Chapter 19
NATE
“It’s Melanie,” I say, my eyes fixed on my Vivienne.
She gestures for me to answer, but a larger part of me doesn’t want to.
I don’t care if it’s a work emergency or another investor looking to back out—I want to finish our conversation. Nitpick her mind until I understand whatever this is between us.
“What are you waiting for?” she asks.
I draw out a long sigh, press the Answer button, and put it on speaker.
“I just got off a call with Kamal Jameel, where he gave me an aggressive reminder that if Archer Aviation doesn’t kill it at the Aviation Global Forum, he’s removing himself as an investor.
It’s something we can’t take lightly, given that he’s the majority of the investing that happens in this company. ”
Vivienne’s eyes widen in surprise at the severity of the situation, while I stay indifferent.
To put it plainly, at this very moment in time, I couldn’t care less. It’s a Saturday, for God’s sake. Let me enjoy this sliver of freedom before I’m back to slaving away at work.
Also, where are this girl’s manners and pleasantries?
“Good morning, Melanie. How are you doing? You’re stressed? That’s such a shame to hear. Oh, me? I’m doing great—thanks for checking in on me.”
The line goes silent, and I can picture it perfectly—the strategic turning of her head, the pointed lead of her pencil sticking up her hair. “There’s no need for this attitude,” she says, clearly unimpressed.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Kamal Jameel called my personal number on a weekend, threatened to leave the company, and hung up before I got a word in, and you don’t care?”
Honestly? No. He’s a man of his word, so I believe it when he says he’ll back out, but this is a problem for Monday Nate. Weekend Nate, who was in the middle of a candid conversation with his fake fiancée, wants nothing to do with this.
“Regardless of your indifference, his words felt personal. So I started looking into your plans for the conference to make sure everything runs smoothly."
This takes Vivienne aback. “What conference?” she asks.
A silence settles once again over the line. “Is that Vivienne?” Suspicion laces Melanie’s voice, but I stop her incoming interrogation with my “Get to the point.”
There’s no need for her to know about the FR control we had to do…which stands for family relations, by the way.
“Long story short, I found out you had no accommodations to get to Chicago, and since the Archer Aviation plane is being used by a team of executives for an investor meeting, I chartered a jet for Friday. Be ready by twelve o’clock.
A car will be picking you guys up at your respective apartments.
You and Vivienne will have to attend a few mandatory talks for appearance’s sake, but other than that, you’re presenting on Sunday. ”
My eyes snap up to Vivienne’s, who’s wearing the same expression she had when Audrey suggested airplane watching. There’s a slight panic to her features, one that would be undetectable if you didn’t know her well.
While there’s still so much left for me to learn about the enigma that is Vivienne Brown, she showed me a different side of her last night—the deeper parts that she mostly keeps to herself.
And fuck it, if she couldn’t tolerate the idea of plane watching or the Archer Aviation exhibit, there’s no way she’ll be able to make it to the conference by flight.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take the car.” I tell my cousin once I’ve made up my mind.
Melanie, who was spitting out more details about the conference at rapid-fire speed, stops instantly. The silence that follows is so sharp, even the birds chirping outside seem to fall quiet.
“What are you talking about?” She scoffs in disbelief. “New York City to Chicago is a twelve-hour drive.”
“As I said, there’s no need to worry about it. I’ll take care of the logistics.”
“Nate. No. Absolutely not. You are crazy if—”
I hang up without hesitation, glad that everything has been sorted out—only to stumble backward.
I look down to see Vivienne’s hands on my chest, and her eyes narrowed in distaste.
“What is wrong with you?” She pushes me again—anger, confusion, and disbelief all mixed in one. “Why are we suddenly road-tripping to Chicago? You have a jet. Supposedly a comfortable place to sleep on said nice jet. Why are you taking the car?”
I quirk a brow, stunned.
Vivienne is a stubborn one—that’s for sure—and for some reason, incapable of accepting help. The answer as to why we’re road-tripping is obvious, and she knows it.
“How were you planning on getting there?” I spin the question back to her.
She crosses her arms over her chest, lips turned downward. It’s meant to show disapproval, but all I can think about is how adorable she looks when mad. It reminds me a lot of how she was when we first met.
“You can’t inconvenience yourself for me. I won’t allow it.”
