Page 22 of The Butcher

“Why is it biased?” I asked.

He cocked his head slightly, his eyebrows furrowing in a form of confusion. He propped his closed knuckles against his temple as he continued to look at me, giving me a long and hard stare. “Because I want you.”

My eyes immediately dropped to shut out the sincerity of his stare. He’d told me he wasn’t a one-woman kind of guy, that he stuck his dick in lots of places so he wouldn’t settle down. I assumed that was still true, even now. But I felt doubts.

“Look at me.”

My eyes lifted to his again.

“I already gave my opinion on this. All a man has in this world is his word. If he doesn’t have that, then he doesn’t have shit. Your husband can look you in the eye and say it’ll never happen again, but because his word is worthless, it falls on deaf ears. But if you love him and want to give it another try, then you need to give him the opportunity to earn back that trust. And there’s no shame in that—if that’s what you want.”

I spoke to him like a friend even though I hardly knew him. Poured my heart out to him like we’d known each other forever. I’d never had another connection like that. When Adrien and I had started our relationship, it wasn’t nearly as natural. “What if this were you? What if your wife slept with someone and said it was a mistake?”

He inhaled a slow breath before he let it out, as if he’d just taken a puff of an invisible cigar. “That’s a hard scenario to imagine.”

“Because you’ll never marry?”

“Because I can’t see my woman doing that. Can’t imagine her seeking love and affection elsewhere when I’d already given her everything.”

“I gave him everything. The bedroom wasn’t dead. We were very happy when all of this happened, which makes it even more painful.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t,” he said gently. “Trust me, it’s hard for me to imagine a man preferring another woman over you. No amount of wine can impair you to that degree.”

That made me feel better—and made me feel worse. “You didn’t answer the question. What would you do…if that did happen?”

He took another breath as he considered it, his eyes drifting off elsewhere as he thought. “I’ve never loved a woman so I can’t definitively respond to the situation, but I imagine if I did…it would be hard to let her go.”

“So, you think I should give my marriage another chance?”

“Not what I’m saying at all,” he said. “The situations are incomparable—and hypothetical. I see that you’re searching for an epiphany, something that will help you understand which route to take, so let me tell you this…”

I stilled, knowing whatever he would say would be profound.

“You’re too fucking beautiful for this bullshit. Because if you were mine—” He shut his mouth immediately but kept his eyes locked on mine, like he wished he could take back what he’d said, but it was too late. “You wouldn’t have to make this decision in the first place.”

Chapter 5

Bastien

She lay in my arms for a while until she fell asleep, her head against my shoulder, the rain continuing to splatter against the windows. I looked out into the night and just enjoyed the sound, savoring the peace that hardly ever visited me.

I scooped her into my arms and put her in bed before I covered her with the sheets. She didn’t wake up, just like a child that was tucked in for the night. I turned off the lights and walked out, making my way down to the bottom floor and out through the double doors.

A man in a raincoat leaned up against the wall of the café across the road. Another one was seated on the outdoor patio of Nelson’s, the restaurant on the other side of the walkway. I didn’t wear a coat and I embraced the rain, loving the way it felt against the back of my neck, the way it smelled, the way it made the asphalt glisten, something only a real Parisian could understand.

I walked up to the man in Nelson’s, and he worked so hard not to be suspicious of me that I immediately became suspiciousof him. Even when I was right at his table, he refused to acknowledge me, his black coffee sitting there untouched.

“Bastien Dupont.”

He had no other choice but to look at me.

“That’s my name.”

We sat in the parlor, cigar smoke hanging in the air and blanketing the elegant room in a haze of fumes. With one elbow on the armrest, I puffed on that cigar and let the taste of black licorice float on my tongue before it released as a stream of smoke from my mouth.

Luca lounged in the chair, tilting his head back as he aimed his cannon of smoke toward the ceiling. “They’ll never pass it. Damage is done at this point.”

“Nothing is set in stone, especially in politics.”

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