5. Piper
Piper
L ike Archie just sang, I also have a lot of fight left in me, but legally, I don’t have a leg to stand on. Archie hasn’t signed the house over to Malcolm, and Malcolm hasn’t signed it to Mom. It isn’t her house, which means I don’t have any right to be here.
The realization that he can absolutely make good on his threat to call the police—and he’s a big enough jerk to do it—blasts me with humiliation a thousand times hotter than the radiator in my old apartment.
“Fine. I’ll leave.” I’m shaky as I walk toward the foyer. “Once again, the whims of the Forsythes screw up everyone else’s lives.”
I’m almost to my suitcases when I hear his footsteps behind me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The defensiveness in his voice turns the heat coursing through me ice cold.
I’ve never been one to run from a fight.
Instinct kicks in and I whip around so fast that Archie steps back.
“The Butterfly Effect. Look it up. Or pay someone to do it for you. That’s how it usually works, right?
Pay someone to do the work, so you can stay in your privileged little bubble with no concept of how your actions have consequences. ”
Archie’s face turns a dark maroon, and I brace myself for his comeback. I was harsh. He deserves some of it, but Malcolm is the real target. Archie—intentionally or unintentionally—is just Malcolm’s shield.
To my surprise, Archie’s face softens. His eyes dart to the floor, where he searches for something. Maybe an escape hatch? If he finds one, I’ll follow. I’ve got nowhere else to go.
When he looks back at me, his jaw is tight, but there’s no fight left in him. “I’m sorry you got caught in this mix-up, Piper. I’m as much a victim of Dad’s whims as you are.” He shifts his weight uncomfortably. “I have some things to take care of before I can leave. Then I’ll sign the deed.”
I stare at him, wondering if there’s more. Wondering if he might tell me I can stay, at least for the night, until I work out something else for the next couple of weeks.
I can’t ask for it, though. I can’t be that pathetic.
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do you need help getting your bags to your car?”
The only answer I have is a slow blink. I’ve been up since the crack of dawn. I’ve had nothing to eat besides airplane snacks. I’m exhausted. I’m hangry. And I’m on the verge of losing the battle against the tears storming my eyes.
And I don’t have a car.
I push back the emotion and answer him in a tight voice. “I’m fine, thanks.”
I quick-walk to the suitcases I left in the entryway and grab their handles, expecting them to pop up. The smaller bag cooperates, but the handle of the bigger one stays down. The heavy bag tips, launching me forward before slipping from my hand and crashing to the floor.
My lighter suitcase escapes my grip at the same moment and rolls merrily away. At the same time, I step on my own skirt, bringing both of us down—me and my stupid elastic-waistband skirt. I land on all fours on a plush rug, my skirt mid-thigh.
Meanwhile, my second suitcase gains forward momentum. It skates across the slick wood floor with the speed of a hockey player going for a goal. Before I can pull myself or my skirt up, a shattering sound fills the foyer.
I yank my skirt back to my waist and slowly raise my eyes to the corner where I’d seen the little table with the delicate Murano vase when I walked in.
I’m glad I got a glimpse of it then, because now my suitcase looms triumphantly over the pieces.
I really, really hope it’s a fake. Now it’s even more broke than I am.
“Are you okay?” Archie takes my arm to help me up, but I shake him off and scramble to the vase, ignoring that he saw me in my panties during the brief seconds my skirt was down.
“I’m so sorry.” I pick up one of the bigger pieces, not noticing the crack in the middle until it breaks in half, both sides falling to the floor despite my attempts to catch them. They completely shatter.
I crouch in front of the mess, not sure what to do. The thin glass is so fragile, I don’t dare touch anymore.
“Can you get me a box or something to put the pieces in?” I let my hair curtain my face so Archie can’t see how close I am to tears.
He doesn’t answer, but a second later he crouches next to me and picks up a bright blue piece of the vase. After turning it over once, he tosses it to the floor where it shatters into even more pieces. “It’s fine. I’ll sweep it up later.”
I stare at the newly broken shards. “This is art, Archie. You don’t throw it away.”
“It’s just stuff, Piper. Don’t worry about it.” He brushes his hands on his shorts.
I turn my gaze to him, not moving from my crouched position. I shouldn’t be shocked. I’ve known the Forsythes long enough to understand how their wealth keeps them from really valuing anything. When you have as much money as they do, everything is replaceable. Including people.
