14. I Would Rather Starve
CHAPTER 14
I WOULD RATHER STARVE
Archer
The din of cluttering utensils fills the silence in the dining room. For the past half hour, since I gave the order for Mary Jane to begin the meal service, no one has said a word. Even Gardenia, who is usually a chatterbox, has decided to keep quiet tonight. She chews her food carefully. She thinks I don’t notice how she exchanges glances with Jacob and Fisher, but I do. They’ve all taken to walking on eggshells around me.
I’ve become the elephant in the room in my own fucking house.
After several attempts throughout the day to get Paloma to join us for dinner, I couldn’t get her to agree. Short of dragging her downstairs—something I considered at least five times in the last hour—and plopping her on the empty chair to my right, I don’t know what else to do.
Her life at the mansion can be pleasant if she wants it to be. But she’s set on staying locked up in her room and avoiding all contact with me. At least she’s right on that bit. Staying away from each other is the best thing we can do. I lick my lips, then clench my jaw because I can’t taste her anymore. God, I want to bury my face in her pussy again and fuck her all night until my name is all she remembers. Until Hunter is completely erased from her mind.
She won’t wear my wedding ring either. She would rather keep his crystal swan by her side. It took all my self-control not to smash it against the wall when I saw it in her room. When I returned it to her on opening night, I did so thinking I would never see her again. I gave her back the Swan as a goodbye of sorts.
She thinks I regret saving her. I don’t. Not one bit. What I regret is that we’re not meant to be together. Our marriage was never the plan. She’s the Senator’s daughter, for crying out loud. Her father is a fucking murderer, my only enemy. And I just cannot get past that. Especially when I see her mind doing acrobatics, trying to justify his behavior. She blames me for that auction. And somehow doesn’t see that he’s the reason she’s here. Hell, he’s the reason I’m here, trapped in a hell of his making.
“These new potatoes are delicious, Mary Jane,” Gardenia says in her usual bubbly tone. She’s still not talking to me, but at least she’s no longer angry. “How do you get them so crispy?”
“Goose fat.” Mary Jane winks. “I’m glad you’re enjoying them.”
“Is she coming?” I interrupt their exchange, shooting a quick glance at the place setting to my right.
“Um.” Mary Jane looks down at her apron, then retrieves a letter. “She’s indisposed.”
“Let me see it.” I put down my fork and reach out to get the envelope from her.
Since she locked her door earlier today after our kiss, I decided to leave her a note to invite her, very politely, to join us for dinner.
I open the letter and read her message all in caps: I WOULD RATHER STARVE
“At least she’s consistent.” I stuff the letter in the inside pocket of my suit jacket. “Could you bring her a tray?” I say to Mary Jane.
“Of course, Mr. Archer. Right away.” She nods.
“And make sure she eats. Stay with her until she does.” I pick up my fork and knife and cut into the roasted goose.
“I will.” She smiles and disappears behind the service door.
“Okay, since she’s not coming.” Gardenia drinks from her wine. “Can we talk about our next mission.” She beams at Fisher. “You’re letting me come with you, right?”
Fisher looks at me. “If Archer doesn’t need you here, sure.”
She rolls her eyes. With a begrudging look, she turns to me. “Can I go?”
“I didn’t think you were ready to go back to London.” I sit back and sip from my wine glass. “Are you sure?”
“Wait. What?” She squints at her dad. “I thought we were moving on to the next thing. The Senator’s real estate business. That guy Hunter is running it. Poorly I might add.”
I swallow hard at the mention of that asshole’s name, shooting a glance toward the upstairs where I know Paloma keeps his fucking gift.
“For now, we need to take a break. If we deliver another blow, he’ll grow suspicious and will tread lightly with any new investments.” I place a bite of the goose in my mouth and chew slowly.
“Are you sure that’s it?” Gardenia cuts angrily into her potatoes. “Or are you growing soft because of her? Since she got here, you haven’t asked me about any of my research. Or progress on the mansion.”
“Gardenia,” Fisher says in a patient tone. “Archer knows what he’s doing.”
“Or he used to. When we first got here, everyday was spent on doing something to stick it to the Senator.” She points at me. “But now, he’s not doing anything. It’s like he doesn’t want revenge anymore. Jeez, I wonder why.”
At least she’s talking to me now. “How is the progress on the mansion?” I ask.
“It’s all yours, furniture and all.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Not that the Senator cares that much. He hasn’t been back since the auction.”
