CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT ARSÈNE

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

ARSèNE

“Maybe he’s dead.”

I hear Riggs’s voice before I feel something—a stick?—poking the side of my neck. I’m tempted to grab the thing and snap it, but then think better of it. If I ignore them long enough, they might leave me alone.

“He’s not dead,” Christian says with conviction. “That’d be too convenient for us. No. He is going to drag out this existential crisis until my son is college bound and you run out of places to visit in the world.”

The astronomy book I’ve been reading slips from my chest to the ground. I keep my eyes shut. It was Riggs’s and Christian’s idea to whisk me to an exclusive compound in Cabo like I’m a goddamn socialite they want to woo. No part of me understands the plan. First of all, I am perfectly okay. Second, even if I wasn’t, a sunny villa is the last place you’d catch me in voluntarily. Third, and to top all that, I have work to tend to back home. This is a nuisance. Not a luxury vacation.

“How long has he been lying here like this?” Riggs asks.

“Two hours, maybe more?” Christian replies. “Oh, hell, maybe he is dead. Let’s just leave him here and go back to the compound. If he’s dead, we’ll come back to find his body medium well.”

I hear them gather their belongings, and after a few minutes of silence, when I conclude the coast is clear, I open my eyes.

I’m immediately met with two pairs of eyes staring back at me. I sit upright, letting out a roar. “What’s the matter with you, idiots?”

“He’s alive! Alive!” Riggs turns his palms heavenward, à la Frankenstein. “And can I just say—only slightly better looking than a reanimated corpse.”

I pick up the book I dropped and shove it into my duffel. We’re sitting by an edgeless pool that’s built on a cliff, right above the Pacific Ocean. The rocky formations, including the famous arch of Los Cabos, are sprawled in front of us, basking in magnificent shades of pinks and yellows as the sun sets. This place is on the edge of perfection, and yet the world never looked as flawed as it has these days.

“We’re leaving tomorrow night.” Riggs falls on the edge of the lounge chair I’m occupying. “And you still haven’t told us what makes you pout like a cakeless birthday girl.”

“Actually, we know exactly why he’s being a cakeless birthday girl.” Christian takes the seat opposite to us, and this feels a lot like an intervention.

Passing my gaze between them, I shrug, refusing to budge.

“You’re in love,” Christian announces, point blank. “You haven’t been able to think of anything else, to date anyone else, to do things worth doing. You need to tell her what you’re feeling.”

“Am I supposed to wait for her to answer? Because dead people aren’t known for timely correspondence,” I reply with utter indifference.

“I’m not talking about Grace,” Christian says almost softly.

“Me either,” I say easily, standing up and hoisting my duffel over my shoulder. “I’m talking about Winnifred Ashcroft, who is very much dead to me after what she did to Calypso Hall.”

“You give zero shits about Calypso Hall.” Christian is at my heel, refusing to pass on the opportunity for confrontation. Riggs is another story. He lingers behind, after his gaze landed on a pretty woman in a hot-pink bikini on the other side of the pool. “You choose to be mad at her because anger is a great distractor. So useful for masking love. It’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“I can’t fall in love.” My slides slap against the hot floor noisily as I take the stairs to our compound. “Always been incapable of it. The closest feeling I have to it is obsession, and the last time I was obsessed with a woman, it ended badly.”

Understatement of the goddamn century.

I stop in front of our metal door, punch in the code to open it, and walk into the cool, monstrous complex.

Christian grabs my shoulder and turns me around violently. My duffel bag drops. I stare at him, unsure if I should punch him in the face or be glad someone actually gives a shit.

“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?” I laugh in his face, pushing him away. “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 even if she did want me, as I said—I don’t do love. Only obsession, and she, unfortunately, deserves more.”

I turn around, making my way up the carved stairway.

“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?”

I halt midstep, mildly curious. I’ve never paid attention to those pesky things before. Feelings.

“When you love someone, you generally do the right thing for them.” I hear Christian’s voice from the bottom of the stairs. “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.”

When I get home, the first thing I do is check the mail. It is futile. Winnifred has not contacted me for months, not since we left things off sourly in Mulberry Creek. There’s nothing in the mail but invitations to events, charity balls, and conferences. I drop everything in a heap on the dining table and proceed into the shower.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call when I get out. With the towel still wrapped around my waist, I swipe the screen. Arya.

What could she possibly want? Normally, I wouldn’t care enough to pick up. But now, seeing as there might be a chance she is still in touch with my disappointment of an employee, there’s a reason for me to hear her out.

“I knew you’d answer.” She sounds cocky.

Translation: I know you’re hoping for crumbs of information on Winnifred.

“You’re a genius, Arya. How can I help you?”

Making my way back to my bedroom, I choose a nice suit and a smart tie. No reason to sit around and sulk tonight. Christian is right. Life needs to move on, and I intend on taking up one of the many invitations sitting on my dining table.

“Oh, I don’t know if you can help me, but I know I can sure help you.”

I put her on speaker and button my dress shirt.

“You sound like a salesperson who’s about to screw me over. Just say what you want to say.”

“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.”

A rush of nausea takes over me. I ignore it. It’s fine. It was never meant to be.

“Good for her,” I say, my mouth sour with bile. “I hope she’s happy in Mulberry Creek, because she has nothing to look forward to in New York when it comes to employment.”

“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?”

“I can hear you. You’re on speaker,” Christian bellows in the background.

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

I press my lips together. I want to scream.