Slowly I stand. “I’ll clean it up. Where’s your broom?”
Archie stares at me like he doesn’t understand what I’ve said.
I sigh and walk past him into the kitchen, straight to a door I’m guessing is the pantry. Sure enough, there’s a broom and dustpan right inside the door. I find a plastic bag under the sink, and go back to the entryway where Archie hasn’t moved.
I sweep up the vase, trying not to think about how much it cost. As I empty the dustpan into the plastic bag, the hallway light catches a piece and reflects a cerulean ray on the wall.
I am sick to my stomach about all of this—the house not being Mom’s, not having anywhere to go, breaking this beautiful vase, and Archie not caring about any of it.
I knot the bag and hand it to Archie. It kills me that something this beautiful is about to get thrown away, and I’m not going to be the person who does it. If the vase were mine, I’d make something out of the pieces—a mosaic or something. Maybe even jewelry.
“Thanks,” Archie mumbles. He tosses the bag to the bottom step before grabbing my luggage. “I’ll help you to your car.”
I stare at the bag of broken glass. At least the stairs are carpeted. Not that it matters if the vase gets any more broken before going in the trash.
I look back at Archie and find the only words he might understand. At least at a sentence level. He definitely won’t know what I mean in a real-life kind of way.
“I don’t have a car,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Oh.” He winces with surprise. “How’d you get here?”
“Well, I didn’t drive from New York.”
I shouldn’t be so irritated with him. I’m the one who broke an expensive piece of art after storming into a house that doesn’t belong to my mother. I should be grateful Archie cares even less about the vase than he does about me. But things are all messed up in my head.
Why didn’t Mom tell me things weren’t actually settled?
Why did Sybil send the information ahead of the actual settlement?
Where am I going to go?
“I can drive you.” He grabs my bigger suitcase and wheels it closer to my other bag.
“I’ll call an Uber.” I pull the smaller suitcase to my side before he can grab it.
“That will take forever this time of day. Just let me drive you.” He takes the suitcase handle again, his fingers wrapping around mine.
I tug it back.
Archie doesn’t give in so easily and pulls harder, his hand tighter around mine now.
I pull harder back.
This may be the first time we’ve ever touched, and that thought should not excite me. Neither should the angry flash of gold in his green eyes or our game of luggage tug-of-war.
I can’t take the emotional tug-of-war happening inside me and fueled by his touch. I hate him. I don’t care that his touch feels more protective than threatening. I need it to stop. I need him to stop.
“I don't have anywhere to go!” I yell.
Archie’s eyes widen, and he loosens his grip on the handle.
I yank it from him, open the front door long enough to roll the bag outside, then go back to take the larger one from him.
I don’t bother with the handle this time, just push it toward the door.
When Archie reaches out to help me, I stop him with a glare.
He steps back to let me by, and I slam the door shut behind me.
On the porch, I stare at the empty street in front of me and face the reality of my situation.
I really don’t have anywhere to go. Even if there was a hotel close enough for me to drag my luggage, I’ve got a grand total of one hundred dollars in my bank account until my internship starts.
Mom paid for my ticket here, but I told her I didn’t need any more help.
And now she’s unreachable in the middle of the ocean with the next guy who’s bound to eventually toss her aside.
I have a few friends in LA from before I moved to New York.
I could probably crash with one of them, but the thought of making those calls overwhelms me.
I’ve been out of touch with most of these people for years if you don’t count occasionally liking their Instagram posts. My day has been humiliating enough.
I squeeze my eyes shut, holding back the tears welling there.
But it’s not tears that wet my cheeks. The clouds open and a drop of rain hits me. Then another. And another. I turn my palm to the sky and let my eyes follow as the drops grow heavier. Perfect.
With a huff, I move back under the awning over the front door and take out my phone. I can’t call an Uber until I have a destination.
I try Mom, in case she still has reception. When she doesn’t answer, I send her a text instead. She’s always better about answering those, anyway.
SOS. Archie is still here. He says the house is his for another two weeks.
Despite the covered porch, a drop of rain finds its way to my glasses. I wipe it away, leaving a smudge behind, and lean my back against the door. When I look at my phone again, dots appear beneath my message. Then Mom’s answer.
Sybil said everything was settled. I’ll call her tomorrow morning. Grab a hotel for tonight. Joe says it’s on him.
