Fallen Foe (Cruel Castaways, #2)

by L.J. Shen

“Look, I’ve seen you these last few months. You’re not you. You were more you when Grace died, for crying out loud. At least then, you made a conscious effort to be a part of the world. Or at least pretend you were. Winnie took away with her your entire lust for life. And there wasn’t a lot of it to begin with. Cabo wasn’t my idea for an elaborate bachelor’s party. It was a last-ditch effort to get you to clear your mind and hopefully see that you might be missing out on something here—”

“On what?” I bark out, tired of this nonsense. “What, exactly, am I missing out on, O wise one?”

“News flash: Grace cheated on me with Paul, Winnifred’s husband. They had an affair. That was the thing that glued us together. Our mutual heartbreak and disappointment. I’m not one to kiss and tell, but I will in this instance, only because I know this’ll never leave this room—Winnifred and I slept together. We connected. It felt good. It also felt like revenge. No part of her wants anything to do with me. And...

“You fool!” Christian runs to the bottom stair and grips the banisters tightly. “You goddamn idiot! Do you know how to differentiate between love and obsession?”

“When you love someone, you generally do the right thing for them.”

“Even if it’s not the right thing for you. You never left Grace alone, did you? Even though you knew you guys were toxic for each other. You played with her like a worm on a hook. But look at you now. You’re a coward. You’re so scared of fucking up this thing with Winnie you won’t even start it. Instead, you’ll sit and mope around and pretend everything is all right. Drown yourself in more work. More alcohol. More meaningless events. Buy more assets you don’t need. More stock you’ll never sell. Take more risks. Don’t you get it? You’ll never get that same high that comes with kissing the one you love. Only one thing will give you that high—stop being a coward.”

“I knew you’d answer.” She sounds cocky. Translation: I know you’re hoping for crumbs of information on Winnifred.

“I just got off the phone with Winnie. I called her to catch up, as I do every week.” “And?” I ask casually, my heart already beating faster. “And she told me she took a job in Mulberry Creek. She’s staying there, Arsène.”

It’s fine. It was never meant to be.

“Arsène,” Arya reproaches. “Go talk to her. Seriously.” “I thought you told me to stay away from her.” “That was before!” “Before you got a brain implant?”

“Before I realized that you care.” Arya sniffs.

Winnifred Ashcroft means nothing to me.”

I’m no wolf. I’m a motherfucking tiger.”

And then there is Winnifred. Who thought it was important for me to see these clips. Who made sure I’d have these memories.

It is possible Christian is right. That I am, in fact, in love with Winnifred. That what I have for her isn’t obsession. Which is exactly why I keep my distance. I am poison, and she deserves better.

Shit. I’m in love, aren’t I? How pitiful. And with Bumpkin, no less.

Just because a man is perfect doesn’t mean he is perfect for you.

I don’t know what devastates me more. The fact that Rhys is not my one, or the fact that I know who is. A man who is never going to have me. An enigma who has love only for his dead fiancée.

I can’t see his face, because he has his back to me, but I can see the flowers, and they’re not the romantic red roses Rhys brought over yesterday. No. They’re gorgeous and colorful and surprising. Red dahlias and purple orchids and pink tulips and yellow gazanias. Pale lilacs and orange marigolds and beautiful daisies. It is rich and dazzling and giant and messy. So messy. It takes my breath away, just like the man who is holding it.

He is the kind of man who never shows you where you stand with him.

“For you.” “That’s . . . a lot of flowers,” I observe. “One for each facet of your personality,” he remarks dryly. “I’ve yet to determine whether you’re too sweet or too assertive.”

“You didn’t sue me.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Yeah, well, I thought it would be a terrible inconvenience if I ever decided to date you.” “If you decided to date me?” I arch an eyebrow, grinning.

“You know why Mars was named after the god of war?” he muses, squinting up at the sky. “It’s because it has two moons called Deimos and Phobos. The two horses that pull the god of war’s chariot.

For me, those horses are my friends, Riggs and Christian. They have an annoying habit of talking sense into me.”

If losing Paul broke me into pieces, losing Arsène would shatter me into dust.

“Well, I’ll give you both.” I peer at him through my lashes, confused. “What do you mean?” “You need money and sperm. I’ll give you both. I will do that for you,” he says decisively. “But . . . why?”

