Chapter 25 London #6
Tears well in my eyes and I'm grateful that we're in the shower and I can easily disguise them. I sit here, allowing Archer to continue to do with me as he pleases, my throat aching to say my safe word, finally hitting the limits of what I'm capable of taking.
He washes my hair, this time because he wants to, not out of obligation like in the past. Archer lathers up a washcloth, cleaning every inch of my body, being extra gentle in all the sore spots.
He kisses me and for a split second, I enjoy how he's pampering me, each time reminding myself that it can't continue, that it won't last—I can't let it.
Once he's done, Archer showers quickly, and I watch him, admiring every inked spot on his body.
I hadn't noticed that his back was covered in a giant skull surrounded by roses.
It's sort of poetically beautiful, in a cynical kind of way, but I can't help but wonder how painful it was, and what provoked him to get it.
Or all his tattoos, for that matter. It takes a special sort of dedication to get one tattoo, let alone as many that could cover most of your skin.
His body is a stunning canvas I want nothing but to explore, one night not long enough to navigate every inch of him.
Archer rinses himself and shuts the water off, stepping outside of the shower to retrieve a towel.
He comes back, dabbing my damp skin and wrapping it around my body, not a word spoken between us, and still so much being said.
He secures one around his waist before scooping me into his arms and setting me on the bathroom counter.
Archer brushes my hair, and even goes as far as to apply lotion to my body, and the special one I use for my face.
He hands me my toothbrush and pops his into his mouth, both of us brushing our teeth together, the thought of doing this forever crossing my mind.
I hop off the counter to finish brushing my teeth, my legs a bit wobbly underneath me. I ignore the pain in my ankle at not being completely healed just yet, the cast borderline taken off prematurely but not something I'd ever admit out loud.
"I can walk," I tell Archer as he comes toward me, no doubt to pick me up again.
He narrows his gaze at me. "Let me take care of you."
"I am," I admit. "But I can walk. It isn't far." The truth is that I'm not sure how much more I can stand to be in his arms if it won't last another night.
But maybe it could. Maybe I could find a way to make it all make sense.
Maybe I could explain to him that my father was a disturbed man, and I tried, I really tried to save her, the love of Archer's life.
I know damn well that's not the truth, though—I could have tried harder.
I could have done something, anything, to save her, even if it meant dying alongside her.
That's what should have happened. I shouldn't have bargained for my life, I should have bled out at the hands of Ricardo Gardella—only if I did, I wouldn't have been able to help Cora, and if I didn't help Cora, then my father might still be alive, his torturous reign needing to have come to an end.
"What's on your mind?" Archer tells me as he pulls back the comforter on his bed and fluffs my pillow for me.
"Nothing," I lie, climbing into the spot he makes for me. "You're staying, right?" I blink up at him, unsure of the words that come out of my mouth.
"Do you want me to?" He covers me up, his dark eyes meeting mine.
"More than you know."
"Okay." Archer turns off the light in his room before coming back. "Scoot over. I want to be closer to the door."
I fight the urge to smile at him and comply, barely giving him space and settling into his warm body once he's positioned himself horizontally. My head fits perfectly on his chest and only adds to the struggle I'm facing at not wanting to let him go.
At least for tonight, maybe I won't have to.
Archer lets out a sigh, holding me to him and kissing my forehead. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm okay," I breathe into him. "Right now, I'm perfect."
"I was rough with you."
"I liked it." I kiss his bare chest. "I promise."
Archer keeps me close to him, his arms tightly around me, all night, occasionally pressing his lips to my face and head throughout the night. I doze in and out, never quite able to fall completely asleep, not wanting to miss the chance of enjoying what I have while it's right here.
Hours pass and I drift into a nightmare, jarring myself awake abruptly.
"Shh." Archer rubs circles on my back. "You're safe. I'm here," he murmurs, lulling me to sleep.
I wake sometime later, a vibration on the nightstand disturbing us both.
Archer kisses me and reaches blindly, his hand hitting the tabletop a few times until he locates the source of the ringing. "It's Ivy," he says, his voice jagged. "I should answer this, she doesn't often call this early."
My eyes adjust to see the time, two after six in the morning. I could use a few or thirty more hours of cuddling Archer.
"Hello?" he says into the receiver.
"Check your email." Ivy is clear and straight to the point.
"What?" Archer clears his throat and sits up, reaching to cover my shoulder with the blanket.
"I said check your email. Right now. It's urgent." Ivy pauses and adds. "I'll stay on the line."
Archer sighs dramatically. "Can't this wait?"
"No."
He grunts and shimmies out of bed, going over to his dresser to pull out a pair of boxers, sliding into them sloppily, almost falling over as he keeps the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. "This better be good, Ivy."
I can’t make out what she says, not from my spot in bed. My heart races at what could have prompted her to demand this from Archer, none of it any of my business.
Archer slips out of the room, and I follow his footsteps quietly across the hall until I lose them near his desk. He types onto his keyboard and lowers himself into his chair, a sound I've gotten familiar with in the course of my time here with him.
Curiosity consuming me, I slip out of bed, too, and throw one of his shirts over my head, tiptoeing out, not trying to distract him from his family matters.
But when I settle on Archer's figure, he's tense, tenser than he ever has been, his phone held tightly in his grip.
I go behind him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and glancing at the screen, my pulse pounding wildly in my ears, threatening to give out completely, my arms going slack as they untangle from around him.
My picture. My face. My driver’s license from California.
My real name glaring back at me.
London Gardella.
My birth certificate loaded next to it, Ricardo Gardella's name listed as my father’s.
"Ivy," Archer says cooly. "I'm going to need to call you back." He drops the phone onto his desk, his chest heaving.
"I—I can explain."
Archer whips his head toward me. "What do you mean, you can explain?"
"I mean, I only just found out. Not that long ago.
I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you.
" But that's a lie, because if I was going to confess, I could have done it a million times over by now.
No, I was being a selfish asshole and keeping this secret to myself.
It's my fault he's staring at me the way he is right now, like I'm a fucking stranger to him, someone that he didn't just share an epic night with.
Archer lowers his head into his hands, rubbing his temples. "I don't understand. You're Ricardo Gardella's daughter?"
"Not by choice," I blurt out, tears streaming down my cheeks. "I hate him, as much as you hate him, especially for what he did to Madison."
Archer's eyes dart up to meet mine. "You knew about this?"
My mouth falls open, unable to find the words to make this right.
"You fucking knew about this?" Archer rises to his feet, and for the first time since I've known him, he holds all the cards to hurt me, to really fucking hurt me.
And the sad thing about it is that I wouldn't blame him, not one bit.
His nostrils flare and I sense the end before it even happens. "Get the fuck out."
"Archer, please…let me explain."
His hand balls into a fist and he looks at me like he's never looked at me—like he hates me, but not in a cute and annoying way, like he truly wouldn't be bothered whether I lived or died.
"Get the fuck out of my apartment right now before either one of us does anything they regret."
"Please," I protest, my voice smaller than it's ever been. In all the times I begged my father for my life, I've never been this desperate. I reach for Archer, but he yanks himself away.
"Get the fuck out of my apartment, London." His jaw tenses as if he's choosing his next words carefully. "I never want to see you again."
My heart rips in two, both from having something so wonderful and losing it, and from knowing there's not a single thing I could do to ever fix this. A sad reality that I'm going to have to learn how to face, even if it takes me forever.