something to attract these types. What is it about me that beckons to the liars, the cheaters, the emotional vampires who feed off of my blind devotion?

  Plenty of people would say it's my waistline, but I refuse to accept that. Maybe I'm an easy target because I still have soft curves where so many other women have sleek, tanned skin and lean muscle. But look at Meg. Sure, her boyfriend can obviously be a bit of a pill, but I saw the way he looked at her. She practically has him on a leash. As much as I'd like to bitterly predict the inevitable demise of their relationship, I can't even lie to myself.

  So what is it about me? What vibes am I putting out into the world that say, "please, betray me! Please lie to me!" It can't just be a coincidence.

  I'm staring blankly at the picked-over offerings on the buffet table when I notice Meg and Adrian having a slightly hushed conversation in the little recessed doorway area behind it. I'm not trying to listen, but they're not trying that hard to be quiet, either.

  "It's indecent," she's saying.

  "You're indecent," he replies fervently, glancing over his shoulder before he steals a kiss. "You know what would go really well with this dress? That flush you get across your chest when I make you -"

  "Stop it," she insists. "You're not playing fair."

  "Oh, I'm the one who's not playing fair?" From the sound of his voice, I suspect he's raised an eyebrow at her. "So the push-up bra was just a coincidence."

  "Not everything is because of you. Ego-maniac. I like to dress nicely for the fans." There's a smirk in her voice. "You're so going to lose, by the way."

  "So you keep saying. And yet I remain unmoved."

  "I wouldn't say that," Meg laughs softly. "By the way, have you noticed we're in a hotel?"

  "I might have."

  The temptation to look up in the ensuing silence is too great. She's pressing a key card into his hand, and he's standing there with slowly widening eyes.

  "If you feel like surrendering, meet me there in the next half-hour," she purrs. Then, she turns abruptly on her heel and starts walking away from him.

  Right towards me.

  I try to adopt a casual stance, gazing somewhere into the middle distance, but she pauses as she passes by me.

  "Word of advice," she mutters, grabbing a small pastry and devouring it with all the fervor I imagine she wants to devour him. "If you're thinking it might be fun to do one of those 'who can go longer without sex' wagers, it's not."

  I almost burst out laughing, but I'm conscious of Adrian still standing not too far away from me. "Why...?"

  "Because I thought I could win," she says. "Easily. Now look at me, I'm resorting to guerrilla tactics. And he's completely merciless. Do you know he's worn nothing but button-down jeans around the house for the last three days? And I do mean nothing." She shoots a brief, baleful glance in his direction. "And it's driven me to the point of insanity where I'm just blabbering to a stranger about my sex life."

  "Your secret's safe with me," I assure her. "I think you've got him. Stay strong. For womankind."

  She snorts with laughter. "Thanks, but no promises. I'd better go."

  "Good luck," I call after her, and a moment later, Adrian passes by, grabbing a handful of small cookies without slowing in his stride.

  "No fair taking sides," he says through clenched teeth. "You have no idea what I've been through."

  ***

  When I finally get home, I plug in my phone and check for anything new from M. There's only one message in the app.

  M: New rule. When you want me, you are to drop your panties on the floor, take a picture, and send it to me. Otherwise I won't respond.

  In spite of myself, I just smirk. Nobody could ever accuse him of being anything but straightforward. And right now, that's exactly what I need.

  Yes, Sir.

  He doesn't answer. I drift off to sleep with my phone resting on my stomach and my hand on top of that, just in case.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Decent Proposal

  Dean

  Lissy just so happens to have a meeting with her agent the same week her parents are visiting. One to which I'm not invited. Of course. It all seems a little bit too convenient, but I'm not arguing with her. Of course Lissy would never lie about her whereabouts just to get a little time to herself. Lissy sits in flawless judgment of all those around her.

  Bitter? Why would I be bitter? After five years, to have her turn on me like a rabid dog - I don't care if you literally catch somebody with their dick out, you don't go cold like that. Not with somebody you love. It's not possible. You think I haven't been hurt before? Betrayed? Well, I fucking have. And I could never just flip that switch. I wish it was that simple, believe me.

  The instant she decided on her version of the truth, there was no hope for me. She was done with me. Her heart turned to stone, or maybe it always was, and that was just the moment I realized it.

  Of course I knew about Andrew. That's why things got so out of hand in the first place. She told me all about that scumbag on our second date, eyes going glassy over a giant salad that she didn't even want to eat, that she only ordered because she didn't want to look "like a pig." (Her words, not mine.) She apologized a thousand times, said she knew how obnoxious it was to hear about somebody's ex, but she just needed to get it off her chest. Needed me to understand why she was a little skittish.

  Well, who wouldn't be? Let's be honest, these days cheating is a garden-variety offense in relationships. But most people don't make a point of shoving it in their partner's face. Andrew was a champion at that. He turned the other woman into the purloined letter, the betrayal that was so obvious it couldn't be a real betrayal. Because if he wanted to cheat, surely he'd do it behind Lissy's back. And Lissy, ever accommodating, ever wanting to be the cool girlfriend, made the biggest mistake of her life.

