When She Tempts (The Fallen, #2)

by Gabrielle Sands

It’s the pocket-sized special edition of Jane Eyre that Martina was reading by the pool that day.

Beatrice needs this

The first glimpse of snow is always exciting, but by the time it’s late February, you’re sick of the cold and ready for something new. Martina, though… That girl is summer, through and through.

AYYYYYYY

Maybe I should feel guilty for making her worry, but I didn’t feel anything.

Real

Even now, there’s nothing. Not a pang of anxiety. Not a whisper of sadness. Not even a small hint of apprehension.

me

He often asks me how I feel, and the question stumps me. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Felling numb will do that to you.

And yes, I do feel fragile, but I’ve survived more in the last two months than what most people do in a lifetime.

I’ve survived more in the last decade than people do in a century

One day at a time. That’s as far as I allow myself to think.

Facts

Until I saw him two weeks ago, I was convinced I was asexual. One look at him was enough for me to realize I’m definitely not.

this made me giggle

thought. My mental walls rise back up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Giorgio shooting me a wary look. He’s probably wondering what’s wrong with me. In a not-too-distant past, I would have been mortified, but now it’s just another bullet point on a long list of things that don’t matter.

Today began just like any other, with me scrolling through my feeds for a good two hours before I summoned up the strength to crawl out of bed.

Me every day.

If I fall into the wrong hands, I’ll ruin everything. I’m not good under pressure. I don’t know what to do, how to act. I lose my head.

Same

“Every object under my protection is of immense value, Martina.” Having his attention on me is like being under a spotlight. Suddenly, the car feels too small. It shrinks even further when he leans over and adjusts his jacket, tugging on the lapel to make it engulf me even more. “And you might just be the most valuable of them all.”

Oh my god.

“I think you might benefit from less screen time.” Who asked him for his opinion?

CLOCK HIM

I get the distinctive feeling Giorgio’s decided to make me his problem, and I don’t like it one bit. All I want is to be left alone.

I always want to be alone

He thinks I might hurt myself. A wave of unpleasant shivers runs down my back, and I dig my nails into my palms. The backs of my eyes prick, but I won’t let him see me cry.

I will never let a man see me cry.

Don’t cry. Do NOT cry. One day at a time.

We all chant in unison

But without my phone, there’s no outlet for the muck swirling inside. There’s nothing to get me through the night.

There’s nothing to distract me from my thoughts.

I splash some water on my face and wipe off the little makeup I have on with a wet towel. That’s as much as I have the strength to do tonight. My four-step skin care routine will have to wait for a better day.

Me

A sob catches in my throat, and I clamp my hand over my mouth. I don’t want Giorgio to hear me. I don’t want him to come storming in here and burden me with his worried eyes.

i hate worried eyes

And those abs I was so curious about? Yeah, I’m counting eight.

Oh!

really don’t feel like socializing or making small talk with strangers.

valid

Allegra’s eyes widen, and she makes an awkward laugh. “He means he doesn’t like people in his personal space, not in general.” “No, in general too,” he deadpans.

Ummmm??

He’s right, I am trouble. Or at least, trouble seems to follow me everywhere.

Same here

anything is better than being stuck in your own head.

Real fucking shit.

The less I sleep, the more tired I am, and the more tired I am, the more I ruminate and keep myself awake. It’s a vicious cycle.

The ouroboros.

When the backs of my eyes start to prickle, I look at the ceiling and suck in a breath to stave off the tears. No, I refuse to cry out of self-pity.

Maybe the only way to get past the pain is through it. I haven’t allowed myself to feel much of anything

I barely ever feel anything

the feelings have been accumulating. The more I put them off, the stronger they’ll grow. Even now, their power makes me cower. My chest shakes with sobs, and I fear it might cave in.

I feel this

It’s shocking how comforting it is to be held like this. I’ve dealt with all of my previous panic attacks on my own.

That small body of hers pressed against mine felt like coming home. How fucked up is that?

Not that I want to marry her, damn it. I just want her.

Okay, fuck you then?

I used to like myself, but I can’t remember what that felt like. Now, all I feel is repulsion at my weaknesses. They seem to dominate the landscape of who I am.

Oh. Real.

“There are two types of people in this world—those who experience pain and let it consume them, and those who accept it as part of themselves, learn from it, and keep fighting. You’re a fighter, Martina.”

Jesus Murphy.

“I don’t feel like a fighter,” I say softly. “I wish I was different.”

Me too baby, me too.

Ever since, there’s only been darkness. One day at a time has become my mantra.

The truth is, even if I wanted to forget, I don’t know if I can. What awaits me on the other side if I do? More sleepless nights with shadows lurking in the corners of my bedroom? More endless hours of scrolling through posts of condolences and grief and pain?

I glance down through the water at my body’s distorted shape and suddenly feel exceptionally ugly. I’m not vain. I’ve never spent much time thinking about my looks or the shape of my body, but I’ve always assumed it was acceptable.

Suddenly, I feel like crying. It’s one thing to have the courage to go after what I want and another to accept humiliation after humiliation in the process. How much more can I take?

Even the most broken of things can be mended by the right pair of hands.

“You chose getting revenge over her.” He shakes his head. “My sister deserves better than that.”

She pokes my chest, making me back farther away from the office. “Give her space, for one. She survived another attack on her life, agreed to an engagement, had it cancelled, and now she has another proposal to consider? I know made men aren’t strong on empathy, but can you imagine how she feels for one damn second? She’s got whiplash from it all.” She pokes me again. “Let. Her. Breathe.”

She whirls around on me, her nostrils flaring, and her eyes throwing daggers. “You. How dare you? You told me it was over. You broke my fucking heart!” Her palms shove against my chest. “And you know what? I was dealing with it. I chose a new path. Maybe it wouldn’t have given me a perfect life, but it would’ve given my life some meaning. Who gave you the right to take that away from me?”

I don’t feel numb anymore.

Somehow, I’ve managed to pack it full of conviction and a desire to focus on the future. I’ve healed. And I’ve sure as hell earned the right to decide my own fate.

He wanted me, but not bad enough. Not bad enough to choose me over his revenge.

I understand now why some people actually prefer arranged marriages where feelings don’t play a part. A marriage that’s more of a business transaction than anything else is a much simpler endeavor than a union founded on love. I don’t know much about love, but given my recent experiences, it seems like a pretty shaky foundation for something that’s supposed to last a lifetime.

“If he loved me, he wouldn’t have treated me like he did.”

And humans do stupid things when they’re terrified. I know that better than most.

He rolls his eyes and tosses his phone down on the console. “I’ll have you know the lucky few who’ve received my sexts called them erotic masterpieces. I’m thinking about publishing a book.”

For the last few days, I’ve noticed the strangest thing. When I think of what’s to come after this business with De Rossi is done, the only thing I see is Martina’s face. If I force myself to exclude her, I see nothing. She’s the only thing that matters now.