Chapter 3
MINKA
The blistering screams of an unhappy baby travel all the way up the stairs of Felix’s McMansion about an hour outside of Manhattan, where the air is cleaner than Wall Street, the gardens are bursting with color, and a baby and a dog compete to be the noisiest set of lungs in a ten-mile radius.
Zora’s probably looking for her morning meal, the dog is no doubt alerting the world to her plight, and I… am soaked in the sweat Archer’s body and mine create when we’re piled together in just a tiny fraction of an otherwise massive bed.
Because even if we could spread out and find comfort in space, life is still too raw for us, our forced separation is still too recent, and I’m not sure either of us would trade contact even for all the world’s treasures.
Thirst makes my throat a little dry, and the heat created by our bodies leaves me with a mild case of dehydration and a headache pulsing in the back of my skull.
It’s not the same kind of headache I suffer from after infusion.
It’s not even the worst headache I’ve had this week.
Or in the last twenty-four hours. It’s just a gentle, consistent throb somewhere behind my eyes, but as I bring them open and study the weight on my chest, I forget my pain completely.
Because Archer’s lips pop forward in his sleep, the way I bet they did when he was just an infant.
His lashes kiss his cheeks because men are genetically gifted with lashes longer than the average woman.
And his hand cups my left breast; he simply can’t help himself.
He’s possessive and needy and, God, he’s mine, and that’s a welcome thought, considering only seventy-two hours ago the fear of never being certain about us ever again plagued my every waking thought.
Despite the vows we spoke on two separate occasions, on two different continents.
Despite the promises we’d made a million times since the first.
Despite the assurances we each gave that this, that we, were all that mattered.
Silly me.
My bladder aches with an urgency I won’t be able to ignore for much longer, and my thirst comes right after.
But first, I bring my hand up and stroke the bridge of his nose.
While the sun rises outside, hours earlier here on the east coast compared to our home on the west, I bask in this moment of aloneness, a rarity for us, since he so often wakes before I do.
For every moment of quiet contemplation I’m rewarded with, my smile grows just a little wider.
My stomach swirls, not with dread or anxiety, like it has the past week, but with butterflies and nerves, because, as ridiculous as it sounds, we feel brand new all over again.
This isn’t exactly how I felt that morning after our first night together. Back then, my butterflies were more like cicadas screaming and flapping for freedom. But soon after that, with each new day we spent together, the butterflies came…
And then he asked me to marry him.
The first time.
“You’re such a romantic, aren’t you?” I exhale my words on a whisper and trail the tip of my finger off the end of his nose and down to his pouty lips.
“It doesn’t make sense that you came from the man you came from, and then you fell in love with me, and still, you’re so friggin’ romantic it makes my toes curl. ”
He smacks his lips and squeezes my boob. Too sleepy to wake and join me here in the real world. Too tired to open his eyes, since our home in Copeland City would still be dark at this hour.
The monotonous buzz of my vibrating phone draws my focus to somewhere on the floor.
In my pants pocket, I think. And my pants are…
not covering my butt. Resigned, I lift my head and attempt a fast glance around our room.
To the overhead lights still switched on, useless now that the sun is out, then to the door I don’t recall locking last night before we fell into bed.
I skim past Archer’s impressive length, his muscular thighs, and the scars he wears like armor.
Armor he never asked for. Zora’s cries settle downstairs, and Bastard’s playful barking stops, too.
After a moment, my phone turns silent, so all I hear is the beat of my heart in time with the ache in my head. But then the buzzing starts again.
Whoever wants my attention isn’t ready to be brushed aside just yet.
I bring my gaze back to Archer’s slack face, to his gently parted lips and each constant, cooling breath he sends feathering across my skin.
I don’t want to leave, and I especially don’t want to wake him when I move. But my bladder screams for relief, and my phone is demanding, not with an incoming call that might imply work, but with the sporadic delivery of messages from someone intent on conducting an entire one-sided conversation.
I carefully inch to the left, holding Archer’s face in my palm and gently settling his head on our shared pillow, then I drag my legs out from beneath his heavy thighs and extricate myself from beneath his possessive hands.
I bring my feet around and set them on the floor, and, peeking back to make sure Archer’s still asleep, I feel a pang of longing for the man it physically pains me to step away from.
It’s ridiculous, really, since I’m not even leaving our room.
Foolish, considering I’m not going away.
But not being with him this past week has left scars on my soul just as violently and permanently as his father’s anger left scars on each of his sons’ bodies.
