Page 11 of Outcast’s Vow

“You targeted me,” I explain. “You prepared for me with all that gear. You wanted me.”

“I did what I had to do,” Baptiste replies, nonchalance flattening every word. “Besides, I don’t believe in love.”

“You don’t believe in love?”

“No.”

I scoff.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not.”

“Please explain your thesis.”

Baptiste hesitates for a moment before he answers.

“Love is what people call simple biology.”

I angle toward him, eyes narrowing.

“This is an interesting line of thought. What do you mean by simple biology?”

Baptiste’s lips tighten.

“It’s just mere chemicals released in the brain, nothing more than a biological trick to make sure our species reproduces,” he replies. “The feeling that people call love is just leverage. And I don’t give anyone leverage over me.”

I roll my eyes.

“You sound like a fun, easygoing person.”

“And what about you, Sylvie Levine? Don’t tell me you’re some weepy believer in a fairytale happy ending. Do you fall for every little sentimental trick? I didn’t know I was marrying a gullible airhead.”

His eyes shimmer, watching what his verbal bite does to me.

I yield him no satisfaction.

“I would say love is a lot more than some trick. Does it need to make sense?”

“Everything does,” he replies. “If nothing makes sense, then what rules do we live by? What metrics do we value success by?”

The sharp drilling of happy laughter from another couple passing by us penetrates the tension between us. We both wait for them to dance away before I’m back at his throat.

“I guess you think of yourself as a man not driven by emotions. Just another finance bro, right?”

“If you wanted a poet, you should’ve stayed on the beach with the others,” Baptiste retorts, gesturing at the inebriated crowd. “As I witnessed firsthand on the plane, plenty of these men like to talk and do nothing else.”

“I’ve heard your backstory, Baptiste. You don’t like these arrogant sons of the elite, do you? You’re an outsider.”

His lips tighten even more.

“And you’re just another one of these entitled brats.”

“Don’t you dare lump me in with them.”

Another couple spirals close, giddy.

“Smile,” Baptiste whispers. “They’re watching. Don’t ruin their fun.”