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“What are you thinking about?” he asks urgently. I stand up, and he gathers me in his arms.
I close my eyes. “I want to believe every word that comes out of your mouth, because I’ve been in love with you from that moment in Italy when our eyes met and the world ceased to exist. But I’m afraid I’m another obsession. Another great idea that could turn into a lackluster reality for you. I don’t want to change my entire life and move back to New York for another man. You may burn for me, but I’m terrified of getting burned.”
When I open my eyes, his face is still tender and hopeful. I want to say yes. But ultimately, and especially after what Paul put me through when we were trying to get pregnant, I have to put myself first. Ask all the right questions. And I’m not sure what they are yet.
“I’m not going to let you down,” he says quietly. “Try me.”
“I need time.” I’m proud of myself. Proud of my ability to put myself first for a change. Even if I’m frustrated with the idea of saying goodbye again.
This is the part where I expect him to close up on me. To become indifferent, aloof, but he surprises me by placing a kiss on my forehead—a gentle brush of a feather—before he steps away.
“I’ll be waiting.”
“I might never come back.” I look up, searching his face for . . . something. I don’t know what. But he is done convincing me. I can see this on his face. He said his piece, and now the ball’s in my court.
He smiles, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear, and kisses the tip of my nose. “I’ll still be waiting.”
“Don’t I have a deadline?” I ask.
He shakes his head, grinning. “I feel strongly that you could do with some unconditional love, and that’s exactly what I’m going to offer you, Winnifred.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
ARSÈNE
The interesting thing about saying hello is that you have no idea how hard it’ll be to say goodbye to that same person.
When I first met Winnifred under the unforgiving Mediterranean sun, I thought of her as somewhat of a toy. Now, as I sit on a plane to take me from Nashville back to New York, I realize that she was the endgame.
She has been everything from that very first moment, right there, in that restaurant, when she challenged me. When she ridiculed me right back. When she refused to fit into the stereotype I’d attached to her.
There’s a good chance I will never see her again. I came here to say what I had to say, and now it is her decision to make.
All I’m left with is the hope that she’ll remember what brought us together.
Because it was never them—it was us.
And while it is true that I am a conceited, manipulative, highly serpentine man, I am also a person of many angles.
And angles, as we know, are everything in life.
This is why the sunset on Mars appears to be blue.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
WINNIE
“Winnie and Arnie sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N . . .”
I punch my sister’s arm before letting my head fall back between my arms at the kitchen table. Ma and Dad are still away, and Georgie is practically glowing, sitting beside me, slurping her iced coffee.
“Don’t be so sad. This is a good thing.” She flips through a glossy magazine on the table, her perfectly manicured nails halting each time she sees an ad for something she likes. “I never saw you like this with Paul. Everything about him was so vanilla.” She raises her gaze to make sure she has my full attention. “You were kind of existing on autopilot. For a while, I wondered what Paul had done to my sister and her sass. But now I see that it’s back. Who knew all you needed was a gorgeous, tall billionaire from the city who shows up at your doorstep with spontaneous love declarations?”
“I did love Paul,” I protest.
“No, you loved the idea of Paul. You loved what he was offering you. The cute, happy family and white picket fence. And to be the wife of a man who is more than the son of a random rancher in Tennessee.”
“That’s very shallow,” I point out. “And untrue.”
“Because people usually start dating each other for altruistic, philosophical reasons?” She arches an eyebrow. “Please. People are attracted to others because of superficial things. To pretend otherwise is to insult both our intelligence. At least what you have with Arnie seems to be a little more earnest than that.”
“It’s Arsène.”
“Arson?” She gasps. “I wouldn’t go that far. I mean, he seems a little toxic, but not enough to raise alarm bells.”
“Be serious.” I take a sip of my coffee, engulfing the mug between my fingers to warm up. “I don’t know if I can do this, Georgie. Go back to New York. Take a chance. After everything that’s happened.”
