I hold his hand firmly. “No more pretending.”
His smile becomes a little more brilliant, though still fragile. Does he think I’m going to back out at the last second? I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I’ve been a coward. Why should he believe I’m going to go through with telling everyone? I squeeze his hand. I will go through with it. I’m not going to back out. I’m not going to be a coward.
We reach the door. I take a deep breath. Archer unlocks it and lets us in. The villa is quiet. Neither Dad nor Molly is in sight. I slump my shoulders.
“Huh. I guess they’re still asleep.” Archer stifles a yawn. “It must be earlier than I thought.”
“Did you sleep?” I ask.
“On and off. Coffee?”
I nod.
He tugs his hand. I refuse to let go.
He laughs. “I can’t make coffee one-handed.”
“Sorry.”
He kisses me and slips his hand out of mine. This time, I let him. I sit at the table while he makes coffee. The bitter scent fills the open-plan room. My stomach grumbles, reminding me how long it’s been since I ate anything substantial. I gather bread, butter, cheese, and fruit and put them on the table.
“Morning. I didn’t hear you boys come home last night. I’d love a cup of coffee if there’s enough spare,” Molly says.
“Morning.” Archer gets a third mug out of the cupboard, fills it, and carries all three to the table. Is that a trick he learnt working behind a bar? He sits beside me. Close yet distant.
“Where’s Dad?” My knee bounces beneath the table. My nerves are fraying.
“Showering. He’ll be out soon. Did you come home last night?” Molly cradles a cup of coffee and looks at us in turn, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.
We’re wearing last night’s clothes and smell of the club. Surely she doesn’t need to ask us that?
“No,” Archer replies matter-of-factly.
“You met up on your way here?” Molly’s tone is uncertain.
Archer glances at me.
I curl my hand into a fist and press it against my knee to stop it from jiggling up and down. “No.”
Molly frowns. “Was it one of those clubs that stays open until dawn?”
“I don’t know. We left before it closed.” I will do this. I will. I need to find the right words. It would be easier if Dad were here too. Then I’d only have to say it once. Where is he?
His whistle precedes him.
My knee goes crazy, along with my pulse. My throat becomes dry.
He wanders out of the corridor leading to the bedroom. “Ah, coffee. Is there some left for me?”
“There should be. If not, I can make some more,” Archer says.
“They stayed out all night,” Molly says.
Dad pours himself a mug of coffee. “I hope you were careful and took precautions with whichever men you slept with.”
“Was it the man who wrote his number on your arm?” Molly gestures to Archer.
His cheeks blaze pink, and he rubs his hand over the phone number. It doesn’t smudge, let alone come off. “I didn’t sleep with anyone.”
