Chapter 24
Erica
Archer had gone to extreme lengths to help Erica train for synchronised swimming. He’d told her she needed to spend five hours a day training. It was the end of another week, and Erica was exhausted. On Monday, when she questioned him on his knowledge of the Olympic sport, he confessed he’d spent an entire day watching videos on the internet. He was an expert on the British Olympian team. When she’d strolled around the corner of the grand mansion to the swimming pool, she saw Archer walking towards her with a giant tree trunk above his head. It wasn’t the tree that caught her attention but his shirtless torso dripping with sweat. Erica stopped dead in her tracks as he reached the end of the row of logs and dropped it to the floor. It bounced once and stayed still with a resounding thud.
Archer still hadn’t noticed her as he clapped his hands together to get rid of the detritus on his hands. When he wiped them on his shorts, the material pulled tight across his thighs, showing the muscles bunching just above his knees.
Her mouth watered.
“Eyes up here, honey,” he said.
She hadn’t noticed how long she was staring at his legs, but clearly, it was too long by the smirk she saw on his face.
“That’s a lot of logs, Archer. What are they for?” Erica tried for nonchalance, avoiding any conversation that she was hot for him, and he didn’t feel the same.
“They’re for today’s fitness session. Hurdling.”
“What now? Every day we do something different. Are you sure you’re not secretly an army PT instructor?”
Archer was right in front of her now. She could smell his shower gel or whatever he sprayed on himself in the morning. The clean smell of soap had never smelled so enticing. The heat he’d generated lugging the logs to the grounds must have intensified the aroma because she could happily lick him.
“No, nothing like that. If I’m going to do a job, then do it right, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m really grateful you’re giving up your mornings for me,” she said, looking around his body to the half dozen logs.
“It’s only a couple of hours. The rest of the time, you’re treading water or doing somersaults. So you don’t need me to help you do that part anymore.”
Erica thought that was a crying shame. He’d held her waist while she was upside down in the water, toes pointed out of the water as she practised her scissor kicks. Solid hands on her body, making her feel safe as she went through the list of movements she needed to practise to perfection. She would be on set in two months, spending hours on end in the pool they designed for the movie. Her agent had wanted an instructor to come out to Copper Island to give her daily direction, but she thought it was overkill. A half-hour video call in the morning was sufficient for Erica to get her instructions. It wasn’t like she had to be Olympic standard, but she wanted to pay Esther Williams her dues in the biopic.
“So, what is the plan today?”
“Warm-up,” Archer said, wrapping his arm around her waist.
She liked his style of warm-up. Erica didn’t resist when he pulled her closer and dropped his head to kiss her lips. Like each morning, their kiss turned from chaste to passionate so quickly. Archer held her head with one hand on her nape, then tightened his arm around her back. He wouldn’t let her move an inch when he kissed her. When his warm wet tongue touched hers, she wanted to climb him—every damn time.
Erica broke the kiss by dropping her head back and laughing. “I’m not sure this is the type of warm-up my muscles need.”
“It’s nice, though, right?” he whispered against her exposed throat.
“Yeah,” she said and sighed. “Really nice.”
Erica moved out of his hold and gave him a shy smile. She could see lines were beginning to blur. Erica stepped to the poolside and did her stretches while Archer dropped to the floor and started his push-ups routine. She’d prefer to watch him do the push-up that launched him off the concrete for a second. He did a combination of push-ups, squats, and leaping up. While Erica was more sedate, she could feel her body warming up in the early morning cool air. Partly from her routine and partly from watching Archer. The moment he finished, Erica had her feet wide apart, bent at the waist with her hands flat on the concrete. It was her favourite yoga position. Turning her head to the side to look at Archer, she was treated to him wiping down his chest with a towel. Her eyes looked him over, taking her time on his hips as his shorts hung low. What she wasn’t watching until it was too late was him whipping his towel around to a tight strip, ready to flick at her bottom.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned, not trying to hide her smile.