“It’s only been a few days,” Fisher says.
“Yes, but before, if he was in town, he would spend every night in that house.” Gardenia shrugs.
“It must be hard coming to an empty house like that.” Jacob finally speaks. He’s been oddly quiet and not teasing Gardenia as he likes to do.
“When will you tell her?” Fisher asks.
I know he means Paloma. When will I tell her that her childhood home is lost to her. “I haven’t decided yet. Does the Senator know?”
Gardenia smirks. “He knows. He took all the paintings though. Even the one of your grandparents.”
“We’ll deal with that later.” I nod. “For now, the top priority is bringing Mom home. She’s been gone a long time. It’s time we all stop running.”
“You don’t think it’s dangerous?” Fisher reaches across from him and takes another piece of bread. “The Senator might be down for now. But he still has powerful friends.”
“Not anymore, he doesn’t.” I press my lips together. “At this rate, we might not have to do much for him to lose the upcoming election.”
“We could let Page Six know about a certain auction he hosted. He’ll lose all credibility.” She beams before she drinks from her wine.
I would never put Paloma through something like that. It would kill her. “Like I said, we’re holding tight for now. Mom is the priority. I wish I could come with you.”
“Another thing we can thank her for.” Gardenia rolls her eyes.
“So that’s it, then? We’re going back to London?” Jacob asks, meeting Gardenia’s gaze.
“Yes.” I nod. “The sooner the better.”
“It will be good to go home for a bit.” Fisher smiles as he cuts the meat on his plate. “Freya misses you.”
“I miss her too,” I admit.
When I set out for New York, I convinced Mom to stay in the UK. I didn’t know what challenges we were going to face once my plan against the Senator was well on its way. Plus, I didn’t want her to see her old house in the condition I found it. But now that months of renovations are paying off, I think it will be good for her to finally come live with us.
I should be the one traveling to London to escort her back to the states. But the truth is, I don’t trust Paloma yet. Every time I think of leaving her, I can’t breathe.
“Then it’s settled.” Fisher dips his head toward me. “We’re going home this weekend.”
“How long are we staying for?” Gardenia asks.
“Just a few days.” Fisher winks. “Archer needs us here.”
I don’t miss the pity in his eyes. What does he think will happen if he leaves me here to fend for myself? That I’ll lock myself up in my room and self-destruct. Or worse, set the Senator’s home on fire. The thought crosses my mind every fucking day…to take the way he took from me. I resist the urge because Paloma doesn’t deserve to lose her childhood home.
After dinner, I return to the study. Fisher and Jacob join me for several rounds of whiskey. Normally Gardenia would join as well, but not tonight.
“Give her time.” Fisher guesses my thoughts as he places a glass in my hand. “She’s embarrassed.”
“I don’t know how I didn’t see it.” I sip the whiskey. “I’m deeply sorry for that. For not putting an end to a childish crush.”
“She’ll be fine.” Jacob refills my glass.
“I’ve been so focused on the Senator and now…” My gaze shifts toward the door, half expecting to see Paloma standing there. “And now I have a wife.”
“It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Fisher raises his tumbler and drinks.
The old man has been trying to convince me that sometimes the universe has a way of shoving down our throats things that are good for us but that we are too stubborn to accept. I believe we make our own destinies. Destiny has nothing to do with my marriage to Paloma. Sometimes, plans have to change to fit the situation. That’s what happened with Paloma. I adapted. Nothing more.
“I don’t think Paloma would agree with you on that one.” I gulp down more whiskey. “I don’t know if you notice, but she hates my guts.”
“Hmm,” Jacob mumbles. “Some women don’t take kindly to being saved.”
I chuckle. “Feeling poetic tonight?”
“Nah. Just wondering what makes woman want what they want.” He stares at his tumbler as if the answer is somewhere at the bottom of it.
It’s not. I should know.
I meet Fisher’s gaze, silently asking what’s going on with Jacob. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes, then mouths, “Another time.”
“Well, I’m drunk,” Jacob announces. “I’m going to bed.”
“Good night,” I raise my glass to him. “If you figure out why women want what they want, let me know.”
“I think they want love.” He sets his tumbler on the table.
“I should go too.” Fisher rises to his feet. “There’s no keeping up with either one of you when you decide you want to drink yourselves into a stupor.” He follows Jacob out the door.
