Fact: He'd been mine first.

Fact: He'd told me he didn't love Hannah and wanted to be with me.

Fact: No one was married. No one was even engaged. We were just in college. It was normal to date lots of people, to break up with lots of people. What, he should marry Hannah just because he'd dated her?

Fact: I'd been fair to Hannah. I'd refused to sleep with her boyfriend while she was still with him.

All of this was fine. But I didn't think I'd spent enough time thinking through the rest of it.

Fact: Even if Dylan didn't love Hannah, he broke up with her for me. For me.

Fact: Dylan wasn't used to deception, and he'd deceived her twice. First when he'd kept dating her after we'd made out. Second, when he didn't tell her he was dumping her for me.

Fact: I was deceiving Dylan, too. If he knew Hannah was my sister, he'd never be with me.

Fact: Never.

Because of me, Dylan had become a liar. Maybe this was my fate. I was the child of lies. Everything I did was touched by that poison. I'd been so stupid to think there was a happy ending here. Every time Dylan looked at me, he'd remember the look on Hannah's face when he broke her heart. And really, if I stepped back from it all, what did I envision? Keeping my connection to Hannah a secret from him forever? What did my parents envision? What became of our rules when I got old enough to actually bring a guy home, to start my own family? Who was my "father" on the day I got married? Had my parents thought about it at all? Did Dad expect me to wear his aunt's heirloom pearls on my wedding day? Would he even come to my wedding?

Ugh, I was really going down the rabbit hole now. I wasn't getting married, to Dylan or anyone else. I was barely twenty-one. Like Mom had said, I had a whole PhD to wrangle before I started making those kinds of life decisions.

I picked up the remote and switched channels again, finding some sort of home improvement show marathon. Good. No familial dramas there.

I awoke a few hours later to the jingle of Mom's keys in the door. Outside the apartment, the windows were dark, which meant it could be any time from six to eleven.

"Hey, sweetie. I didn't expect to see you home. No work tonight?"

"I was feeling a little under the weather," I lied. Again. All I did was lie.

She switched on the light and looked at me as I blinked. "I'm worried you're pushing yourself too hard. Is it a cold? Did you take anything for it?"

There was nothing to take. And as I sat there under her examination, it all bubbled up inside me, hot and slimy and impossible to ignore. My throat closed up, my eyes burned, and before I knew it, I was overflowing, tears rolling from my eyes and choking sobs emanating from my throat.

"Oh, honey! Honey, what's wrong?" She sat down beside me and slid an arm around my back. "What's going on? Is it your classes?"

I shook my head miserably.

"Is it the money? Because if I get this new commission, I'll be able to help you some with those costs. I knew it was going to be more expensive than you'd figured-"

Another shake of my head. I buried my face in her shoulder. I'd heard the "new commission" talk before, and it never amounted to anything.

"Sweetie, talk to me."

No way. What was I going to say? Mom, I'm a real chip off the old block. I make men into cheaters, too. Sure, I did insist the guy break up with his girlfriend if he wanted me, but it turns out that doesn't make it any better.

"I messed up with a boy," I sniffled at last.

She squeezed me tight. "A boy? For real? Oh, Tess..." She chuckled a bit. "You know, most moms I know would figure that was it first off. It says a lot about you that I didn't even think of it." Taking me by the shoulders, she looked into my face. "What happened?"

"I...thought we were going to be together, and we're not."

She gave a knowing nod. "Well, that one, sadly, I have some experience with. Is it Mr. Necklace?" She gestured to the silver T.

I bit my lip, tears flowing anew.

"That's secret admirers for you," she said. "Like I said, there's a reason they're secret. Either you don't want to be with them or they can't be with you. What's up? He have a girlfriend?"

"No." Not anymore.

"Religious differences?"

"No." I didn't even know if Dylan had religion.

She eyed me warily. "He didn't-did he just want to get you into bed?"

I groaned. "I didn't sleep with him, Mom." Not this time, anyway.

