46. Chapter 46
forty-six
Skye
“Jesus H. Christ,” Jake mutters next to me, tugging at his bow tie like it’s cutting off his airflow. “This shit is the literal worst.”
Our families arrived together, handing our cars off to the valet before Jake and I trailed behind our parents into the country club.
“At least none of your ribs are being crushed by a corset top that’s cinched within an inch of its life,” I grumble, smoothing my hands over the front of my dress. It’s silk. White. If it weren’t for the pale pink flowers scattered across the fabric, it would look suspiciously like a wedding gown.
Jake lets out a short laugh. “We are really bad at this.”
The banquet hall is already packed, people in glittering gowns and tailored tuxedos balancing champagne flutes and whiskey glasses. Classical music floats through the air, delicate and composed.
Everything is immaculate.
White tablecloths, polished silverware, towering floral arrangements. Servers glide between tables with trays of champagne and bite-sized hors d’oeuvres, and everyone here is either somebody important or hoping desperately to become one.
Archer spots us almost immediately. He’s standing near the stage, flanked by Wilder, his dad, and an older man I don’t recognize. All four of them are dressed in sharp black tuxedos. Archer smiles and crosses the room toward me.
“Skye,” he says, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to my cheek. “You look… god, you look incredible.”
Then he turns on the charm for the parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, Mr. and Mrs. Davis. I’m so glad you’re here.”
He guides the six of us to a large round table near the stage, front and center, where his mom is already deep in conversation with a few women. Mrs. Davis jumps right in, while Jake drops into his seat, looking only marginally less uncomfortable than I feel.
I’ve never loved gatherings like this. The politics, the forced small talk, the conversations that somehow manage to be both boring and exhausting.
Everything about it feels unnatural, almost painful.
No wonder, considering my get-up. I feel like a living doll in my heels, this gown I already cannot wait to get out of, the updo that gave me a surprise facelift, and enough makeup to confuse my phone’s facial recognition.
It’s like I’m playing a role for the benefit of everyone else. But I know it’s a role I agreed to, and I’m committed to the act for as long as it takes, because I know what’s at stake if I stop playing my part.
Luckily, dinner arrives quickly, and it passes in a blur. Course after course. I smile, nod, eat—not too much because my dress is already so tight—and sip my water, all while fantasizing about being curled up on a couch somewhere else entirely. With someone else entirely.
Eventually, the clinking of silverware fades as Mr. Longfellow rises from his seat. The room stills almost immediately.
“Friends, colleagues, honored guests,” he begins, his voice calm and commanding. “It’s not often we find ourselves surrounded by those who understand the weight of public service, the importance of character, of justice, of legacy.”
He pauses, scanning the room with a polished look that lands just long enough on each donor and dignitary to feel personal.
“Which is why I’m honored to share tonight that I am officially launching my campaign for Attorney General.”
Applause erupts, like this announcement is the most incredible surprise ever. It wasn’t. Everyone in attendance here tonight knew what this was going to be about.
“My platform,” he continues, “will be built on three simple pillars: integrity, accountability, and community. I believe in a Minnesota where justice is not just a system, but a promise. Where every child, woman, and man feels safe, where every voice is heard, and where public servants answer to the people they serve.”
Mr. Longfellow launches into a well-practiced campaign speech I have no doubt I’ll hear replayed ad nauseam over the next fifteen months. My attention drifts for a minute. Maybe several. Before I realize it, Mr. Longfellow walks around the table. He stops behind Archer, seated right next to me.
“And now,” Mr. Longfellow says, resting a large hand on Archer’s shoulder, “I’d like to pass the mic, figuratively and literally, to someone I believe in deeply. A young man who represents everything I hope this next generation of leadership will embody. My youngest son, Archer.”
Archer stands, buttoning his tuxedo jacket as the room refocuses.
He shifts toward me, and my stomach twists. I glance at Jake. He’s most definitely not smiling.
“Well,” Archer chuckles into the microphone, drawing a ripple of laughter from the crowd, “I didn’t think I’d be nervous, but here we are. Looking at you helps, Skye.”
He reaches for my hand, and I let him pull me to my feet. My heart is racing in my chest. Or maybe it stopped. I can’t tell which. Either way, it doesn’t feel good. But I don’t let my discomfort show. I know how important appearances are, especially tonight.
“Skye,” Archer continues, “I think the stars aligned the day I asked you out and you said yes.”
I think back to high school and Jake’s party. To Archer telling me I was going with him. Not asking. My smile remains frozen in place.
“The last few years with you have been incredible,” he says. “You’re beautiful, smart, determined, a little stubborn, sometimes whiny.” People chuckle. I wince.
“But perfect for me,” he continues. “You support me. You encourage me. You strengthen me. You’re everything a man could hope for in a partner.”
Soft sighs ripple through the room.
“I want to build a life with you,” he goes on. “I want to come home to you, raise children with you, protect you, provide for you, make sure you never have to worry about anything. I want to give you everything, Skye.”
My stomach churns. I want to kick off my heels, grab my dress, and run. Instead, I stand there, paralyzed by the weight of expectation and consequence.
Archer lowers the microphone into his left hand and reaches into his pocket with the right. Then he drops to one knee.
Oh, god. No.
Gasps echo around the room, but all I hear is my heart pounding in my chest. Archer opens a small black box, revealing a diamond so bright it almost hurts to look at.
“Skye,” he says, looking up at me, “will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Time stops.
Boston.
His hands on my body. His mouth on my lips. His voice in my ear. My heart in his hands.
What do I do?
I should be happy. This is what girls dream about, isn’t it?
The perfect man, the perfect ring, the perfect setting.
I’ve been with Archer for years. We’ve survived high school, long-distance, political campaigns, family holidays.
People look at us and see a polished future.
There’s comfort in that kind of expectation, in knowing what your life is supposed to look like.
But the truth is I don’t love him. Not anymore.
Not after New York, and his hand on my throat, and the way he speaks to me.
Has always spoken to me. And maybe I never did love him.
Maybe what I thought was love was just youth, immaturity, infatuation.
The thrill of being chosen by someone like Archer.
Maybe it was always about being seen, being wanted, being good enough for a family like his.
But I’m not that girl anymore. I don’t want to be that girl anymore.
Still, I can’t say no. Not now. Not in front of hundreds of people. Not with the press watching, not after Mr. Longfellow’s big announcement. Not when the deal I made is the only thing keeping Boston from losing his family all over again.
I knew what it would cost me. And I chose it anyway.
But, oh god, Boston.
Even thinking his name feels like a betrayal.
I can’t breathe.
“Skye?” Archer says quietly, his smile beginning to fade from his lips with my silence. I’m the fucking worst.
The room waits.
Hundreds of eyes.
Cameras.
Archer.
And somewhere, Boston—shaking his head, jaw set, telling me I don’t have to do this.
And I do it anyway.
I force the word out of my mouth.
“Yes.”
I don’t have to do anything else. Cheering and clapping crash over us like a Poseidon wave, drowning me. Archer jumps up and slips the ring onto my left ring finger. He pulls me against his solid body, takes my face into his hands, and kisses me deeply.
Oh my god.
I’m engaged to Archer Longfellow.