Not a minute later, five hundred dollars appears in my Venmo. I sigh. This day is officially the most aggravating on record.
I don’t want to take money from Joe. I swore when I found out Malcolm cheated on Mom that I’d never take money from another man in her life, or mine. But what else can I do besides be grateful Mom had service and take the money?
Five minutes pass while I search for the cheapest hotel close to Valente headquarters. I can’t find anything for less than three hundred dollars a night, which means I can’t afford even two nights.
The door I’m braced against opens behind me and I stumble backwards with a squeak of alarm. Archie catches me. In the instant he rescues me, I’m so relieved I relax into his arms before he helps me stand upright again.
“Thanks,” I mutter, stepping back and straightening my skirt.
“You’re welcome,” he answers with a reluctant smile.
An awkward beat passes, and I let my eyes go to my phone, hoping a new, affordable hotel has miraculously appeared in the past thirty seconds.
“Your mom is giving you the house she’s getting in the settlement?” Archie asks, not unkindly.
A quick glance tells me he’s asking a serious question.
“No,” I scoff. “In my world, people don’t give each other twelve-million-dollar beach houses.” He winces, and I soften my tone to explain. He’s trying. I can try too. “Mom is letting me stay here while I intern at Valente.”
“Valente?”
I can’t tell if that’s doubt or respect I hear in his voice. Does he know who Valente is? Silly question. Of course he does. Archie’s in workout clothes, but they’re all name brands. He’s always worn designer everything.
A wet strand of hair falls across my face, and I push it away. “Yeah, Valente. I start Monday.”
“That’s a prestigious place to work. Didn’t you just graduate?”
“Yeah, a couple months ago. They recruited me.” I shrug like it’s not a big deal, but I love that he’s familiar enough with the brand to recognize what a big deal my internship actually is.
Archie huffs a laugh. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You always were into that stuff.”
I blink. “I’m surprised you remember the stuff I was into. I thought the only thing you noticed about me was that I annoyed you.”
Archie chews the corner of his lip. That was his signature move on “Surf City High.” Girls loved it, but it’s just hit me that maybe he wasn’t doing it for the camera. It’s part of who he is.
“Come in.” He nods toward the door, then opens it wider. “You can stay here tonight.”
I look between him and the rain. I can’t decide which is worse: staying in a hotel I can’t afford or taking Archie’s offer. Both will get me out of the rain and give me a place to sleep, but both come with a high price tag.
“Piper, come on. You said you don’t have anywhere else to go.
” The impatience in his voice sends needles up my spine.
It’s the same one he used with me the—thankfully—few times we were forced to spend time together as a “family.” It reminds me that even when he’s being nice, he’s still Archie Forsythe.
My pride kicks back in—I am all over the place. “Anywhere is better than staying here with you.”
Archie sighs. “That may be true, but I reckon you don’t have a lot of options, since you’ve said as much. Come back inside. I think we’ve both had a long day.”
His voice is actually gentle. I’m wet, hungry, and tired. Plus, it’s late.
I give up the fight, drop my phone in my purse, and force out a polite, “Thank you,” as I go back out for my wet suitcases.
I roll them inside in front of me, and Archie takes the oversized one. “Sorry, I wasn’t all warm and fuzzy. Been a bit of a train wreck of a week, and I’m running low on charm.”
His apology lowers the temperature between us. For someone who’s been raised to believe the world revolves around him, acknowledging he’s been rude is a pretty big deal. And, as much as I hate to admit it, the idea of staying makes me want to cry with gratitude.
Tomorrow, after I’ve had a good night’s sleep, I can figure out where to stay until the house is officially Mom’s. Maybe a single room Airbnb, or maybe I’ll be up to calling those friends I haven’t seen in four years and beg a favor. I’m so tired.
The idealist in me wants to believe Archie is being sincere and wants to help. I’ve seen it in him before, once or twice. But my realist self suspects that trusting him will only lead to getting hurt, so I best not forget who he is, even when he’s on his better behavior.
“Thank you,” I say flatly, mistrustingly. I feel like I need to hide my gratitude, but I am really grateful not to have to leave. Yet.
“You’re welcome,” he says equally flatly, keeping me in my place, I suspect.
I take a breath and remind myself that even though he’s come to my rescue this one time, I’m as disposable as everything else in Archie’s life.
I won’t forget it.