  She trusted him.

  And then, one day, like something out of a Biz Markie song, she found out that other girl wasn't "just a friend."

  It shattered her world, but she thought she'd managed to pick up all the pieces. I could tell otherwise.

  I only lied to protect her, but that's always a piss-poor excuse when all the cards are on the table. But what other choice did I have?

  Maybe I was selfish. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I should've done everything differently. Hell, maybe I never should have walked up to her in the first place.

  It was the way she always looked, sitting on that bench. At first she'd be self-conscious, glancing around her, shoulders slightly hunched, willing people not to look at her. But then she'd start to read, and slowly, she'd forget where she was. Her face would light up, and every time I walked past her I had this feeling like I was seeing something special. Something most people were missing. She had such a pretty smile when she thought nobody was looking.

  Once I actually started talking to her, I realized a lot more. She was smart. Whip-smart. Too smart for the temp agency she was working at, and probably too smart for me. I asked her to be my girlfriend anyway, and within a few months she'd moved into my place.

  From there, things were good. Most of the time, they were great. We dealt wi
th the usual tensions that couples do, but after a while, it seemed like we were both comfortably settled in. Sometimes she seemed a little distant during sex, but she always said everything was okay.

  I should've known. The first time I picked up that book of hers, just morbidly curious and wondering if maybe she'd put a villain in there who was based on me -

  Oh, there was a girl between these pages that I'd never known. Of course authors aren't their characters, or their books, except in this case she was. They had the same name. It was "based on a true story." I was pretty much one hundred percent sure it actually wasn't, but I work in marketing. I'm certainly not going to throw stones.

  Lana was Lissy, down to the way she talked, the thoughts she had, and - I'd bet my life on it - the fantasies. Within a few hours of meeting him, Lana's fantasizing about Damien bending her over the desk. And not just to fuck her. To spank her.

  Okay, so there's always room for a little playful tap in the bedroom, but that's not what this was. She wanted to be spanked, and spanked hard, as a punishment. As some kind of masochistic sexual release. I know that's a common enough theme in these books, but I guess I didn't realize how commonplace it was in real life until I started looking into it. Damn, but there are a lot of women out there who crave a firm hand.

  And Lissy's one of them. I can tell by the detailed, loving way she writes about it. Her descriptions of the beautiful rope bondage aren't quite as evocative, so I figure that one's a little lower down on her priority list. But Lana loves taking orders. Being made to crawl across the floor, carrying things in her mouth, all the while glaring and yowling and practically spitting at his feet. She's got that love-hate thing down pat. She hates this guy, but she's dripping wet for him.

  These are Lissy's fantasies. Everything I never knew about her, all the things that ran through her head when she was alone in the tub. Meanwhile, with me, she'd happily roll onto her back for some sweet but generally uninspired missionary position - and hell, it wouldn't surprise me if she was faking it. There's all kinds of things in the back of her mind that I don't know, that I'll never know.

  Why didn't she just tell me?

  I was angry about that for a while, but I guess it makes sense. When your fantasy's for someone to manhandle and punish you, to be in charge, it's hard to negotiate for that. But I could've done it. I would've done anything for her.

  Of course, I realize that's not what she wanted, either. Somebody just appeasing her needs. That's not part of the fantasy. I would've had to want it too, and maybe she was afraid of finding out that I didn't.

  Well, I'll admit that I used to be pretty vanilla. These days, though? I like to think I could show a kinky girl a good time.

  Admittedly, I haven't tried. Clubs are intimidating, and the meat market online is pretty disheartening too. I guess I've got the same fantasy everybody else does, of just meeting someone out in the wild whose interests just happen to perfectly align with yours.

  Maybe I was Dom material all along. I've always been a good leader, and now I manage fifteen people under me in my department. I know how to act like a boss, and that seems like about ninety percent of the arrangement. I mean, didn't Adrian Risinger's submissive secretary fall in love with him in real life? That's probably not a coincidence.

  And that's the other interesting thing. I always assumed submissives were, well, submissive. All the time. But Meg walks into a room like she owns it. Maybe that was why I never suspected a thing about Lissy. When we met, she was self-sufficient, and had managed to pick herself up and keep pushing forward after a nasty breakup. It wasn't until we were in the bedroom that her bashfulness came out. I should've known.

  The sound of my phone jars me out of my thoughts. It's a text message, from Lissy's mom. We'd exchanged numbers years ago at some holiday get-together or other, but she never actually contacted me until now.

  I know Lissy is busy, but Ted and I were hoping you could join us for lunch. Our little secret. :)

  So, basically there's a few options here. Either I'm going to get there and find out that Ted was "busy" and this is some kind of twisted Mrs. Robinson thing, or...I'm not sure what the second option is, actually. I'm pretty sure it's not the first one, though.

