Fallen Foe (Cruel Castaways, #2)

by L.J. Shen

“I give you my word. I’ll keep my lips—and other organs—to myself.” “It wasn’t so easy for you to do that at the gala.”

“Yes, well, as established, I was very drunk and very lonely. Not a good combination, I’m sure you’ll agree.” “Spare me your excuses. Just never touch me again.” “Why?”

“Forgive my honesty—not many people use it these days—but it’s not like you betrayed Paul. He is currently six feet under, in an advanced stage of decomposition—” “Arsène!”

after cheating on you, for the vast majority of your short marriage.” He ignores my outrage, soldiering through. “While I’m right here, very much alive, and dare I say—more attractive than that oatmeal with legs and a crew cut. And you can’t tell me you don’t find me attractive, either, because I might’ve been drunk during that kiss, but my ears were working fine. ...

“Just stop! I don’t care that he cheated. I don’t care that he was a scumbag. He was still my husband.” Arsène stares at me nonchalantly, waiting for the storm to be over. “Now please leave me alone. I can walk home by myself.” “No,” he says flatly. “I’ll see that you get there safely.”

“Going back to our original conversation—you’re welcome to see the private investigator’s file whenever you please, provided you’ll give me access to Paul’s office afterward. Furthermore, whenever we see each other, I promise not to kiss you.” “Thank you,” I say primly. He grins. “You’ll be the one to kiss me all on your own.” “Dream on!”

“One last question.” Arsène leans an arm close to my ear against my building. He is so nonchalant, so beautiful, it is maddening to think he is—was—one woman’s man. “What’s that?” “I overheard your mother saying you should go to the doctor. Are you okay?” Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m too scared to check. Laughing carelessly, I say, “Goodbye, Arsène.”

I do. After I’m done, he passes me a thick stack of newspapers and magazines. “Wait, who sent me this?” The guy shrugs. “I’m just here to deliver stuff, ma’am.” He turns around and walks away. I splay all the magazines on my dining table and open the theater section in each of them. There are four new reviews for The Seagull.

Arsène is right. Paul and Grace don’t deserve our sympathy, our loyalty, our devotion. He’s right about a lot of things. I should never feel powerless. And it is okay to have a bit of an ego. It’s better than cancelling yourself just to be “the Wife of.” And there’s one more thing he is right about . . . Call your doctor. I pick up my phone and make the call. “Sullivan OB-GYN Medical Group, how can I help?” a chirpy voice answers. I open my mouth to make an appointment, but no words come out. I need to see my doctor. There are tests I need to have run. I’m not okay, I may never be okay, and I’m scared of what it might mean.