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Willow
After one of the craziest nights of my life, I feel content to just sit here watching basketball highlights with Archer and Alice. She and I had a much-needed heart to heart last night, and to my surprise, most of her displeasure stems from a very unhappy marriage and had little to do with my relationship with her son. Once I got those shots down her throat, Alice opened up like a church door on Sunday. She told me how she made an elaborate plan to set her son on the right path, but once she met me, it only made her take a hard look at what her own mother did to her. The arrangement wasn’t that far from the arrangement Archer and I made, but I was sober enough to keep that shit on lockdown. It’s sad, though. I think she could be happy if she would just cross that line with her husband. I gave drunken advice I really hope she takes. Maybe it’ll change things for the better.
“LeBron is the fucking man. You see that sweet dunk?”
“You follow basketball?” Archer asks, looking at me like I grew an extra head…which my hair might actually look like this morning with the pounds of hairspray I used last night.
“Yeah. Duh,” I answer and grab his coffee cup before he drinks from it.
“That’s black, no sugar,” he warns a little too late, and I spit it out all over the coffee table. I assume this would upset him, but he bursts out laughing as I wipe my dripping chin.
I love this side of him. The one that lets go and doesn’t bother to put on the show he thinks everyone expects of him, and I laugh too. A knock on the door pulls our attention back to Alice, who scurries over to answer it, wearing just an old blue t-shirt of her son’s and his baggy sweatpants, her hair flawless and makeup still professionally intact. When I hear a man’s voice, I bite my nails. Those two need to get laid, and I’m hoping maybe seeing his wife look so different will make Arthur more interested. When silence follows for a minute too long, I look to Archer, who looks just as curious. More time passes, and I’m the opposite of a patient person, so I hop up to look, and when I reach the door, I find the two mauling each other like teenagers. She must have taken that advice after all, and I smile to myself as I retreat back to the living room.
“What’s going on?” My super-hot and super off-limits fiancé asks as I realize my new friend is already getting more action in her arranged marriage than I am. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for her. Arthur needs to fuck the bitch out of her, and they’ll both be a lot happier, but that only makes me want to touch Archer even more. But I can’t.
“Your parents are making out in your entryway,” I say casually, turning up the volume on the TV.
“The fuck?” Archie says, reeling back in shock.
“Your parents need to fuck each other. Hopefully not in your entryway, but who knows.” I shrug and cheer on the Lakers. I can feel his eyes burning the side of my face, but I keep my focus on the screen so I don’t do anything stupid.
“Come away with me?” he asks out of the blue.
“What? Where?”
“I have business in Rio. The client is a personal friend of mine. You don’t have to come, but I would like you to.”
My curiosity grows at his statement.
“You want me to go to Rio with you?”
“What if you didn’t have to pretend? If you and I were away from all the drama and responsibilities, we could just get to know each other. The real us.”
What is happening right now?
“Say the word, and we won’t go. Or you could get up, walk to the closet right now, and pack a bag for a weeklong vacation,” he says and starts walking to the bedroom we’re still sharing.
I don’t wait. I jump up and follow him, a giddy bubble of hope filling my belly. The thought of being on an island alone with Archer also has me turned on. I’m talking about volcanic feelings in my nether region. I pad down the hallway after that rock-hard ass of his until we reach his giant walk-in closet. He pulls out two small suitcases and hands me one, with mischief in his sinful eyes.
“Here, pack at least one dress you want to wear to a business brunch, or I’ll be forced to take you shopping and spoil you. I think we both know how much you’d love that,” he winks.
“Hardy har har funny guy. I can and will buy my own shit, thank you very much. You’ve already gone overboard in this closet.”
We span out across the small space, making quick time of packing. Pulling out the sunglasses drawer, I grab a couple of pairs for each of us. His personal shopper filled half this space with items for me, despite my protesting. Putting up any kind of fight is the furthest thing from my mind as I grab the designer swimsuits and underwear, matching sets in every color imaginable. We hear a door shut and assume his parents have left.
When I’ve filled my suitcase, his phone rings.
“You here?”—Is all he says when he answers. “Is the jet ready?”
I continue to follow him to the front door. He holds it open for me, and I smile at him as I pass, unable to contain my excitement.
The driver is waiting for us in the garage, and we drive out to a private airstrip and board his private plane. The last hour has been a whirlwind. How did we go from good morning to here? The ease and luxury remind me of taking trips with my parents, but this time I’m excited to go, which is the opposite feeling my parents invoke. I’m anxious to spend time alone with the disarming billionaire, but he is indeed the exact kind of man my mother would have handpicked for me, and I’m the opposite of what Archer’s mother wants for him. I can’t help but feel a twinge of insecurity at the thought. Alice and I may have had a moment, but at the beginning of every day, she still wakes up Alice, the socialite, and I’m just Willow, the wild mistake her son is making. I’ll never be good enough for the future king of Alexander Industries. Part of me fears that’s the only reason Archie wants me. That it has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with sticking it to those who are trying to tell him what to do.
I take a seat in the white leather recliner near the window, and Archer takes the seat in front of me.
“Would you like anything? It’s going to be a while before we land, and I couldn’t get a server last minute, but I can make you a cocktail or grab you a beer. I know it’s all over the top and not your style, but I can’t exactly fly commercial.”
“Why, because you’re so famous?” I ask with a smirk.