“Alright, old man.” I chuckle, feeling the warm effects of the alcohol seep through my arms and legs.
As soon as I’m alone, my thoughts rush back to Paloma. Is she sleeping now? I check my watch. It’s past ten, which according to the Senator, is way past her bedtime. I shake my head. Who keeps a bedtime for their grown children? Yes, Paloma is dedicated to her work. But she can decide for herself when the fuck she goes to bed. And Hunter is no better, cutting into our dance because it was late.
Images of Hunter gripping her arm like she belongs to him flood my mind. I shoot to my feet and head for the bar cart. At least now she’s away from their grasp. She’s mine now. She’s safe with me. I pour two more fingers of whiskey and drink deeply from the glass.
In the back of my mind, all I see is Hunter’s crystal swan sitting proudly in Paloma’s room. Is she thinking of him right now? Is she crying in her sleep because she knows she’ll never see him again?
Jealousy rears its ugly head. I reach inside my pocket and stare at her neat writing. I’d rather starve… than spend any amount of time with you . I finish her sentiment in my head. I’m walking out the door and going up the stairs, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t interfere anymore. If she wants to keep her memento and think about Hunter, that’s her choice.
I put the key in the door and turn it quietly. Over the past week, I have become an expert at stealing a few moments with her every night. Precious air fills my lungs as soon as I enter her room. The French doors are closed, but I know they stay open most of the day. It’s why her room smells of fresh fir, burned wood, and her. To my right, the fireplace is still going, which makes the room warmer than it needs to be.
Touching my fingers to my lips, I stand by the foot of her bed and watch her sleep. Her night gown is hiked up to her waist and she’s kicked most of the covers off her. My palm itches to touch her skin and feel the strength of legs around my waist again. She’s delicate and strong.
My gaze flicks to her pillow where the swan shimmers, reflecting the firelight. I grip the footboard tight. She went to sleep thinking of him. I amble to her side and grab the crystal. For days, I’ve considered stealing it again. But I wanted her to at least have one thing from her past life. That was me trying to be benevolent for her, which is something I’m not. I drop the crystal in the pocket of my trousers and allow myself a single caress of her cheek.
I make to move away, but then she turns her face to meet my fingers, and I’m frozen in place. It would be so easy to climb in bed with her right now. To claim what’s rightfully mine. I wrack my brain for all reasons I’ve come up with as to why her and me can’t be.
My favorite one is where I pretend, I’m the hero, who saves her from her psychopath of a father, and her insipid boyfriend. On nights when I’m particularly hating myself, I’m the coward who’s too afraid of what will happen when she learns the truth. Once she finds out I’m the one who destroyed her father, she will hate me. She’ll hate me even more when she realizes she was the key to it all, that I used her to get to him.
I let my fingers hover over her cheek, down her neck, and stop at her pebbled nipple. I allow myself the slightest touch. She squirms as a quiet moan escapes her lips. “Yes,” she murmurs, bringing her legs together and turning away from me, so now I have a spectacular view of her shapely ass.
“Fuck.” I fist my hands and leave her room.
The next few days, I keep busy at work, helping Fisher prepare for their trip. He hasn’t decided after everything is set and done with the Senator if he’ll stay with us. I will miss the old man. But that’s a choice he must make for himself. As for Gardenia, she’ll follow him wherever he goes. I’ve gotten so used to having all of them close by.
The dinner invitations I now leave daily under Paloma’s door for breakfast, lunch, and dinner are piling up in my desk. Her response is always the same…. I would rather starve. All caps. Though Mary Jane informs me Paloma does eat.
She has even ventured out to eat breakfast in the kitchen, which is why I woke up at the crack of dawn today and cut my daily workout in half. Like an idiot, I’ve been pretending to drink water in the kitchen for the past half hour, waiting for her to show. I convince myself that it can’t hurt to see her for a few minutes.
I turn off the app on my watch and decide it’s time to head to the office, so Paloma can have the house to herself. I amble to the fridge and grab a protein shake to take to my room. When I close the door, she’s standing there. She’s as surprised to me see as I am to see her. Jesus, how long has it been since I’ve seen her face in the light of day.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Good morning.” She blushes as her gaze drops from my eyes down to my lips, then my bare chest.
“I was just leaving.” I stalk toward her. I could walk around her, or around the kitchen island, or move to let her pass, but then I would miss the opportunity to feel her body heat and to see her squirm the way she does in bed when she sleeps. She glances down and steps aside to let me through. Her fingers brush mine, and it takes all of my self-control not to bury my hand in her hair and force her into a kiss.