She liked it when he was being playful.
“It’s tempting,” he answered, wiping his face with his towel.
His heated gaze had Erica frozen in place, unable to move. For a moment, she thought she’d be stuck in the position forever as her muscles locked. Archer circled her and settled at her rear. Erica could feel his warmth and then his hips against her bottom. It was a risky move, but she pushed back an inch. Archer pushed his hips forward, and it took all her strength not to grind against him. Archer leaned over her bent position and moved his hands along her sides and then down her arms so his hands were flat on either side of hers. Erica puffed out a breath at their nearness, hoping his aunt wasn’t watching what they were doing. The erotic dance of seemingly innocent moves was anything but.
“I’m going for a run,” Archer whispered into her ear. “Have dinner with me tonight, at your place. I’ll bring the food.”
Erica swayed her hips from side to side, brushing against him, hoping her tease told him her answer.
“What time?” she asked.
“Seven. I think we should eat inside tonight. More private for what I have in mind.”
“Okay. ”
It was all Erica could manage.
Archer kissed her cheek and then set off running towards Edward Hall. Standing up tall to stretch, she looked up at the windows of Turner Hall. Dozens of reflections echoed back, but with the sun in its position, Erica couldn’t tell if anyone was watching.
After a rotation of treading water, swimming laps, and practising turning in a tight circle underneath the water, Erica was exhausted. Training five hours a day took it out of her. She was no slouch when it came to exercising, but the difference between endurance training mastered by Archer Turner and running on a treadmill was starkly different.
She swiped up her towel and staggered back to her cottage, her thighs burning from jumping logs. Weeks had passed since her arrival on the island, and she still couldn’t get used to not locking her back door. Erica fully expected to return and find the place either ransacked or a journalist sitting on her sofa waiting for her to return.
True anonymity had been elusive in the previous decade. Erica travelled everywhere with her head down, wearing dark sunglasses. Here, in the glorious beauty of the island, she wore sunglasses by choice. There was no one commenting on what she wore or the state of the highlights in her hair. Erica had never felt so free.
Sadly she was about to ruin her mood.
After a shower and far too long choosing what to wear for her dinner date, Erica padded barefoot downstairs and settled in the living room. She’d set up a video call with Yanny every four days to keep up to date with her future and to see where the world’s media had got with her ex-husband and new pregnant girlfriend. Switching into her work, reality had become depressing very quickly. With a deep sigh, she hit connect .
“Oh, thank the gods you’re here,” Yanny said, bursting onto the screen.
“I’ve never missed a meeting with you, Yanny. Why the panic?”
“I’m sorry. I had these nightmares last night. You cut yourself off completely, even from me. I cannot handle your life alone.”
“I don’t think I can handle my life alone either. Has it been awful?”
“Because they can’t get at you, they’re trying me, your agent, and your school friends. The press thinks you’re in hiding licking your wounds.”
“Do you think we should correct them?”
“Maybe,” Yanny said. He’d moved from panicked to manager mode. Yanny sat up straighter now that they were on safe ground.
“Do you have a plan?” she asked.
“How’s the wedding planning going? I’m not changing the subject. There is a point to my question.”
“It’s still on if that’s what you mean, but further than that, I don’t have a date yet.”
“And you’re still on track for costume fitting?”
“Yes. About that? It’s only five days, right?”
“It should be, unless you want me to schedule other meetings.”
“No. I’d rather go straight to LA, get the fittings done, and come straight back.”
“I can arrange that. No one needs to know apart from the production team when you’re in LA. We won’t be able to keep it top secret, but we can make it low-key.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want me to see if they’ll do your fitting in London?”
“If you can swing it, yes, but I don’t want to be labelled a diva before shooting starts. I can go to LA on the private jet from Penzance.”
“I’ll arrange it. Next is your ex-husband.”
Erica waited for the bombshell, keeping a staring contest with her manager and lifelong friend.
