Page 13 of Taming Liberty

“I didnotplan to start a pen pal relationship with you. I made an account and reached out to you because I found you interesting, and I wanted to know a little more.”

And a little fed a beast I didn’t realize was starved.

“I made up a backstory, we talked a little, and I figured out early on that you were faithful to a pitiful degree. I also realized you’re incredibly guarded. I went back and forth on whether to take it as a challenge I wished to pursue or pull back before I took things too far.”

She snags her bottom lip with her canine, a little sad, a little angry. “So I take it you decided I was a good challenge.”

I tilt my head side to the side as I weigh the validity of her statement. “Yes and no. Most of our exchanges were short and shallow, but one night your husband threw you out, and…”

“And?” she asks, sitting up straighter, scooting closer to me.

“And you chose to open up to me. I amnotthe person people go to when they need to talk. I’m no one’s savior. In fact, I’d say most people would compare me to the devil, but the point is, for the first time in my life, someone needed me for something other than money, and I liked that feeling. Here, I’m the master who killed his slave. In business, I’m cold and ruthless. In my hometown, I’m even worse.”

I shift my weight, only part of my discomfort due to sitting on this hard rock. “But with you, I was the good guy. I liked how that made me feel. You stopped being a challenge for me early on, and the more we talked, the more I liked you, and the more I liked being that version of myself, real or not.”

“Fast forward a year.” I take a breath then let it out slowly. “Your husband was here for the weekend, drunk at the manor, rambling on and on about what a whore you were. I thought nothing of it until he started going into detail about you having an affair with some loser you found in a singles’ chat room. For a minute, I actually thought you could be talking to someone else, but then he mentioned our screen names.”

I’m quiet for a few moments, thinking carefully about how I should finish this. I don’t want to lie to her, not again.

But I can’t quite tell the truth either. Not the whole truth.

“Then what happened?” Lib asks, leaning closer to me.

I swallow, settling on a half-truth.

“You’d made an impression on Sawyer several years ago too. He made Robert an offer that night…”

Lib sighs. “And here we are.”

4

Liberty

“So then it wasn’t all a lie?” I ask, my high pitch giving away my nervousness.

I feel like the last intact pieces of my heart are dangling from a string, and depending on Angel’s answer, they’ll either be pulled to safety or be sent hurling to the ground.

His answer shouldn’t matter to me as much as it does. Clearly, Angel is not a good person. He’s manipulative and deceitful, demanding and ruthless, selfish and cold.

But there’s another side that might exist, and I have a stupid amount of hope that it does. The man I knew before coming here was compassionate, patient, empathetic, and kind. He never made me feel foolish for my choices, and he never pushed me to make the right ones. He was just there for me. He made me feel safe.

How can someone fake that?

He opens and closes his mouth like he’s unsure how to answer the question. He pauses for a long moment before eventually asking, “What are you referring to exactly?”

“The entire year we spent talking.” My mouth goes dry, and I run my tongue over the back of my teeth. “You told me so many things. Were you lying about everything or just some of it?”

He looks off, his hand raising to the back of his neck while he considers this. “Not about everything. I only lied about the obvious things I couldn’t tell you. For starters, where I live and what I do for a living. I had to go with the original backstory I gave you, which I regretted early on. I wish I would’ve said I lived in Fiji. Pretending to live in the same time zone as you was hell.”

“But when you said, for instance, that you enjoy watching movies in Greek because they remind you of your mother… Was that the truth?”

He dips his chin in affirmation. “She’s from Greece. She rarely spoke it when I was a child because my father didn’t understand the language, but we would watch movies together when he was away.”

I search my mind for some memory of him telling me this, but it’s new information. I knew his mother was Greek, but come to think of it, I don’t know much else about his family. He never mentioned his father until now, and anytime I asked about his childhood, all he gave were vague answers.

“Did you really go to Cambridge?” I ask, tabling thoughts of his family for now.

“Yes, but I didn’t study architecture. I have a master’s in business.” His head tilts. “I’m not the only one who lied about my education, though. You told me you never attended college, but when I met you years before this, you said you were attending law school.”

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