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I slide my legs into a pair of black workout leggings and adjust the band, making sure it lies flat and comfortably around my waist. Next, I pull on a sports bra and the matching long-sleeve workout top. I didn’t bring too many of my exercise jackets from my apartment. I hadn’t really thought about packing much outside of outfits for brunches and events and fancy things. But I did bring one of my favorites. I pull it on, leaving it unzipped until I get outside.
I rush through pulling my hair into a tight ponytail, slicking back any of the red flyaway strands before I grab my tennis shoes and head downstairs.
It’s quiet in the house. So quiet I wonder if Archer is even home. I’d rushed away from him so fast last night we didn’t even talk about the plans for the day. Typically, I receive a text from my father’s assistant with my plans for the day. There’s always some luncheon, some ribbon cutting, or something for me to attend.
I haven’t received any news of today, and I’m wondering if my marriage to Archer gets me out of some of the obligations typically given to me.
Or maybe he’s still so angry with me that he doesn’t even want to see me.
And maybe I’m just going to have to live with that.
It feels weird to have a day wide open—at least for now. It’s possible Archer will show up and tell me all the things I have to do, but for now, as I creep down the stairs and look for any trace of anyone else being home, I don’t have a single obligation.
It feels almost…liberating.
It’s eerily quiet in this big house all alone. Everything seems so neat and perfect. It was this time yesterday the living room was filled with people and cameras, all eager to know how Archer and I fell in love.
Today, it just feels empty and lonely. I open thefridge to grab a water bottle, wondering if it always felt like this for Archer, too. He made it seem like he didn’t always stay here. It wouldn’t shock me if he was married to his work and not here much at all.
Unscrewing the cap from the lid, I take a drink of the water as my eyes trace over his living space. The decorators did a great job, although there are a few things I would’ve done differently if it was me who was doing the interior design. No matter if my vision would’ve been different or not, I feel a tinge of sadness in my chest of how empty it must’ve been before he hired them.
For a minute, I wonder if I should go upstairs and grab my phone so I can listen to music, but I decide against it. Today, it’ll just be me, my thoughts, and the sounds of the city. Which sounds perfect. My eyes dance around the clean kitchen as I wonder if I should leave Archer some sort of note on where I am, but I decide although he’s my husband, he isn’t my keeper. I’m allowed to come and go as I please without having to tell him.
I head to the front door, caught up in the excitement of getting lost in the business of New York when I collide with a hot, chiseled body.
“Fuck,” Archer snaps, his large hands grabbing my shoulders as if to make sure he doesn’t take me down in the collision.
“Sorry,” I mutter, steadying myself by pressing my hands to his hard, sweaty chest.
My eyes go wide, realizing exactly what I’m doing. I quickly pull my hands free, tucking them into the pockets of my jacket as I try not to think about how hard and defined his abs were under my touch.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Archer demands, pulling headphones from his ears. His eyebrows bunch together on his forehead in a scowl.
No wonder he didn’t hear me before running right into me; he was listening to music at full blast.
My lips twitch with the start of a smile. “Are you listening to Taylor Swift?”
“Are you leaving without telling me where you’re going?” hefires back, completely ignoring my question. He twists the wire of his headphones around his finger, watching me closely with his face pinched together in annoyance.
I won’t let him off that easily. “I didn’t pin you for a secret Swiftie,” I tease.
He frowns. I try not to focus on the sweat running down his neck. It’s October and chilly outside. Why is he so hot and sweaty? And why can’t I look away?
“She makes great music,” he continues, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his brow. “Now, tell me where you think you’re going.” His voice is rough and demanding, and if any other person talked to me like that, it might rub me the wrong way. I’ve been bossed around my entire life; I don’t need someone else to answer to. But I swear there’s almost an undertone of worry in his question, and it makes my body break out in shivers.
“I’m going for a walk. Or maybe a run. I haven’t decided. Either way, I didn’t know I had to tell you every single one of my movements.”
He takes a step closer. The music gets louder with his proximity. I think he might be listening to a Taylor Swift playlist because a new song has begun, one from a completely different album than the one that was playing when he first walked in. “Two days ago, your ex-boyfriend was threatening to sabotage your image out of pure hatred for your family. He had so much hate for them that no amount of money would have him handing that video over. You can’t just walk through the city alone.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s Blake. He’s obviously an asshole, but he isn’t going to physically hurt me, Archer.”
“You don’t know that.” His voice cracks slightly at the end. There it is again, a little glimpse that makes me wonder if he is, in fact, worried about me.
“Okay,master,” I tease, drawing out the word dramatically. “I’m going for a walk. I don’t think my crazy ex-situationship is going to find me all the way out here. He always hated Central Park.”
Archer’s abs tighten as he pulls a deep breath in. “I’m coming with you.”
A weird sound comes from my throat. Something between a gasp and a yelp. My eyes roam over his body. It’s very obvious that he’s already worked out.Too obvious. God, he’s really hiding a lot of sharp lines and defined muscles underneath those fancy suits. I can’t look away. “It looks like you’ve already, uh…”
