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I take a deep breath and close my eyes, hoping what I’m about to say won’t drive Chris from me. “Those aren’t Harper’s books. They’re mine.”
“Yours?” Chris pulls back. “What do you mean yours?”
“I wrote them. They’re mine.”
I watch the color drain from Chris’ face. “I…but…that says Michele.”
“It’s a pen name.”
“But…but you write kids’ books,” he sputters. “Not this…this.”
“Filth?” I supply.
Chris’s eyes snap to mine. “I didn’t say that.” His voice is soft, but his eyes are blank.
“You were thinking it.”
Chris shakes his head as if to clear it. “I don’t know what I think. Jesus, Lisa, there are at least half a dozen books in there by Michele and none by you. I thought your dream was to write kids’ books?”
“It is.”
“Then why are you writing these?” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Is that a problem for you?” I go on the defensive. “If I recall, when we first met, you said the romances indicated I had a passionate side. Or does that only intrigue you when I’m the reader, not the author?”
Chris winces. At least some part of him realizes he’s being a hypocrite. I rub my temples. I don’t owe him an explanation, but without it, there’s no chance for us, and despite the way he’s handling this, I still want an us. I still want him.
I take a deep breath. “Years ago, I was in a writing group not specific to children’s writers. A woman in there talked about how nurturing the romance industry is for new writers. Publishers, agents, fellow writers, they’re all very open to new talent,” I tell him. “The children’s industry isn’t like that. Children’s books are expensive to produce, the industry is already overcrowded, and getting noticed is difficult.”
I steal a glance at Chris, see the guarded look on his face, and continue. “I spent years trying to get noticed in the children’s industry with no result. Freelance work was getting more difficult to find, and I had to support myself. I figured it couldn’t hurt to try romance writing. The first book was an experiment, just to see if I could do it. When it got traction, I wrote another. I found Harper and wrote several more.”
“Have you written any while we’ve been together?” His body is stiff, bracing for my answer.
“I’m working on one now, yes.”
“And…is it about me? Us?” He searches my face warily.
“Do you honestly think I would write about us?” I shriek, and he has the good sense to look ashamed.
“Sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair again. “It’s just that Jason read about him and Harper in one of her books. Intimate stuff. I had to be sure.” I get why he’s asking, but that doesn’t make the question, or what it implies about Harper, any easier to stomach.
“Listen, I don’t know Harper’s history with Jason or with writing. But the Harper I know wouldn’t do that.” I defend my agent.
“Then how do you explain the scene in her book mirroring real life?”
“How do I know?” I yelp. “Maybe she wrote about a fantasy and they re-enacted it, only he didn’t know she’d put that on paper.” I grasp for a plausible explanation.
“Oh God. Did we? Did I…?
“No,” I interrupt. “I didn’t try to duplicate anything I’ve written in a book with you. But be realistic. Sex happens in the bedroom, on furniture, in kitchens, even in cars. It’s inevitable that some scene in a book is going to resemble real life, whether it’s intended or not. That’s probably what happened with Harper and Jason.”
“You think he confused a random scene in a book with real life?”
“I don’t know!” I throw up my hands. “Harper told me once it takes a strong man to be okay with his partner writing romances. Maybe he wasn’t strong enough.” It is a low blow, but I have to put it out there. I have to see if Chris is going to react like Jason evidently did, or if he’s capable of accepting me as I am, romances and all.
“Wasn’t strong enough? What does that mean?” Chris pins me with a glare.
“Maybe he thought if she was writing about fantasy romances, she wasn’t fulfilled by theirs. Maybe he was afraid she thought he was inferior to her characters. Maybe he was afraid what other people would think if they found out. I. Don’t. Know. All I know is Harper wouldn’t put her real life in a book, the same way I wouldn’t do it. That’s really what you’re asking, isn’t it? Whether you’ll read about us one day?” I spit.
