Chapter Three
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Sarelia
“You’re… you’re Archie,” I breathe, staring at the beautiful, perfect, angelic man in front of me.
Not that I didn’t believe Stone when he plopped me in my “trusty steed” yesterday afternoon and told me he would take me to Archie, but…
Well, okay, I didn’t believe Stone when he plopped me in my trusty steed yesterday afternoon and told me he would take me to Archie.
But now we’re here on Archie’s porch and Archie is right there, mere feet in front of me. I could touch him. The circumstances that led me to be this close to him aside, this is both my wildest dream and my worst nightmare come true.
A dream because I love him, and a nightmare because I’m not parasocial enough to believe that he loves me back, or that he even really knows who I am, despite what Stone claims.
Staring at him up close now, I wonder why I ever gave any worry to the height disparity between us during my many, many nights of bemoaning the reasons we could not be together.
I cannot think why I thought I would have the mind space to worry about it when confronted with his shining brown eyes and the playful flop of his sandy-brown hair.
Archie.
I can hardly believe it.
He’s Archie.
“I am,” he answers finally, offering me a wide, dreadful smile. “And we can talk about that in just a moment, my darling. First, I must have a chat with your lovely kidnapper.”
My eyelashes flutter against my cheeks, unbidden.
“Archie kidnapped me,” I whisper. “Archie had his uncle kidnap me.”
“No, love, he only had me high intensity private investigate you,” Stone corrects. “The kidnapping was me taking initiative.”
“Initiative we need to have a chat about. Come inside. I’ll get you both some tea, and we’ll talk.” He sweeps us through his magnificently pink door and into the house.
His house. Where he lives. As Archie.
I could just faint.
“Archie is going to make me tea,” I murmur. “Oh my.”
“She takes it with cream and sugar,” Stone tells his nephew, who settles a searing glare on the older man. “I’m just saying,” Stone defends, hands up. “I meant no offense.”
Archie sniffs, then gently takes me by the elbow—he’s touching me!—and leads me through a maze of hallways to his kitchen, where he guides me to sit in an intricately carved wooden chair at an equally intricately carved wooden breakfast table.
“Chickens,” I whisper, running a finger along the carvings. Chickens! Like his favorite CubeCraft mob!
“I like chickens,” Archie says, patting my head before twirling away to start an electric kettle boiling. “Stone, a word?”
Stone, my sort-of-definitely-but-it’s-okay-cause-he-brought-me-to-Archie kidnapper winks at me, then joins Archie ten feet away at the kitchen counter.
As they whisper to each other, I consider the past few days of my life, and how, exactly, I came to be here, staring at Archie Pine as I sit in his kitchen waiting for him to make me tea.
Obviously, there was the kidnapping. If you want to call it that.
I wasn’t exactly struggling all that hard as Stone led me to the pale yellow convertible with promises of Archie being mine if I went with him.
And I doubly wasn’t struggling when he stopped by my house and, after triple checking that my parents weren’t around, took me inside to pack the belongings I couldn’t live without—some clothes, my laptop, a pink frog stuffed animal, and a pretty pink deck of cards for the drive.
“As a general rule, kidnappers don’t typically let their kidnappees keep their electronics,” Stone told me, eying my laptop.
“As a general rule, kidnappers don’t typically let their kidnappees choose whether or not they’d like to be kidnapped,” I retorted. “Also, I need this for work. And fangirling.”
“The subject of your fangirling is going to be directly in front of you. And kidnappees aren’t really known for working, either. You’re supposed to let us handle all of your expenses now.”
I’d frowned. “But… I like my job.” Even if, technically, I’m notdoing it for job purposes anymore. As an author, I’ve written… oh, say, fifty books. Or so. Who’s counting?
As a retired author, though? Hundreds, at least.
Did you know that when you retire you can do whatever you want?
Whatever I want including writing hundreds of books that will never see the light of day because they’re the bits of subpar glorified fanfiction about the person I do all of my fangirling over—not to be confused with the bits of decent glorified fanfiction that I do publish.