“Archer,” she calls after me when I reach the kitchen door.
“What’s with all the suitcases?” she asks.
“Fisher, Gardenia and Jacob are going away. They’re doing something for me,” I answer.
“You’re not going?” She leans on the counter.
I want to pick her up, sit her ass on the cold marble and…
“I mean.” The red on her cheeks travels down her neck. “If you’re not here, maybe I can go see Dad. He’s just a few miles down the road.”
“No,” I deadpan.
“Why not?” she fires back and the soft light in her eyes is gone. “It’s been weeks. He could be ill.”
“Right. His heart.” I run a hand through my hair as I step toward her. She backs away, putting the kitchen island between us. As if that could stop me from taking her if that’s what I wanted. “Don’t worry. He’s fine. Gambling once again in the city since his credit has been restored.”
“You’re lying.” She shakes her head.
“Believe as you wish.” I hesitate but then opt for the truth. “He’s living in the city because he lost the mansion.”
“What?” She gasps, placing a hand over her mouth. “But you paid to save him. How did he lose our home?”
“I don’t know.” I lie.
I gave him enough money to cover his debt with the mob and his campaign, but I made sure the house was fast tracked through foreclosure for tax evasion. Even if he had money to pay, I would not have sold it back to him.
“That’s impossible.” Tears brim her eyes. Seems every time I get near her, I find a way to make her cry. She wipes her cheek. “How can he owe money on it? It’s our home. That house has been in our family for generations. My great-grandparents built that house. All that artwork, it was curated by them.”
I know for a fact that’s a lie. My father was the one who lived in a house he inherited from his parents. My great-grandparents built this mansion. The Senator acquired a property in Bedford only after he killed Dad, and Mom and I had to go into hiding. The asshole not only took Dad’s money, but also his life’s backstory.
“The government doesn’t like it when you don’t pay your property taxes. The home was foreclosed last week.” I step toward her, longing to hold her in my arms and make her see that the Senator doesn’t deserve her tears. In the end, I simply say, “I’m sorry.” Then leave before I do something really stupid like kiss her again.
I rush upstairs to the third floor then slam the door to my suite. What did I think was going to happen when I told her my plans for revenge were going swimmingly? She doesn’t care what the Senator has done. She only cares about his suffering, not mine.
Still fuming, I kick off my running shoes and head for the shower. I still have a lot of work to do before Fisher leaves for London tonight.
I run the hot water and step under it, relaxing against the slight burn of the spray on my back. Her golden eyes immediately invade my mind. Once her essence surrounds me, there’s only one way forward. With a deep inhale, I reach down, grip my erection and pump a few times.
“Hmmm.” I let my favorite memory of her play on repeat. She’s in my hotel suite, looking up at me with pure lust in her beautiful eyes. “Fuck.” I bring my hand from the base up to the shaft.
And then, I lose myself in all the fantasies I’ve ever had of her. The taste of her pussy on my tongue, her thighs straddling me hard, her leaps and turns on stage while dressed as the black swan. I run my thumb over the tip of my cock and wipe the pre-cum off. I imagine her licking my fingers clean before taking my length into her pretty mouth.
“That’s right, Little Dove.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
The muscles on my back tense. I’m so close. But I slow down, refusing to let go of her just yet. I want her sucking me off like I’m the last man on earth. My breath puffs out in a ragged rhythm as I picture her velvet tongue around my shaft, begging for more.
It’s pathetic that I’ve resorted to these measures when the object of my desire is just one floor below me. But this is who I’ve become since Paloma waltzed into my life. I’ve become a desperate man, backed into a corner because I can’t free myself from my two obsessions. I want to let her go, but I can’t.
I can’t let her go. Just like I can’t stop what’s coming for her father.
“Yes.” Her small moans echo in the shower room.
I pump hard once, twice, my hand in tandem with my breathing, while I let the image of her take me the rest of the way. “Fuck.” I grit my teeth as I find my release. I come harder than other nights as my desire for her rushes like fire through my veins. My abs flex and tighten as my seed paints the bathroom tile with the angry ribbons shooting from my cock.
If she can have this effect on me when she’s not here, I don’t want to imagine what will happen if I ever drop my guard around her. God help me if I ever lose the battle with myself and surrender to my swan queen.