Twenty-Eight
It’s finally the day Ryan is due home, and I feel extremely conflicted. I promised, immediately after our most recent goodnight kiss and therefore high on oxytocin, that I would meet him at the airport. Still, now I realise exactly how big a deal that is. Picking someone up at the airport is a bit of a milestone in a relationship, isn’t it? I am so torn; simultaneously, I am very excited to see him and also nervous about what this might mean and what the day might hold.
The night before, I had laid out all my prep for the morning: my nicest make-up, a nice dress, etc., but looking at it all in the cold light of day, it feels wrong. With all the drama around Javier and my parents meeting Sir John, followed by helping Sir John craft his own letter, I never actually had time to think about the email I was meant to send to Ryan, revealing my true identity. And now he’s in a plane hurtling back towards me, and it feels a little too late to have not done this already. All night, my brain was in overdrive, reminding me that this situation is immoral and wrong, and he thinks that my name is Anastasia. When I tried to quiet it, it ignored me entirely and just got louder. I decide that actually I will do everything I can to help me maintain my willpower, and I sadly hang my lovely dress back up and pull out an old and very faded pair of jeans, almost threadbare in places, and an old, oversized university jumper. I complement the look with the beige bra and granny knickers that made an appearance in front of Madeleine the Pixie, decide against make-up, and I’m ready.
During the whole journey to the airport, I’m thinking about how to tell him. I know I have to, but I don’t even know where to begin or when the right time might be. Is it the second I see him? As we walk to the Tube? What about when we reach his house? I mean, can you imagine if I say it to him on the Tube and then he gets angry, or worse, upset, in the carriage in front of a load of confused and sleep-deprived tourists and solemn Londoners?
The lie just feels so big; I feel a pang, wishing I’d confided in Bea when this was in its infancy so she could currently act as my Jiminy Cricket. But I don’t really need to hear it; I know Bea would tell me to do the right thing. I know that’s what I should do, regardless of Adam somehow thinking I could play along with this for eternity and convince our families to play along.
As I enter the airport, I steel my nerves, resolute in my decision to do the right thing. Still, as soon as Ryan emerges from the mysterious one-way airport gates, he says nothing and just wraps me into what will probably go down in history as the best kiss that Arrivals has ever seen if they recorded such things (which they should).
“You look beautiful. I’ve missed you so much,” Ryan murmurs in my ear between showering me with kisses, which, frankly, are becoming borderline public indecency, especially if he continues following that trail down my neck he seems so keen on. “I’ve missed you too,” I whisper back. I can’t believe he called me beautiful in this outfit. If I’d worn this to meet Chris, he probably would have pretended not to know me and then spent the entire journey home criticising me and telling me I was an embarrassment.
“Shall we go home?” Ryan says softly, jolting me back to the present. Electricity bolts through my body. He takes my hand in his and guides me to the Tube. During the whole journey from Heathrow to South Wimbledon, I’m completely distracted and only vaguely aware of all the stories he’s telling me about his trip. “Uh-huh. Oh really? Sounds amazing!” become my trio of responses, my brain frantically trying to find a natural way to reveal to him that our whole relationship is built on a gaping chasm of lies. Not even being melodramatic.
The Northern line pulls into the station too quickly, and I still haven’t managed to bring up my deception. Ryan grabs my hand and pulls me off the Tube with him, marching us up the escalator. I’m surprised we make it home, frankly. We breathlessly reach his flat, and no sooner than he’s closed the door, he’s pushed me up against it, alternating between kissing my lips and trailing kisses down my neck. This genuinely has to be the most electrifying experience of my life.
“WAIT!” I gasp.
He stops immediately and looks concerned.
“I…” I hesitate. “Do you think you really like me ? Or do you just like the person you think I am?”
He looks concerned. “Anastasia, what’s this about?”
“I just… I want to know what you like about me.”
“Everything. I like your smile, the way you have an obscure film reference for every scenario, the way your hair catches the light, the way you laugh, your ancient old rucksack full of old receipts you seem to collect for no reason, the way you suddenly get nervous and laugh at inappropriate moments… everything.”
“So not the fact that I’m a glamorous Russian émigré?”
He laughs. “No. I keep forgetting that part, to be honest.”
“But I look awful!” I exclaim, desperately grasping at straws at this point.
“You always look beautiful to me.”
I wonder if he’ll feel the same when he sees the granny pants, but I know he will.
I hesitate. All those things he likes… that’s the real me. Not stupid Anastasia. He gathers me into his arms again, and I melt. I promise I’ll tell him soon.
He kisses me more deeply, and before I know it, he’s lifted me and is carrying me towards his room. I lose track of the exact order of events after that, but I do know that three hours later, Chris never made me feel this desirable, this beautiful, this…safe.
Hormones make me want to express that last sentiment to Ryan, but he cuddles me into him and murmurs gently in my ear, “Shit, I forgot to tell you. I’m going to Mum and Dad’s for lunch tomorrow, and they begged me to bring you. They want to meet this girl who’s making me walk around with a stupid grin on my face all the time. Is that OK? I can totally get you out of it if you want.”
Only a man would drop something as big as meeting the parents for the first time out of the blue the night before, and I go a bit cold. I was supposed to be stopping the lie, not expanding the web of deceit.
I start to answer before I really know what to say, but thankfully, he’s fallen asleep before I can say anything too prematurely. I snuggle into his chest, and he sleepily curls his arm around me.
Half an hour later, though, Ryan is still slumbering peacefully, but I’m starting to freak out. I’ve just slept with a guy who doesn’t know my name, and he wants me to meet his parents. Worse, I think I have fallen in love with a guy who doesn’t know my name. There’s absolutely no way I can see out of this that doesn’t involve massive hurt. I either have to tell him, at which point he’ll definitely be crushed and likely walk away, or I have to break up with him, walking away from the man who is possibly the love of my life.
I lie there, restlessly fidgeting and playing various scenarios back and forth in my mind, but I just can’t think of anything. I need Bea.