  Lissy would kill me if she found out I'm meeting with her parents alone - too easy to get the story mixed up - but I have to know what they've got in mind. I'll just make sure to establish an out for myself if things get too weird.

  What's the worst that could happen?

  ***

  "Sorry I can't stay long," I tell Bea and Ted as I slide into my seat at the mildly upscale midtown bistro. "You know I told my boss about this a month ago, but there was some client meeting they just couldn't reschedule."

  "We understand," says Ted. "You know, Bea, we could always talk about this another time."

  "Oh, no no no!" Bea cuts in. I silently agree with her. "Don't be silly. This won't take long. We'll have it figured out before the entrées come."

  The curiosity is killing me.

  "So," says Bea, leaning closer to me. There's a look in her eyes that I really, really don't like. "How long have you two been together, then?"

  My mind races for the fake timeline we invented. It couldn't be too long, because then it would apparently "annoy them" that I hadn't proposed yet. Thankfully I spent our first few holidays as a couple with my own family, so they're not going to notice any discrepancies there. "Um...three years," I blurt out. "Or thereabouts. Lissy's better at remembering the specifics."

  Thank God for that ancient stereotype about men not remembering anniversaries. I can coast on this one. Bea's mind is already racing ahead to something else, and I have a feeling I'm not going to like it.

  "Any idea when you're going to take the next step?" She's trying very hard to be lighthearted and friendly about it, but there's always something accusatory about this question. I take a deep breath.

  "I mean, you know, it's a lot. Big decision. We'd have to talk about it first, I'm not the kind of guy to just...you know, spring it out of nowhere."

  "Well, she wants you to," says Bea confidentially. "I was just talking to her about it yesterday."

  She has to be lying, but I try to reel in my incredulous tone. "Really? She said that?"

  Bea makes a non-committal gesture. "You have to read between the lines. A girl like Felicity doesn't always say what's on her mind. Sometimes it takes a mother's intuition."

  She taps the side of her nose, and I just nod, slowly. Lissy doesn't really bite her tongue around me. She never did.

  "So." Bea touches my hand. "I know it's a lot, I know it's scary, and you probably don't even know where to start. But that's okay. I'm going to help you. We'll plan something amazing that she's never going to forget."

  That's for damn sure.

  "Uh," I stall, still trying to wrap my head around what's happening. "I don't know if..."

  "Well, are you planning to marry her or not?" Bea's voice has gone sharp. "If you're not in this for the long haul, I don't think you should be playing games with her."

  "That's not the point," I insist, wanting desperately to just tell her to butt out. But I know I can't. At minimum, I have to keep things civil to avoid any drama, and it's starting to seem like I'll have to do a lot more than that. "It's something very personal, and very -"

  "No." Bea shakes her head. "It's not personal, because you don't just marry a person. You marry a family. It would've been more ideal to do this during one of the holidays when everybody's already together, but we missed our chance. The good news is, I've talked to some of the kids. Most of them will be able to make it down here within the next few weeks. I'll just tell Felicity we're doing an impromptu family reunion of sorts, because there was a sale on airfare or something. Meanwhile, you and I can plan the big moment." Her eyes are shining as she practically bounces out of her seat with excitement. "Oh, this is going to be so beautiful. She'll be thrilled."

  Fuck.

  "Uh, I guess I could start l
ooking at rings," I say, slowly. I have a bad feeling I'm going to regret this, but what the hell else can I do?

  "Excellent!" she beams. "Get the ring, plan the speech. Just leave the rest up to me. When the time is right, I'll let you know."

  Lissy is definitely going to murder me.

  ***

  "Do you know something about this?"

  Lissy is waving her phone in my face accusatorially. What the fuck, did she already find out? Is she just toying with me? I blink a few times and try to focus on the screen, like I don't already know what she's talking about.

  "Know something about what?" I think I sound suitably irritated, and therefore innocent.

  She sighs sharply. "Mom is bringing the whole fam-damily into town. I am so not equipped to deal with this right now. My brothers are going to be here on the same weekend we're supposed to go to that writers and readers fetish ball. How am I supposed to explain that?"

  I shrug. "Just tell them you've got a prior work commitment. You're not obligated to show them your corset and heels."

  Lissy rolls her eyes, and I hope it's not because she'd never dream of wearing a corset and heels. Because I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to see that.

  "Relax. It'll be fine," I tell her. "By the way, what am I supposed to wear to that thing?"

  "Same thing all guys wear to these parties. Leather pants, leather gloves, leather everything." She's got her head buried in the fridge as she searches for something, so I can't read her expression to see if she's fantasizing about anything in particular.

  "Sounds sticky," I observe.

  "You'll want some baby powder," she agrees. "Leather pants at minimum. The kind with the lace-up fly."

  "That sounds like a pain in the ass." I shake my head. "I'm going with a zipper."