The bastard.
I wonder, now that I know more of the world I married into, if Timothy Malone the Second’s name might’ve ended up on my list of men who need to die, had cancer not struck him down before I realized my fate.
Would I have killed Archer’s father if the universe demanded it?
Could I?
And if I did, would Archer have forgiven me?
Drawing a deep breath and puffing my cheeks wide, I exhale that cheery thought and push off the bed, tiptoeing around the wide frame and locating my pants bundled on the floor beside his.
I scoop my phone up and cast one last look across to Archer’s sleeping form, then I make my way into the bathroom and head straight to the toilet, sitting and unlocking the screen to discover a group chat labeled ‘Silent Partners’.
Ace
We’re home. We were gonna stay in New York another night, but I had some stuff to do here, and it’s not like Jay sleeps, anyway. So when the Big Mac offered us his jet, we took it and ran.
Ace
Also, I’m assigning each of us alternative names, since it wouldn’t look good if our legitimate professional lives and our new role in [REDACTED]’s plans got mixed up. It’s only common sense.
Ace
This line is secure, but it’s best that we get these formalities ironed out early. Start as we intend to continue.
Ace
I’m sure you’re smart enough to infer who ‘the Big Mac’ is. Don’t make this awkward.
Princess Perfect
I want a new name. This one is weird. Makes me sound dumb.
The Weirdo
I, too, want a new name. Jesus, it’s like you never wanna eat candy again.
Curious, I tap out a simple ‘test’ and hit send, purely because I want to know what name Soph assigned me, but when my message populates amongst the others and my name is ‘death’, I roll my eyes and start typing again.
Death
Change my name, Ace. Immediately.
Princess Perfect
If she gets to change hers, I wanna change mine, too!
The weirdo
Immediately.
Ace
FFS. You people are impossible. This is hardly how a business relationship thrives.
Ace
Fine! Princess Perfect, you can be Michelle, since she’s dead anyway. The Weirdo, I dub thee Willy Wonka Whacky Weirdo.
Willy Wonka Whacky Weirdo
SOPHIA!
Ace
Fine. You can be Bree. Simple, classic, sensible. And Death, I’ll change you back to Chief. It’s on the nose, but it works. No one gets confused, no one bitches, and now it’s locked in. Zip it.
Michelle
Thank you
Bree
test
Bree
Yeah, thanks.
Chief
Thanks.
Chief
Why the group chat? Is this how “McDonalds” typically conducts business, or were you just looking for a new way to irritate me?
Ace
You know me; I like to keep the lines of communication open. And since he tossed us all in here together with no care for the fact that we rarely actually get along, I figure now’s a good time to try.
Ace
How are things over there in New York? Tense?
I finish on the toilet, wipe, stand, twist and flush, then I make my way to the vanity and wash my hands. Though the action feels a little superfluous, considering I pick up my phone again, which clearly hasn’t been washed with soap and water.
Chief
I don’t know, tbh. Archer and I fell into bed the instant we walked through the door last night. We left the others to talk amongst themselves, and your texts this morning woke me up. I suppose I’ll see what’s happening when I go down for breakfast.
Ace
Can’t call him Archer in this chat, doofus.
Ace
Motion to dub him PoPo-410, cause it rhymes, and I’m feeling fanciful this morning.
Michelle
Seconded.
Chief
Absolutely not.
Bree
Motion passed. There’s always room for being fanciful in this messy world.
Michelle
We can dub mine Four. He says that number so often, it’s burned into my brain. I swear, if this baby is a girl, we should name her Ivy. Like, IV. The Roman numerals I+V=4.
Michelle
You get it?
Michelle
Right?
Bree
That’s actually super cute!! I hope you go with that name.
Michelle
Wait… did you just accidentally confirm my baby is a girl???
Michelle
I wasn’t ready to know yet! Troy will be heartbroken!
Bree
Calm down, Princess Not-So-Perfect. I’ve confirmed nothing. IF she’s a girl, call her Ivy. If he’s a boy, name him Big Fat Whiny Head, Just Like His Daddy.
Bree
BFWHJLHD for short. Sounds kinda like Bwefald. It works.
Ace
Please don’t name my nephew Bwefald. I wouldn’t be able to take him seriously. Ever. And when he’s an adult, I might punch him in the face every single day until “Bwefald” becomes a normal name. Like, Beau or Barnaby or Buccaneer Bob.
Ace