AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I just told you,” he says, slowly and with distinctive irritation. “I came here to ask you out, but also, if you wish, to give you babies. What’s so hard to understand?”
“Well”—I let out an awkward laugh—“that usually exists only after you’ve had a few good years of the other. You’re acting like you want to give me babies now.”
“There’s no better time than the present,” he informs me gravely.
I cover my face with my hands, laughing hysterically, to the point of hiccups. “Arsène, do you mean for me to take this seriously? We’ve known each other properly for less than a year.”
“Time is not a good indicator for anything. I’d known Grace since before she could tie her shoelaces properly, and she let me down. You can’t convince me this isn’t a good idea, because I’ve already made up my mind, and I never make bad investments.”
I’m speechless, so I just stare at him, waiting for more. A few months ago, this man yelled at me that I was nothing but an employee of his, threatened me, then proceeded to destroy my contract publicly. When he came here the first time, he made no sign that indicated he wanted anything more than to wring my neck. Where is this all coming from? And am I really so lucky—or unlucky, depending on how you look at it—that the man I fell for fell for me too?
“This is just all so . . . sudden?” I manage, finally.
“For fuck’s sake, Winnifred!” He stands up, flinging his arms in the air, exasperated. “Don’t tell me this is coming out of left field. My need to be near you and next to you at all times had stopped being about Grace and started being about you very, very early on. Since you ran out of the New Amsterdam after knocking poor Cory to the ground.”
“You acted like I was a peasant back there.” I stare at him, confused.
“That’s because to me, you were. So what? You were also the most infuriating, entertaining, sweet, fascinating creature I’d ever laid eyes on. Those two things are not mutually exclusive. It was never really about them. Grace and Paul—so help me God, I’m tired of saying their names over and over again. They were an excuse. Something to fall back on every time you questioned why I was in your sphere, in your line of sight, every time I wanted into your rehearsals and your apartment and your bed. It hasn’t been about them since I walked into that theater and saw you.” He stops, frowning now, mulling it over. “Maybe even since Italy. Who knows? Not me, and I don’t care to find out. I’m completely consumed by you, and the last few months have been hell on earth trying to forget you.”
“But Grace—”
“What I had for Grace doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how I feel about you. You’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel worthy without the armor of estates, money, and pedigree. You don’t care about any of those things. And it makes you special. You’re the exact opposite of Grace.”
My mind is running five hundred miles a minute. It’s going to take me a month, maybe two, to digest this entire conversation. I don’t even know where to begin.
“Then why did you insist on not kissing me at your apartment, the night you held me?” I finally find my voice, and it is choked. Tears prickle the backs of my eyeballs, never making their way out. “Why did you want to walk away the night we got into Paul’s office?”
“Because it was too much.” He starts pacing across my porch, murmuring, more to himself than to me. “I knew that if I had you, I would never let you go, and not letting you go wasn’t an option, because you were still hopelessly in love with Paul. I didn’t want to insert myself into another disastrous situation, of becoming obsessed with a woman who could never be mine. Once was enough. More than recommended, actually.”
He stops. Stares at me helplessly. “I am Mars, and there might be life on it. There could be. Thanks to you. I burn for you, Winnifred. And I’m tired of living in the cold. Come back to New York. Make the place livable. For both of us. Please.”
I’m tempted. Oh, I’m so very tempted. But I’m still not sure if it’s the right thing to do. To leave everything behind again and go back to the place where every awful memory of mine was created. And there’s another part of me. A more apprehensive part that thinks of me as Nina. Chekhov’s Nina. And if I’m Nina, he must be Trigorin. A master of turning love into an unhealthy obsession like he did with his fiancée. He would try to ruin me without even meaning to—and he’d succeed.