“Come on, Yanny, tell me the bad news.”
“Allegedly,” he says, holding up his hands, dropping his chin, and avoiding eye contact. “He’s going to file for divorce.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Erica said, falling back against the sofa cushions. “He’s got to know he’ll look bad when the truth comes out.”
“Well, we could let the truth out, Erica. It would put this whole thing to bed.”
“I’m the wronged woman, yet I have to be the arsehole and call him out to be a liar.”
“Or you can keep hiding away while he has the sole voice with the press. Up to you.”
“Aren’t the press bored yet?”
“You have just won an Oscar the same night you find out your husband is cheating on you. The press is rabid. Every magazine from the gutter press to Vogue wants an interview.”
“No, they don’t. They’ve earmarked a slot for whoever won best actress. Too bad they didn’t make a deal before the event. It gives me more reason not to go into the small town on this island. Word would travel too fast, and then I wouldn’t have the freedom to practise in the pool and walk about the grounds.”
“You’re a harsh lady, but I love you.”
“Honestly, spending a couple of weeks here, I have strong feelings of walking away from the Hollywood lifestyle.”
“What?” Yanny gave her a mock frightened look. “I’d look awful in rags. What the hell would I do if you retired?”
“It’s not all about you, Yanny,” she scolded.
“Darling, it is all about me,” he replied.
Erica laughed at her friend’s outrage. She knew he was joking, but it always made her giggle when he made out he was materialistic. Despite how much Erica paid him, he’d never spent more than a fiver on a t-shirt. He had a clause in his contract that if she did give it all up, he had a severance pay of twelve months. Yanny would have dozens of offers to snatch him up if rumour got out she was retiring. She knew for a fact he was constantly offered extortionate deals to walk away from her. Erica knew because he waved it in front of her face each time she fell into diva mode.
“I don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t bullied your way into being my manager. I’m thankful every day you’re in my life.”
“All right, all right, stop buttering me up. I can’t handle it,” he said, mouthing the word more at the screen.
“What else is there?”
“Nothing worth knowing. You’re busy as all hell once your three months are up. I’ve pushed everything you had in the third month out, so you have a clear run until you become Mrs, Mrs what?”
“Turner.”
“Erica Turner. Nice. From one iconic actress surname to another.”
Erica chatted to Yanny for another hour, going through her schedule for the next six months. She acted casually, but she took her schedule seriously, even though she was late wherever she went. The afternoon raced by after she hung up from Yanny. She read through her lines and researched more about the actress she would be playing. It made her sad working through Esther’s life in the 1950s Hollywood and how they were treated. She didn’t think the industry had moved on enough, but at least she had more rights than Esther had.
A breeze coming from somewhere in the house caused her to bring the shawl from the back of the sofa over her shoulders as she hunched over, looking at the laptop on the coffee table.
“Hey.”
Erica jumped out of her skin at the voice. Knowing it was Archer but getting her body to catch up took a few seconds as she flapped her arms and slammed the laptop’s lid down. She was on her feet, walking towards Archer, who stood on the threshold of the living room and the small corridor to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, am I running late?” she asked as she stood before him.
“It’s just after seven,” he answered and leaned in to kiss her.
The kiss lingered for a few moments, and she relished his soft lips on hers. To anyone else, it was a loving kiss. To her, she felt it down to her toes.
“I promise I’ll be five minutes. Change of clothes, and I’ll be back down,” Erica said.
“You look perfect as you are,” he replied, grasping her hand to stop her from moving.
“I’ve been in these clothes all afternoon working. I want to change, discard the day to enjoy this evening.”
The clothes she wore were supposed to be her dinner date attire but one look at Archer in his deliciousness made her want to change. He wore a shirt open at the neck with dark blue jeans .
“I get that. I’ll dish up dinner in the dining room.”
“Okay, I won’t be long. There’s white wine and beer in the fridge. I’ll have a beer.”