Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Leo
There are certain moments in life when a man should take stock of how he got here.
Sitting in the back of a Toyota Prius in a unicorn onesie, the light-up horn on my head flashing, I get the feeling right now should be one of those moments.
Archie is beside me, reviewing his party notes with the focus of a general planning a campaign. He’s got an actual clipboard, with a checklist, and he’s tapping his pen against it in a rhythm that suggests he’s mentally choreographing my humiliation down to the half-minute.
I should be thinking about the party and whatever fresh indignity awaits me ahead.
Instead, I’m thinking about the shower.
Not the part where I stood fully clothed under running water. That part, I can file away under necessary emergency response and move on.
It’s the part after. The part where my fingers were in his hair, the bathroom went quiet, and I heard my own breathing change and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
I’m still thinking about it when my phone buzzes. It’s Andrew.
Are you sure everything’s okay?
Shit.
I’ve been dodging Andrew’s calls for the past week. Apparently, he hasn’t been reassured by my curt text replies.
I guess I should be flattered that Andrew cares enough that he’s managed to drag himself away from the love-nest reunion activities between him and Justin to check in with me.
I glance sideways at Archie, who’s still reviewing his party notes.
Yes, everything is fine.
Okay, maybe fine is overstating things. I’m currently a grown man dressed in a unicorn onesie. There is no scenario where this would be completely fine.
But before Andrew can inquire further, I send off my own question.
How are things with Justin?
Andrew’s reply comes back a minute later.
Things with Justin are more than fine.
I’m glad everything worked out.
Me too. Anyway, are you going to tell me the details of what happened at the hospital?
“So today we have the Ashworth-Pembertons,” Archie says cheerfully. “Old money. Like, their ancestors probably had opinions about the Magna Carta.”
I type one-handed while Archie continues his briefing about the family.
I’ll fill you in next time I see you.
Because how would I even begin? Hey, Andrew, remember how your revenge plan went sideways? Well, mine did too, and now I’m dressed as a unicorn and spending time with the wrong Mansley, and I washed his hair in the shower, and for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about it.
I push that thought away as we pull up to a home that makes the word house feel deeply inadequate. It’s the kind of property that has a name rather than an address, where stone lions guard the entrance.
Archie swings himself out on his crutches, then waits while I load myself up like a pack mule with all the gear from the trunk.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. You’re still my glittery, four-legged, whimsical escort.” Archie smiles beatifically as we start up the stone steps toward the entrance, his crutches clicking against the flagstones. I follow behind, weighed down by sparkly bags containing props and magical supplies.
A woman with a clipboard and a headset opens the front door. Apparently, this is the kind of party that has staff.
“Captain Giggles! You’re right on schedule.” She ticks something on her clipboard, then glances at me. “And you must be”—she consults her notes—“Sparkle McHornface?”
I have been added to an official document. My humiliation is now a matter of record.
“That’s me,” I reply grimly.
“Wonderful. The performance space is through the orangery and past the indoor fountain. Follow me.”
I adjust my grip on the sequined bags and remind myself that I’m doing this because I broke a man’s ankle with maple syrup. I have no right to complain.
When we reach the performance space, the children are already assembled, waiting for us.
“Hello, everyone!” Archie’s performer voice really is something to behold. It fills the space without seeming loud, commanding attention. “Who’s ready for the most spectacular, most amazing, most magical party of all time?”
The children scream their enthusiasm.
Archie launches into his routine, and I do my part: hand him props, make the required ridiculous noises, accept being the butt of every running joke. It’s starting to become familiar territory, which is its own quiet indignity.
Then, Archie claps his hands. “Now, for our next activity, we’re going to do face painting! And guess who’s going to be our demonstration model?”
The children all point at me.
“That’s right! Sparkle is going to let me paint his face so you can all see how it’s done!”
I open my mouth to protest, but Archie is already beckoning me over to his chair with one finger. The gesture is almost flirtatious.
“Come here, Sparkle. Don’t be shy.”
I approach him because I don’t have a choice. Because forty-one children are watching, and I agreed to this, and now I have to see it through.
Archie pats the small stool beside his chair. “Sit.”
I sit.
We’re close now. I can smell his shampoo, citrus and almond, a scent I’m intimately acquainted with, having rinsed it out of his hair. His knee brushes against mine as he adjusts his position, and the contact is like a small electric shock.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, and his voice is different now. Lower. Meant just for me.