“I don’t care any more about her than I do any other successful employee who helped me make money,” I insist. “Now I ask that you and your nosy husband keep out of my business. Winnifred Ashcroft means nothing to me.”

I hang up.

I go out. A dinner party two blocks down from my apartment. I mingle. I flirt. I discuss work. I even contemplate taking someone home. Riggs, Christian, and Arya are wrong. I am having fun. Even if I don’t remember the name of the host or what the fuck we’re celebrating here.

“Hey, Arsène.” I turn around after dessert, in the drawing room, to find a man I faintly recognize as Chip, Grace’s boss from Silver Arrow Capital. Draped on his arm is a woman who is not his wife, and he is not even a little embarrassed by this fact. I smile ruefully. Hedge fund management is great for your pockets and disastrous for your morals.

“I thought it might be you.” He claps my shoulder.

Chip. Chip who kept Paul and Grace’s secret. Chip who knew. Chip who ignored Winnifred for months when she begged for answers. Chip, Chip, Chip.

Turning around completely, I decide to play his game. “Chuck, right?”

“Chip.”

“Right. I remember, from Italy.” I snap my fingers, then turn to his companion. “Mrs.?Chip, my sincerest apologies, I didn’t catch your name in Italy. What was it again?”

The woman has the decency to look mortified. She untangles herself from the man and introduces herself as Piper. She is a good-looking thing. In an obvious, sorority-girl way. Tightly woven blonde curls, nice rack, and a smile I bet cost her parents a small fortune but got her through a few beauty pageants. Chip ignores the very deliberate blow on my part.

“Saw you on the Post’s fifteen top hedge fund managers list. Why are you not expanding your company? A lone wolf is weaker in front of a pack,” he says.

“That’s okay. I’m no wolf. I’m a motherfucking tiger.”

“Still.” He laughs, shifting uneasily.

“You just said you saw my name in the Post. I didn’t see yours. Perhaps I should be the one handing out unsolicited advice.”

Chip’s face falls. “Am I missing something, Corbin? Have I done something to upset you?”

Other than keeping the affair between Paul and Grace a secret, nothing much. I’m not even upset about that part. But the way he and Pablo treated Winnifred after the fact still grinds my gears. She didn’t deserve any of this.

“Nothing at all.” I smile.

“Because .?.?.” He hesitates before glancing sideways and dropping his voice. “I always had an inkling, but never a concrete idea of what was happening. You must know, Corbin, we have a strict no-fraternization policy at Silver Arrow Capital. Sure, Paul and Grace seemed close, but never beyond what I considered normal.”

Seeing as he is giving me this little speech with a woman who could pass for his daughter draped on his arm, I’m going to go ahead and file this in my big-pile-of-bullshit folder.

When I don’t answer for a whole excruciating minute, letting him know I’m not buying what he is selling, Piper shifts and turns to me. “Would you mind giving me a ride home?”

“Not at all.” I smile cordially at Chip before turning my back to him. “I’ll wait for you at the door.”

Ten minutes later, Piper and I are in my car. She gives me her address—she lives all the way over in Brooklyn—and apologizes for the long journey.

“You’re fine,” I say tersely. It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me at home. Every minute away is a minute I’m not tempted to call Winnifred.

“Or .?.?.” Piper bites down on her lower lip, glancing my way in the passenger seat. “We can just go over to yours, and I can catch the train in the morning? It’ll save you the trouble.”

I’m not sure if Piper knows who I am and what I’m worth, or if she is just looking for a good time, but I don’t care either way. She’ll be a delightful way to get my mind off Winnifred. I haven’t been with a woman since Bumpkin, and this could be one of the reasons why I keep thinking about her so much.

Yes. That’s just it. I’m so used to being consumed by the woman I sleep with, and Winnifred is nothing but an extension of my fascination with Grace. Piper is just what the doctor ordered. She’ll be manageable, as my dad and Miranda liked to say.

“We could. Though I should be clear—I’m not looking for a serious relationship. My fiancée passed away a year ago, and I’m not ready to commit to anything beyond tonight.”

I slow the car, giving her a chance to tell me she changed her mind and to take her home. I’m indifferent either way. But Piper squares her shoulders, nods, and says, “One night’s fine by me. I’m on the rebound, anyway. This Chip guy .?.?. he didn’t tell me he was married.” She sighs and then adds, “Oh, and I’m really sorry about your loss.”

We get to my apartment, and Piper, after gasping out loud at the sight of my living room, asks me where the bathroom is. I point her in the direction.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Wine?” A taxi back home?

Wait, where did that come from?

She shakes her head and smiles. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Ah, yes. Because there’s nothing I want more than to get out of here and leave a complete stranger in my apartment.

While I wait, I walk over to the dining table, where I disposed of all my mail earlier. The stack of ultrasound pictures and the USB Winnifred sent me all those months ago are still there. I plug the USB into my laptop and sit down. Double-click on one of the videos of my mother and me and rub my temples.

God dammit.

The loss that slams into me is a two-fold one.

First, I feel the pain of not knowing my mother. Not spending time with her. Of living the last three decades thinking she was nothing but a self-centered narcissist when, in fact, she adored and loved me more than Douglas ever did.

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

I go through the videos, one after the other.

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.

Piper comes out of the bathroom, yanking her minidress down her thighs with a giggle.

“Ready when you are,” she announces.

I look up from my laptop, close the screen, and sigh. “Sorry, Piper, but I think I’ll take you home. I can’t give you what you’re asking for tonight.”