Dirty Filthy Fix: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (Fixed #5.5)(26)

This...was new.

I wasn’t prepared, which sort of pissed me off. Not only because it occurred to me that I could have misjudged Nathan Sinclair, but also because I didn’t exactly have a checklist of plans for myself. I just had things I liked doing that I wanted to continue doing, uninterrupted.

“What is it I want from my life?” I repeated back to him, buying time to think about it.

And then when I did think about it I realized I didn’t need the time. I knew exactly what I wanted. “My own stuff, my own space, steady kinky sex in different locations. Happy? I’m leaving.” I spun on my five-inch heels and walked toward the exit. Irritated.

I didn’t know why I was so worked up, maybe because the whole topic was a sore spot. Maybe because even though he hadn’t given the speech yet, I knew it was coming eventually. I didn’t fit into the traditional world with my viewpoints about happily-ever-afters. I already knew that.

Or, maybe I was worked up because people rarely believed it about me when I told them. They always thought that I was lying to them or lying to myself, but I really didn’t want what society believed I should want in the way they thought I should want it, and I didn’t want to have to argue about it with Nate, because I did truly like him. And I didn’t want to have this conflict. But liking him didn’t mean I wanted to give up who I was just to make him happy.

Instead of talking it to death and arguing my side, it was easier just to go. Get it over with. I could cut the ties now before I liked him even more. Before the string didn’t just tug me back from the clouds, but let all the air out of me, too.

I rushed out into the lobby, assuming he’d let me go, but he followed. And really, that’s what I probably should have expected. He’d already proven he was the kind of guy that chased. Shoe or not, Nate Charming liked his fairytale kink.

And I’d just performed the most cliché move of all for a sexed-up Cinderella—I’d run from the freaking ball.

I looked around, trying to decide where to go next. I had originally intended to head to the coat check before finding an available chariot, but there was a line. Since we were going to have to talk, and since I didn’t want to have this conversation in public, I headed to the opposite side of the lobby, to an empty alcove by the water fountains.

When I got there, I turned and shook a finger at him. “You’re not going to change my mind about this, Nate. I’m laying it out there. This is who I am. I’m not into the traditional life plan. It’s good that you know now.” So you can leave. Find a real princess.

“I wasn’t trying to change your mind about anything. I was trying to understand.” He didn’t sound angry or frustrated, even. He just sounded...curious.

And somehow that irritated me more. “There’s nothing to understand. I’m unique. ‘Impossible,’ as my mother says.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t call you impossible. I get it. You want the Susan Sontag and Annie Leibovitz life. You’re not that unique. Hate to burst your bubble.”

I actually was offended at being called “not that unique,” but no way in hell was I going to let him know.

On the other hand, it was nice not being told that my ideas were ridiculous and selfish. Not to be lectured on how I’ll grow old lonely.

I shifted my weight to one hip. “What’s the Sontag and Leibovitz life?” I knew one was a writer and one was a photographer, but that was all I knew about the names he’d mentioned.

“Susan Sontag was very particular about her relationships,” Nate said, leaning a shoulder against the wall of the room next door. “She was private. Even though she was a writer and exposed nearly all of her feelings in her work, she wanted to keep her relationships out of her public life. So she denied them to anyone who asked. She didn’t marry the women that she loved, didn’t call them her partners.

“But Annie Leibovitz went so far as to buy a townhouse in the building across the street from her so they could intertwine their lives as much as possible, without ‘becoming one,’ as the Bible says.” He rubbed his hand over his close-trimmed beard. “They worked together but separately. They had their own identities, but they weren’t alone. They had each other.”

I pursed my lips, not sure what to say. It sounded nice, actually. Really nice. Fairytale nice.

But it was a romantic notion. In real life, how often did people do that sort of thing? I would bet that the couples that ended up in arrangements like that didn’t plan for things to work out that way. It was probably mostly compromise after being frustrated by relationships with impossible people for so long.

It felt like an amazingly great dream scenario for someone like me. But also, exactly that—a dream scenario. Because it was too much to ever ask of a partner. How would you propose that to someone? I like you, why don’t you live near me, but not too close. Be part of my world, but not too much a part of it. Yes, I’d love to meet your mother. She’s going to completely understand what we’re doing here.

“It sounds like a great story, Nate,” I said gently. “But it also sounds a little bit too much of a fairytale, don’t you think?”

“Fairytales, by definition, are stories. They aren’t real. But this isn’t just a great story. Susan and Annie were real people. Not only did they do this, but they were happy doing it. If you ever have the chance, A Photographer’s Life is a great book—”