I get where she’s coming from—she doesn’t want to feel like a burden on others, and it explains why she never opens up about her emotions. But I care enough about this girl to want to see her happy and calm. Never in a million years would I subject her to something she can’t bear.
“Why not?” I ask.
“I can’t take turns driving. My license expired years ago, and I never renewed it.”
“Who said I was going to let you drive?”
“You can’t drive for that long. It’s unreasonable.”
“Would you believe me if I said I was a truck driver in a past life?” She hits my arm at how seriously I ask that question, and it pulls a smile from my lips. “Plus, I’m sort of a firm believer that women can’t drive.”
Vivienne chokes back a laugh, the downturn to her lips slowly turning upward as she shakes her head in disbelief. “I-I can’t even argue with you on that one. Last time I drove, I hit the curb so hard, I got a flat tire and called my dad in a panic to help.”
Her laughter grows, the words getting lost somewhere in the mix. The sound is so rich, so intoxicating that I can’t stop myself from laughing as well.
“He tried explaining to me how to inflate a tire, but after too many failed attempts, he drove to me. My mom was in the car with him. She brought us back home while he took care of the rest.”
At this point, tears of what I can only assume are a mix of longing, sadness, and laughter are streaming down her face. I cradle her jaw, wiping them away with my thumbs.
Vivienne’s laugh eventually turns into a snort, causing her eyes to widen in panic, while I only smile harder.
The story itself is nice—funny and sweet, on all accounts—but it’s more so the fact that she’s sharing this with me that makes me feel at ease. I want her to be herself around me, not the version she puts on for the world.
She’s still catching her breath from the high when the door to my bedroom swings wide open. We jump away from each other at the intrusion, and there she is—the one and only, Natalia Archer. She’s holding a white box tied with a pretty black bow, her smile impossibly wide.
“How are my little lovebirds doing?” my mom singsongs with no shame. She hands over the box to Vivienne, who wipes her last tear before grabbing it. “This is from Audrey—she said it would be a crime to leave the house in yesterday’s outfit.”
“That’s very generous of her. Please thank her on my behalf. And thanks again for letting us stay the night. I really do appreciate your hospitality.” Vivienne smiles politely.
My mom brushes off the comment with a wave of her hand. “You’re part of the family now.”
The warmth in those blue eyes may as well be the death of me. I’ve never lied to my mother about anything so big before, and knowing that I’m doing it right to her face, under her roof, makes the guilt sink in heavier than I ever imagined.
When I glance at Vivienne, I see a similar expression mirrored on her face.
“Well, I’ll let you guys get back to it. I really am sorry for interrupting.” With a final wink, she scurries away.
I’m about to follow my mother—give Vivienne the privacy she needs to get dressed—when I’m shoved back in the bedroom.
“I heard that corset is super hard to tie up. You might want to help Vivienne with that before joining us for breakfast.”
My mouth gapes from the shock of her words, but I don’t get the chance to protest when the door slams in my face.
———
Lacing up that corset was torture—for both Vivienne and me.
While she complained about her difficulties breathing, all I could think about was the bare, creamy skin of her back, my hand trailing a path up her spine, and the things I’d do to her if she’d let me.
It was wrong—unwarranted with the way I shut her down, but I think that’s what’s gotten my mind in a jumble. I want this. She seems to want it too. Yet acting on it is out of the question.
I know all the reasons this shouldn't work, but how can I think otherwise when she feels so right?
The feel of her lips on mine, the pressure of her hips as she straddled me, her small gasps and moans when she finally caved—the ghost of our interaction lingers in the most torturous way.
But it doesn’t compare to the sight in front of me—Vivienne fitting in with my family like a puzzle piece we didn’t know was missing.
The second Audrey saw us coming down the stairs, she quite literally pushed me to the side, linked her arm with Vivienne’s, and steered her to the seat next to hers at the breakfast table.
Anya was also cozying up to her, determined to spend as much time as she could before she left. My mother fell in a similar boat, gushing at any and everything my fake fiancée said.
Through the clear glass, I’m sure we looked like one big happy family, and in some ways, we were—only one person was leaving as quickly as she joined. And in that case, I’d rather put an end to it before it goes too far.
Something wet and sticky lands on my forehead, dragging me out of my thoughts.
I begrudgingly uncross my arms, peel off the lone strawberry slice, and set it on the edge of my plate.