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“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.