Except instead of “y/n” I just insert my own name, or variations of it, or my pen name, or variations of it.
In other words, retirement is fun, and I am not quite willing to give it up yet, kidnapped or not. And the fangirling? How am I supposed to make edits of the man “right in front of me” if I don’t have my laptop? No, sir, I will not be leaving it behind.
Stone sighed, shook his head, and shrugged. “Not my captive,” he’d said. “Archie can decide what he wants to do with you.”
Yes, please.
It was a risk, of course, going with Stone.
Even with the pictures he showed me—even after hearing Archie’s voice on the phone when Stone called him as we drove out of the city—I didn’t quite know if I could believe him.
People get pictures with other people all the time, and crazy people especially.
Not for the first time, I wonder if I should be calling anyone crazy, all things considered.
I did get in the car with the man based on only the essence of a possibility that he might take me to Archie.
I did not scream, call for help, or do any of the other anti-kidnap measures one is supposed to do when being kidnapped.
Are crazy people allowed to call other people crazy?
Not that it matters, since Stone isn’t crazy. He did know Archie—he does know Archie. So the only crazy one is… me.
Classic Sarelia, really.
A tea kettle whistles, and I blink as Archie and Stone’s whispered conversation—argument?—gets drowned out by the shrill noise.
I appear to have lost some time there gazing at Archie—who is, still, somehow, incredibly, amazingly, dreamily, right in front of me.
I pinch myself, then inhale harshly through my teeth when it hurts.
Archie and Stone both stop to turn to me, concern painting frowns on their faces.
I try to smile reassuringly, but end up gaping at Archie instead.
He’s just so… there.
“You okay, love?” he asks, and my heart stops beating, then resumes at mach five.
I am definitely not okay.
“I’m great!”
His mouth thins as he holds back his amusement, but his eyes are less successful at hiding his mirth, crinkling at the edges and sparkling mischief at me.
My jaw drops.
My goodness, he’s cute.
“Your tea will be ready in a click,” he says.
I nod, then let my head rest in my hand as my eyes track him around the small kitchen.
Seeing an opening, Stone declares his departure. “I’ve got things to do,” he says, sweeping a hand down his shirt. The floral design preens under his touch.
“Retirement is not ‘things,’” Archie grouses, and I find myself in the uncomfortable situation of disagreeing with him. Retirement is many things, in my experience, and they’re all wonderful.
“Says you.” Stone sniffs. “You’ll see, though. It’ll hit you one day—that you don’t want to be doing any of this anymore. Then you’ll buy a new wardrobe, drop your responsibilities on someone else’s doorstep, and find yourself a nice, warm beach to have a nap on.”
Archie scowls. “Sarelia is not a responsibility. She is an honor.”
Oh. My. Gosh.
Stone’s eyes roll as mine transform into hearts bouncing out of my skull.
“Well, she’s your ‘honor’ now,” Stone says. “I have an appointment with a beach and a margarita.”
“Millie would be so jealous,” Archie mutters, then sighs. “Very well. I wasn’t prepared, of course, but I can make this work. Are you absolutely sure you wouldn’t like to take up gambling though? I’m positive I could find an illegal boxing ring by the end of the hour.”
“No gambling,” Stone snorts. “Now, give me a hug. I’m leaving.”
Archie does, wrapping the man tightly in his arms and giving him a slap on the back that would probably have me on the ground, but Stone takes in stride. “I love you,” Archie says. “Though I’d love you more if you had a secret addiction, right about now.”
Stone chuckles, mussing up his nephew’s hair. “Love you, too, kid. Be good to the girl. I like her.”
Archie sniffs. “As if I need you to tell me that.”
To my surprise, Stone approaches me next, wrapping me in a gentle hug with a soft, sweet, “You’ll like it here, darling. Archie’s a good kid. He’ll take care of you.”
And then he’s gone, and I’m alone.
With Archie.
Archie Pine.
I pinch myself again.
It still hurts.