Back at Cornell, what Dylan and I had was pure and perfect. We'd met, we'd fallen in love, we'd had sex. There were no rules, no restrictions. No Swifts or secrets hanging over me. We'd both been free and clear and we'd chosen each other. Now, I feared that was all tainted. Tainted by our deception, by my lies, by the rules I lived by and the ones we'd made in the past week. No wonder once he looked at the whole picture, he didn't want me anymore. Maybe I was that girl-the one who only worked if it was all a lie.

"Well, that's good!" Her expression had lost none of its concern. "Oh, honey, I don't know what to say. If he doesn't realize what an amazing person you are, then he doesn't deserve you."

It was the right thing to say. It was the patented mother script. It made perfect sense. But Mom hadn't followed it herself. Dad didn't love her enough to leave his wife, and she let him have her anyway.

"Mom," I asked now, in a voice so soft I wasn't even sure it was audible. "If it hadn't been for me, do you think you and Dad would still be together?"

Her eyes widened. "Don't even think about getting pregnant to tie a guy down, Tess. I'll wring your neck."

That wasn't what I'd meant, but it was all the answer I needed. Even now, she was defining it as losing Dad, rather than choosing Dad.

"And don't measure yourself by the choices Dad and I have made."

How could I avoid it, when history kept repeating itself?

NINETEEN.

"And then what happened?" Annabel asked. It was late Friday morning, and we were seated at a big-top table at Verde, rolling silverware in cloth napkins. The powers that be at the restaurant had decided to change from green napkins to black for a "sleeker" look, but that meant doing a buttload of rollups before our shift today.

I was giving the Warren girls the rundown on the latest Dylan developments. Annabel was staring with her mouth open as if I was relating the end of an action movie. Sylvia had stayed very, very silent.

"Then...nothing," I said. "I haven't heard from him since. I even skipped class on Thursday so I didn't need to see him."

"You?" Sylvia gasped. "Skipped class?" She pressed a hand to her heart in mock shock. "Jesus. Annabel, check to see if the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are on the reservation list for tonight."

"Ha-ha," I said and grabbed a few more forks.

"But seriously," said Annabel. "What's the next step?"

I shrugged as that squeezing feeling started in my chest again. "I don't know. I think...I think maybe we're doomed." My fingers went to the T hanging around my neck. I don't know why I'd put it on again today. Funny how in four short days it had become such a part of me.

Sylvia snorted. "Doomed? Come on, Tess, I'm supposed to be the dramatic one around here. You're the practical, scientific member of the group."

"Fine," I replied. "The hypothesis doesn't fit the data set and is therefore invalidated. Satisfied?" I rolled up a napkin full of silverware and slammed it a little too hard onto my finished pile.

"The data set being what, exactly?" Annabel said. "That he didn't want to jump into bed with you the second he dumped his girlfriend?"

"No..."

"Do you blame her for being suspicious?" Sylvia cut in. "He didn't seem to have a problem jumping into bed with her when he had one."

Annabel pursed her lips. "What kind of man do you want him to be, Tess? The kind who cheats on his girlfriend with you or the kind who actually cares about a person he dates enough to not want to go running into some other woman's arms before his ex has even had time to process the situation?"

"Haven't you been listening?" Sylvia said. "Dylan's both."

"Dylan's neither," I said. "He didn't cheat-"

"That's debatable," Sylvia mumbled.

"-and not wanting to be with me the other night...that had nothing to do with Hannah. She never would have known what Dylan was up to."

"She didn't have to know what he was up to if he just sneaked around with you, either," Annabel pointed out. "Lots of people cheat on their significant others without their significant others knowing anything about it."

She was telling me this? Honestly, sometimes hearing the comments people made about Cheaters and Other Women and Sugar Daddies and Mistresses and whatever else made me want to, first, laugh out loud and, second, give everyone a lesson in reality. We weren't exactly living in a penthouse suite, and my mom's boobs were one hundred percent real.

