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He strolls over to one of the rocking chairs on the porch and takes a seat, crossing his legs at the ankles on the table. “Come on, Winnifred, it’s unlike you to hold a grudge.”
“It’s unlike you to care so much about an employee.” I remain standing, folding my arms over my chest. “Why’re you here?”
He looks up at me, and the mocking scorn is gone. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his face so naked.
“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.”
“Are you impaired?” I squint. “I just asked you why you’re here.”
“I’ll tell you exactly why I’m here. But first, sit.” He pats the chair beside himself. “And tell me all about your new life in Mulberry Creek. Spare no detail.”
It is a bizarre situation, but then again, everything about my interactions with Arsène is usually on the weird side. I think that’s what drew me to him in the first place. The delicious feeling of never knowing what I’m going to get from him next.
I sit beside him, worming my fingers together to keep myself from rubbing at my chin.
“Tell me.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “What have you been up to?”
The words pour out of me without warning. Without heed. Like I’ve been saving them all for him. I tell him about my sisters, about Lizzy’s new baby, about my volunteer work, and Romeo and Juliet, and my upcoming job. I try to sound upbeat, still unsure about his motives and not wanting to look desperate for him.
He said he might decide to date me, not that he has any intention of ever asking me out. And even if he does want to date me—should I want to date him? He is a million times more dangerous than Paul was. More sophisticated, quick tongued, and ruthless. If losing Paul broke me into pieces, losing Arsène would shatter me into dust.
Last but not least, Arsène lives in New York. As of now, I live in Tennessee and have made a commitment to a job that’s due to start in three weeks. That’s plenty of reason to keep my cards close to the chest.
“And Lizzy’s baby, Arsène. Oh, she is a little doll. Too squishy for words!” I gasp.
“Speaking of Lizzy’s baby.” He sits back in his recliner. “Have you seen the doctor to discuss your future procreation options?”
“That’s one of the first things I did when I got here,” I confirm.
“And?”
“I was right,” I say quietly, staring down at my hands in my lap. “It is endometriosis. An outgrowth of tissue around my uterus. Mine’s at a moderate stage, also known as stage three out of four. It’s not a complete disaster, but it’s going to make my journey toward motherhood a lot more difficult.” I haven’t spoken about the diagnosis with anyone other than my doctor. It surprises me that I open up to Arsène so easily when I haven’t had this conversation with Ma or my sisters yet.
“What’s the next stage?” he asks.
“Well.” I gnaw at my lower lip. “My doctor says I should freeze my eggs. Or, better yet, embryos. They last longer and have a better success rate.”
“But . . . ?” He searches my face, leaning forward. He is doing that thing again where his body is in complete sync with mine. It reminds me that having sex with him is a euphoric experience. The back of my neck tingles, and my palms get sweaty.
I decide to go for broke and just tell him the God’s-honest truth.
“I still need to think about it. It’s very expensive, and I can’t afford it. Not all of it, anyway. Especially now, when I don’t have Paul’s . . . er . . .”
“Sperm,” Arsène finishes for me, standing up abruptly, businesslike. “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?”
He opens his mouth to answer. I hear a car door slam in front of my porch, and the sound of it being locked automatically. Arsène’s mouth shuts into a tight-lipped scowl. I stand up and peek at the person making their way up the stairs to the porch, and my heart sinks.
Talk about worst timing ever.
“Hi, Rhys.” I hope I sound friendly and not murderous. It’s not Rhys’s fault I was in the middle of the most important conversation of my life. “What’re you doing here?”
