Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 43856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“The other lesson I took away from my past marriage. . .”
I hung on the edge of my seat.
“I lost a woman from not being a good enough man.”
I blinked.
“I vowed to never do that again in my second marriage. It’s now been six years of my being single.”
“Oh.”
“My friends say I closed myself off, but I don’t like to rush the possibility of love. I always believe that the right woman will show up when I'm the right man to love her."
I stared at him, stunned into silence. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them.
The quiet conviction.
The raw honesty.
The surprising vulnerability.
I knew Fabien was cultured, refined in a way that made charm second nature. A man like him—wealthy, effortlessly smooth, steeped in the kind of confidence that only came from privilege and experience—could probably seduce any woman with a well-placed compliment and a well-aged bottle of wine.
And yet, what struck me wasn’t just the elegance of his words, the practiced cadence of a man who knew how to keep a conversation dripping with intrigue.
No.
It was the fact that he wasn’t hiding behind those things.
He wasn’t just leaning on charm or mystery to keep me interested—he was giving me something far more valuable.
Honesty.
He’d cracked himself open, just slightly, letting me peek into the corners of his past, his wounds, his healing.
A typical playboy would never.
A man just looking to fuck would never either.
This?
This was different.
Because for all his flirtation, for all his seductive teasing, he had just done something far rarer—he had made himself vulnerable.
And that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t a passing amusement to him.
Maybe I was something more.
Someone he actually wanted to know, not just seduce.
And God, that was dangerous.
Because for the first time in a long time, I felt the ground shift beneath me.
I swallowed. "And now you think you are the right man?"
Fabien’s lips curved into something faint and thoughtful. "I've been working on myself, doing the things people do to heal. Therapy. Meditation. Even did a trip with my friend to try Ayahuasca."
My eyes widened. "Oh my God. How did that Ayahuasca trip work out?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. "It was thrilling and terrifying. I think. . .I might have had a conversation with God."
I leaned in, intrigued. "And what did God say?"
Fabien exhaled slowly, like he was reliving the moment. "God told me that love isn’t something we chase. It’s something we become. That when we learn to love ourselves without condition, when we are whole in our solitude, then love will walk toward us naturally. And it won’t feel like we’re grasping at something just out of reach. It will feel. . .like breathing."
A shiver ran down my spine.
I wasn’t sure if it was his words or the way he looked at me as he said them.
I took another sip of my wine, letting the rich velvet of it coat my tongue, buying myself a few extra seconds before I spoke. “I, uh. . .I’m also divorced.”
Fabien’s expression remained unreadable, but his focus on me sharpened. His green eyes—already deep with interest—darkened as if urging me to continue.
Oh God. Do I tell him everything?
Chapter seven
Stripped of Pretense
Rae
He wanted to know about my past, and I was nervous.
Fuck.
I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the stem of my glass.
How much should I say?
How much could I say without looking like a damn fool?
Because the truth was—I hadn’t always been smart when it came to love. Back then, I had ignored the warning signs, swallowed the hurt, and let myself shrink just to keep the peace.
And now, sitting across from a man like Fabien—who exuded power, self-awareness, and the kind of confidence that came from real growth—I didn’t want to look weak.
I didn’t want him to see me as a woman who had once let someone chip away at her piece by piece.
I wanted him to see me as strong.
But if I wasn’t honest, then wasn’t I just playing a role, the same way I had back then?
I exhaled slowly, bracing myself.
Fuck it. If he was bold enough to give me his truth, I could do the same.
I exhaled softly. “I divorced ten years ago.”
A flicker of something—understanding, maybe—crossed his face, but he stayed silent, letting me set the pace of my own story.
“I married too soon without truly knowing him,” I tapped the side of my glass. “And at the time, I thought I had everything I was supposed to want. A husband. Stability. A life that made sense on paper.”
I let out a small, humorless chuckle. “And I was smaller back then. Not thin, exactly—I’ve never been thin. I was always just a little chubby, even as a kid. But when I got married, I was probably the smallest I’ve ever been.”
Although Fabien did not speak, I could feel the intensity of his focus on me.