“An old friend?” my ex asks politely. “God, no. I can’t befriend women I want to fuck.” Arsène laughs, deliberately crass. “No, I’m here to make Winnifred an illicit proposition.” Rhys’s face pales, and his eyes bulge out. Christ.

“Who’s this guy, Winnie? He sounds like Satan’s big brother.”

“I came here to ask you out, but also, if you wish, to give you babies. What’s so hard to understand?”

“Well”—I let out an awkward laugh—“that usually exists only after you’ve had a few good years of the other. You’re acting like you want to give me babies now.” “There’s no better time than the present,” he informs me gravely.

“Arsène, do you mean for me to take this seriously? We’ve known each other properly for less than a year.” “Time is not a good indicator for anything. I’d known Grace since before she could tie her shoelaces properly, and she let me down. You can’t convince me this isn’t a good idea, because I’ve already made up my mind, and I never make bad investments.”

“For fuck’s sake, Winnifred!” He stands up, flinging his arms in the air, exasperated. “Don’t tell me this is coming out of left field. My need to be near you and next to you at all times had stopped being about Grace and started being about you very, very early on. Since you ran out of the New Amsterdam after knocking poor Cory to the ground.”

“You acted like I was a peasant back there.” I stare at him, confused. “That’s because to me, you were. So what? You were also the most infuriating, entertaining, sweet, fascinating creature I’d ever laid eyes on. Those two things are not mutually exclusive. It was never really about them. Grace and Paul—so help me God, I’m tired of saying their names over and over again. They were an excuse. Something to fall back on every time you questioned why I was in your sphere, in your line of sight, every time I wanted into your rehearsals and your apartment and your bed. It hasn’t been about them since I walked into that theater and saw you.”

“Maybe even since Italy. Who knows? Not me, and I don’t care to find out. I’m completely consumed by you, and the last few months have be...

“But Grace—” “What I had for Grace doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how I feel about you. You’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel worthy without the armor of estates, money, and pedigree. You don’t care about any of those thing...

“Then why did you insist on not kissing me at your apartment, the night you held me?” I finally find my voice, and it is choked. Tears prickle the backs of my eyeballs, never making their way out. “Why did you want to walk away the night we got into Paul’s office?” “Because it was too much.”

“I knew that if I had you, I would never let you go, and not letting you go wasn’t an option, because you were still hopelessly in love with Paul. I didn’t want to insert myself into another disastrous situation, of becoming obsessed with a woman who could never be mine. Once was enough. More than recommended, actually.”

“I am Mars, and there might be life on it. There could be. Thanks to you. I burn for you, Winnifred. And I’m tired of living in the cold. Come back to New York. Make the place livable. For both of us. Please.”

And if I’m Nina, he must be Trigorin. A master of turning love into an unhealthy obsession like he did with his fiancée. He would try to ruin me without even meaning to—and he’d succeed.

“I want to believe every word that comes out of your mouth, because I’ve been in love with you from that moment in Italy when our eyes met and the world ceased to exist. But I’m afraid I’m another obsession. Another great idea that could turn into a lackluster reality for you. I don’t want to change my entire life and move back to New York for another man. You may burn for me, but I’m terrified of getting burned.”

“I’m not going to let you down,” he says quietly. “Try me.” “I need time.”

“I’ll be waiting.” “I might never come back.”

He smiles, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear, and kisses the tip of my nose. “I’ll still be waiting.”

“Don’t I have a deadline?” I ask. He shakes his head, grinning. “I feel strongly that you could do with some unconditional love, and that’s exactly what I’m going to offer you, Winnifred.”

The interesting thing about saying hello is that you have no idea how hard it’ll be to say goodbye to that same person.

When I first met Winnifred under the unforgiving Mediterranean sun, I thought of her as somewhat of a toy. Now, as I sit on a plane to take me from Nashville back to New York, I realize that she was the endgame.

She has been everything from that very first moment, right there, in that restaurant, when she challenged me. When she ridiculed me right back. When she refused to...

All I’m left with is the hope that she’ll remember what brought us together. Because it was never them—it was us.

And while it is true that I am a conceited, manipulative, highly serpentine man, I am also a person of many angles. And angles, as we know, are everything in life. This is why the sunset on Mars appears to be blue.

“I did love Paul,” I protest. “No, you loved the idea of Paul. You loved what he was offering you. The cute, happy family and white picket fence. And to be the wife of a man who is more than the son of a random rancher in Tennessee.”