Page 78 of Obedience

‘It’s okay. I don’t know what I’m doing either, G, but I know what I’m not doing, and that’s pushing away the things that feel right. I know you’re scared, I’m scared too, I’m fucking terrified.’ She huffed out a breathy chuckle. ‘But I’ve spent enough time lying awake at night thinking about us to know I am not imagining this… I feel the way your breathing changes when you’re in my arms. I hear you, and I feel you when we have sex. I see how you look at me and I know how you make me feel. I know I’m not imagining that we have something special… Am I?’

Greta’s shoulders shook, tears spilled down her cheeks as Dylan pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. ‘No,’ she whimpered. ‘No, you’re not imagining it. Any of it.’

Dylan fished a tissue from her pocket. ‘It’s clean,’ she smiled as Greta accepted it. ‘My jumper will shrink if you get it wet again, and it cost me six pound fifty at Oxfam this… Aaand as you can see, it’s a nineties gem.’ As Dylan wiggled her eyebrows a laugh burst through Greta’s crying, making her sob even harder. She pressed the tissue to her eyes. ‘Greta.’ Dylan unfurled the word softly. ‘We’ll make a plan, okay? We’re not doing anything wrong. You’re not my course lead. You’re not even my frigging tutor. You did one lecture to fill a gap for Doctor McClure…you even refused to mentor me.’

Greta pinched her nose with the wet tissue, blowing hard. ‘That’s when I should have disclosed us, Dyl.’

‘Disclosed what? There was no relationship until I pursued you.’

‘That’s not quite—’

‘It is!’ Dylan’s voice rose to a level she immediately regretted. She pressed her fingertips into her forehead. ‘It is,’ her tone softened. ‘You paid me for sex. Who in their right mind would go to their Dean and confess that when they thought they could bury it?’ Greta shrugged, her brow dipping heavily. ‘What’s happened since then hasn’t been a relationship,’ Dylan continued, sighing when Greta cocked a perfect eyebrow. ‘Well, okay, it’s… Fine.’ She canted her head. ‘It’s a thing. But they don’t know shit, G. Deny it. They’re hardly going to shine a light in your eyes and get Jeremy Kyle out with a lie detector,’ she chuckled. ‘Whatever that busy-bastard-body-librarian saw was just me—a student, as daft as she looks, fawning over a ridiculously hot oncologist, in a ridiculously hot dress and getting a frigging fine for not returning the books she walked back out of the library with. That’s it. Start, middle, end. Bish.’ She tucked the stray strands of Greta’s hair behind her ear.

Greta drew in a steadying breath. ‘I can’t blame you for all of it.’

‘All of what? They don’t have anything. Tell them I flirted and you resisted my charms. They might even give you a little medal for that.’ Greta snort-laughed making Dylan finally smile. ‘Come here,’ she instructed softly, holding out her arm. Greta climbed onto Dylan’s lap, straddling her thighs on the deep cushions. Dylan smiled as she looked up, watching as Greta gathered her hair and moved it over one shoulder. ‘Kiss me, Doctor Vincent.’ Greta’s fingers stopped fidgeting with the wool of Dylan’s jumper as she leaned in, doing exactly what Dylan had asked—the only thing she wanted to do—she kissed her. When they finally broke away, they kept their foreheads pressed lightly together for a beat before Greta pulled back, scanning Dylan’s face as she looked up at her.

‘I’m not going to tell you not to worry, G…that would be patronising. But whatever happens on Thursday, I’ll be here.’ She craned her neck to reach Greta’s lips again. ‘Even if you run, I’ll be here. I have the code and a key, remember? So I’ll be here, even if it’s just to drink your fancy filtered water, watch the drunks in Sackville Gardens and warm my cold tootsies on this boujee fucking floor.’

Chapter twenty-one

Bravery reward

As Greta shifted awkwardly in her seat, her fingers picked at imaginary flecks of dust on her trousers just to have something to do with her hands. Professor Andy sat across the sprawling oak desk in an office that smelled of old furniture and musty books. She was a middle-aged woman with short, grey hair styled to look imperfectly perfect. With pleasantries exchanged, Greta steeled herself; perfect posture, cool, calm, and collected. At least that’s how she was hoping to present. She was feeling very much like a swan on a lake, graceful and demure in appearance, while all the efforts to remain so were happening very much beneath the surface of her highly polished veneer.

Greta’s nerves oscillated wildly inside her white blouse and navy blue tailored power suit. Her hair was a stark contrast to her frayed emotion—a slick bun with not a hair out of place. Her cat eyes were winged to perfection, with concealer doing God’s work over her insomnia-induced dark eyes. Dylan had called her “fucking stunning” that morning, her gaze lingering over Greta as she stood in the kitchen. She’d kissed Dylan goodbye after she had stayed the night again, having found herself unable to ask her to leave. Greta felt that on some level she probably should have sent her away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She wanted her around. She wanted to lie in her arms, so she had buried the urge to run and ignored the voice telling her to push Dylan away.

Greta looked at Professor Andy as Dylan’s voice was a recurring loop in her head.

Just deny it.

They don’t know anything.

They don’t know shit.

But, for the first time in her career, Greta was truly scared. She didn’t want to deny Dylan, but what exactly was she defending? An ex-escort she’d been seeing for a weeks-long sordid affair? Except it wasn’t sordid and it wasn’t an affair; they were two very unattached, consenting adults. She liked Dylan; she loved her company. Dylan was passionate about the things she loved, intelligent, caring, and ridiculously funny. She was silly when Greta was too uptight and serious when Greta was breaking. She was everything Greta wanted and needed.

The facts, however, were the jagged edges that prevented the pieces from fitting together smoothly. Dylan was twenty-eight and a student at the university. To any outsiders, those details alone were the definition of sordid. Greta was forty-nine, established and professionally powerful. In the eyes of the university, Dylan would be seen as young and impressionable, even though both Dylan and Greta knew she was anything but. The world would judge them, and Greta wasn’t sure she could withstand that kind of scrutiny.

‘I’d like to start by thanking you for coming to see me, Doctor Vincent,’ Professor Andy said, her soft Liverpudlian accent cutting through the tension. Her tone wasn't lofty or at all professorial, and her northern warmth put Greta slightly at ease.

‘Of course,’ Greta replied, keeping her voice assertive, aiming for a tone that was professional and just the right side of relaxed, but absolutely not nonchalant. ‘Please, call me Greta.’

Professor Andy nodded, her expression remaining neutral. ‘I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, but you understand the necessity, I trust?’ Professor Andy continued.

The nervous energy burning through Greta was making it difficult to remain still as she shifted in her seat again. ‘Yes, of course.’

Of course. She needed more than just a polite reflex. She needed to be the Dr Vincent people revered and respected.

‘The matter we need to discuss concerns a personal relationship you may have, or have had, with Miss Dylan Saint John, who is currently in her final year of a Clinical Research Master’s.’

Greta interlaced her fingers in her lap and forced back the sharp, protective urge to correct the mispronunciation of Dylan’s surname, but she told herself to pick her battles. Her thumbnail scratched over the knuckle of her other thumb.

Just deny it, G.

She clamped her twitching thumb under the other, anchoring her hands together as she prepared to speak. Professor Andy raked her gaze over Greta’s face, the face Greta hoped was a mask of professional indifference.

‘Professor Andy, I–’