The Lie(13)

I have a prepared answer for this. It’s only half true. “I went to France to be with my father. He was sick.”

“I see.” He sticks his finger in his ear and wiggles it around. I try not to grimace, keeping the awkward smile plastered on my face. “You went to Met before and completed one year of your Master’s. Four years is a long time to mess things up, family or not, don’t you think? Do you think you’re ready to be back at school, at this school in particular?”

My smile falters. “Of course.”

He raises his brow. “Good. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page here. I expect a lot out of my students and a lot out of my TAs. You see, when I talked about my book, Iconography in Early Film Texts, you were the only one who didn’t comment. Have you read it?”

Ah, shit. I swallow hard. “No. I haven’t yet. I didn’t realize it was part of the curriculum.”

He chuckles rather nastily. “My dear, when you’re assisting my class, you’re grading the students. You can’t grade them until you know how I think. It’s only common sense, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suggest when you’re done here, you go to the bookstore and pick up a copy. When I see you next, bring it to me. I’ll sign it for you. Wouldn’t that be a lucky treat?”

Give me a f*cking break. But I manage to smile. “Yes, it would. Thank you.”

Then I quickly get the hell out of there. I wish my first stop wasn’t the bookstore to buy his book, but I know he’s going to expect me to read the whole thing before the next class. I stop by the cafeteria to get something for my raging stomach, opting for a goat cheese salad over my usual meat pie and chips, and decide to text Melissa.

Where is your class? Did you make it?

It’s room 302. Teacher’s not here yet. Maybe I can skip, she texts back.

Stay where you are. How long is it?

It’s supposed to be two hours. I hope there’s a film.

Cool. I’ll meet you in two hours, then. I’ve got to read a bullshit book in the meantime.

Fun. You deserve a beer after that.

We’ll see.

Lo and behold, after I hole up with the book (the crap cost thirty pounds!) in a corner of the library (one of my favorite places), and before my brain starts to bleed from boredom, I think I might need a beer after all. If only the book didn’t cut into my beer fund so much.

I head to the third floor just as the classroom doors start opening and people start piling out.

I can see Melissa at the end of the hallway, wide-eyed and walking kind of jerkily toward me like she’s just done a line of coke. She’s mouthing something to me, but I think it’s just, “Oh my god, oh my god.”

She probably had a teacher like Professor Irving. So far we aren’t having the best luck with teachers this year.

But as she gets closer, hurrying now toward me and shaking her head as if in disbelief, my eyes drift over her shoulder to the classroom.

A man has just stepped out of the door.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Wearing a fine, tailored grey suit.

High cheekbones.

A strong jawline.

And the most haunting blue eyes in the world.

Eyes I never ever thought I’d see again.

I freeze in place, or maybe it’s just that my heart stops beating, and I can hear Melissa saying, “Natasha, oh my god, come with me, let’s go, you won’t believe this, oh my god,” as she grabs my arm and tries to haul me away.

But it’s too late.

Because those eyes see me.

They see me.

And Professor Blue Eyes looks like he’s been hit by a train.

I know the feeling.

It’s your heart and soul being smashed to smithereens.

Because of one person.

One look.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” Melissa says quickly, and I’m turned around as she tugs at me, our eye contact broken.

It. Can’t. Be. Him.

It can’t.

And yet it is.

I look back over my shoulder and meet his stunned gaze once more.

Brigs McGregor.

The love of my life.

The love that ruined lives.

One step forward and five million steps back.





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CHAPTER FOUR

Brigs

London

Present Day



I check my watch. Five minutes until my class starts and I’m still scrambling over the tutorial notes. I made these months ago, but now that I’m here, among the students and in the school, I felt like it has to feel more organic, so I’ve spent my morning in my office, scrapping everything I was slated to speak about today.

The subject is still the same: analyzing Harold Lloyd’s performance in Safety Last. But that’s the problem with working on things months before you need to. You’re often a different person by then. We’re all changing, even in the subtlest ways, and now I’m realizing—last minute? as per usual—that I need to make things a bit more dynamic to capture the students’ attention. They are grad students, but still, they could have easily chosen another class. In most grad classes, you assign the film for the students to watch on their own, but I want to do things a little differently.