"But you're not wrong," she continued. "I think the other night had nothing to do with Hannah. It had to do with Dylan. Him wanting some time to himself was just as much about his own sense of morality as you not wanting to be with him until he'd broken up with Hannah was about yours."

I blinked at her.

"It doesn't matter what she knows and does not know," Annabel explained. "You didn't want to be the other woman, right?"

"Right."

"And he didn't want to be the guy who bed-hopped." Annabel looked at me triumphantly. "See?"

I remembered what Dylan had said to me, back at the lab. I'm mad at me. "But if that were the case, wouldn't he say, 'Okay, let's wait a week and then we can be together'? After all, I gave him rules." Rules like no sex, no kissing, no phone sex until he'd broken up with Hannah.

"Rules?" Sylvia repeated, incredulous. "What rules?"

I lost my voice. Fortunately, Annabel filled in for me.

"She said she wouldn't be with him until he was single. Which I think was the right move. You respected yourself, you respected Hannah, and now he's trying to show the same respect." She shrugged. "He just...maybe wasn't quite as explicit about what he needed as you were when you asked him?"

"Yeah," said Sylvia, grinning. "Tell me more about these rules of yours, Tess. Because in my head, they look that that contract Christian gave Anastasia in Fifty Shades of Grey."

I blushed furiously and stared down at my silverware. Fucking rules. Chalk that up as another thing normal people don't have in relationships.

"I like the idea of rules," Annabel said. "Written down or not. Spells out your relationship. No one is left confused, or hurt, or..." She lifted her shoulders and went back to rolling.

Or alone and pregnant without a clue of what she might expect from the father of her child, as Annabel had been. Yeah, rules could come in handy. At least by following the rules, my mother knew she could count on her lover to take care of her and their baby.

The trouble was, I was already in the middle of a game with Dylan, and I had no idea what we were playing.

Sometime during my shift that evening, I felt a text buzz through to my phone. I pulled it out of my pocket to look at the display.

Can I see you tonight?

I showed Sylvia, who was passing with a tray. She shook her head, skepticism painted all over her features. "Last-minute enough for you? Might as well say, 'Can I see you tonight for a booty call?'"

No. At work, I typed back.

I checked on a few tables, then looked at my phone again.

After work is fine. I can come to Verde.

Sylvia snatched the phone from my hand. When she handed it back, I saw she'd typed: After work is time for my beauty rest. You think this happens all by itself?

I shrugged and pressed send.

"Good girl," said Sylvia. "Make him sweat."

Except I was the one sweating. If he wanted to see me tonight, did that mean he was ready to be together, or did it mean he wanted to tell me it would never happen?

Either way, Sylvia probably had it right. I should play it cool. Don't let him know how much I needed him. My fingers went to my throat again, where I'd put on Dylan's silver T, though I'd hidden the necklace beneath the neckline of my shirt. Only I knew it was there. Only I knew how much this would break me.

A few minutes later, another buzz in my pocket.

Then tell me when.

Oh, now it's my turn to say when? I typed back furiously. I went to press Send, then thought better of it. Instead, I deleted the message. I put the phone away. Make him sweat, Sylvia had said. Fine. It was his turn, anyway.

But my fingers itched to pull my phone out of my pocket, to tell him to come now now now. I'd had enough of lying, enough of playing games. All I wanted was Dylan. If he was ready for me, I was here.

I forced myself through the next fifteen minutes without pulling my phone out of my pocket. Finally, in a lull at work, I gave in to temptation.

No new messages.

Shit. Shit shit shit. I really hated Sylvia. And Dylan. And me, for ever trying to play some stupid game instead of just telling him the truth. Because hadn't that always been Dylan's M.O.? Telling me exactly how he felt? No games, no pretenses, no lies unless it was absolutely necessary to help Hannah for one of the most miserable weeks of her life?

And worst of all was that sad, sick voice in the back of my head, that drumbeat of see? You are that girl. He wants you now, there's nothing keeping you apart, and you can resist him. You are that girl who only wants the boys you shouldn't have.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up into Sylvia's concerned face.