The brush touches my cheek. His free hand comes up to steady my jaw, fingers warm against my skin.
And just like that, I’m back in the bathroom. My hands in his hair. The steam. The quiet. The way my body reacted to the presence of Archie Mansley naked.
My whole body tenses.
“You’re very tense,” he says quietly. “Relax.”
I can’t relax. Because his fingers are on my jaw, and the last time he was this close, I was washing shampoo out of his hair while trying not to think about the fact that there was nothing between us except a washcloth and my rapidly evaporating self-control.
“Hard to relax when I don’t know what you’re painting on my face,” I manage to say.
“Don’t you trust me?”
The question lands differently than he probably intends. Or maybe exactly as he intends. With Archie, I’m no longer sure.
“Should I?”
His lips twitch. “Probably not.”
The brush moves across my skin in strokes I can’t interpret. I have no idea what’s taking shape. A rainbow? A butterfly? Something obscene? With Archie, it could be anything.
The children watch in rapt silence. Archie narrates as he works, explaining techniques and color choices, but his eyes keep flicking to mine. Checking my reaction. Enjoying my discomfort.
“And there we are!” He sits back with a flourish. “Perfect!”
One of the parents holds up their phone to show me my face.
I have a full cat face. Whiskers. A pink nose. Fuzzy ears painted around my actual ears.
I stare at my cat face on the phone screen. I’m a cat dressed as a unicorn.
It’s about as ridiculous as it sounds.
“You’re a unicorn-cat!” a little girl shrieks with joy. “A unicat!”
“A unicat!” the other children echo, delighted by this linguistic innovation.
“Sparkle’s secret identity,” Archie explains solemnly. “Sometimes unicorns need to go undercover. This is his disguise.”
“This is a terrible disguise,” I say.
“That’s what makes it so convincing. No one would believe a unicorn would choose to look like this. It’s reverse psychology.”
I stare at him.
He stares back, utterly unrepentant.
Something clicks into place. A pattern I should have seen earlier.
The unicorn onesie that just happened to be the most humiliating option possible. The dancing. The cat face.
None of this is random. None of this has ever been random.
He’s fucking with me. I’ve suspected it for a while, but it’s worse than I thought.
Because he’s fucking with me in this wide-eyed, long-lashed way that makes him look like an evil thought has never crossed his brain.
The kids line up for their turn for face painting, and I watch him interact with the children, all warmth and sunshine and enthusiasm.
He’s crouched over a small girl’s face, painting a butterfly and murmuring instructions to hold still in a voice so gentle it’s hard to reconcile with the man who spends so much time orchestrating my public humiliation.
Everyone loves Captain Giggles. Everyone trusts him. How could you not? He’s so open, so genuine, so transparently delightful.
Except.
Except I’ve seen the books under his desk. The observation skills he tries to hide. The way he deflects every question about his past with a joke and a subject change.
He knew exactly how uncomfortable I would be retrieving items from his nightstand drawer. And he enjoyed it.
He’s…toying with me. There is no other word for it.
In hindsight, Archie’s been setting me up for his amusement from the very start, then sitting back to watch the show.
He’s such a bundle of sunshine that no one would suspect a dubious thought to ever cross his mind.
But the thing is, this is a familiar pattern for me.
Because isn’t this exactly what happened with Vaughn? He sensed my weakness, the fact that I was out of my comfort zone, lonely in a new job, and then pretended to be my friend so he could exploit me as part of his own game.
It turns out Archie is just another Mansley, pretending to be something he’s not.
I’ve been here before, got the T-shirt.
The party continues and Archie continues to shine. He charms a skeptical toddler into giggles with nothing but a funny face and a silly voice. He turns a tantrum into a teachable moment so smoothly that the parents look at each other in amazement.
He’s brilliant at this. Genuinely brilliant.
And I get the feeling that Archie Mansley’s smarts don’t just stop at his job as a children’s entertainer, and he’s currently directing all of that intelligence into working out the optimum ways to humiliate me.
But even as I think that, I remember the shower. The way his voice broke when he said thank you with no punchline attached. The way he looked at me after, like he’d accidentally shown me something he hadn’t meant to.
Was that part of the game too?
I don’t know. And that’s what’s making this dangerous. Because with Vaughn, I never doubted him. I trusted him completely and got burned. With Archie, I’ve spotted the manipulation, but I can also see the moments where it has stopped and something else has come through.
Maybe it’s time to play him at his own game. And find out which version of Archie Mansley is actually real.