Maybe he doesn’t despise me after all? But if not, then why is he so cold?
We left the George shortly after that and I haven’t brought it up since. Mind you, I haven’t had four glasses of champagne plus a French 75 since either.
We’ve fallen into a routine very different from the one Jared and I had. Archie insists on following me absolutely everywhere, including on my morning runs. Back in my school days, I was a cross-country champion.
Archie is one of the few people who can keep up with me. And more to the point, he makes it look effortless.
I throw on a pair of black Nike compression tights, a black sports bra, and tie my hair up in a tight ponytail. My morning run used to be my alone time. Time to think, process, and reflect. For the past couple of days, the only thing I can think about is the magnificent man who runs beside me.
It grates on me that he doesn’t joke with me like he used to. That he doesn’t even pretend to want to be my friend. I understand he has a job to do, but I wish he could do it with a fraction of the warmth he used to express when I was a teenager.
The only time he opens up slightly is when we’re running. Which means I’ve been running every day. Using the time for my own personal mission to get Archie to lower his guard around me again. The more resilient he is, the more determined I am.
Why can’t he be my bodyguard and the guy I used to consider a friend?
Though friends aren’t supposed to imagine each other naked, I’ve been doing a hell of a lot of that the past few days.
Sharing a house with him is a brutal form of torture. That damned aftershave wafts through every room, stirring up old longings and new hopes. Ridiculous hopes, given he can barely look at me.
I have a lot less freedom.
But would I have Jared back now?
Not a chance.
Even the moodier, more serious version of the carefree man I used to know rouses an appeal so addictive I’ll pound the pavement from here to Glasgow if it means he might open up to me.
This morning, Archie beats me to the kitchen. A grey running vest hugs his torso. Smooth, sculpted pecs poke from beneath the thin cotton. Black running shorts showcase that perfectly toned backside.
He glances up as I enter the room before quickly reverting his attention to his coffee.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. ‘You up for fourteen miles this morning?’
A half-smile tugs at his lips, and I get a flash of the old Archie. ‘I’m up for however far you can go.’
‘Careful, Archie, that almost sounded like you were flirting with me.’ I bang the fridge door closed but it does nothing to ease my growing frustration.
‘I meant on the roads, Victoria.’ The frown is back, but it looks as if it’s taking every facial muscle to keep it there.
We step out into the chilly morning, using the front wall as a prop to stretch our hamstrings before taking off.
We cut up the Royal Mile, past the castle, and loop back through the old town. It’s one of the most scenic routes in the city, even if it does mean negotiating the traffic.
Archie’s by my side every single step of the way. We run the first three miles in silence.
‘Do you miss Dublin?’ I ask as we bump elbows for the hundredth time.
He inhales before blowing out a long, slow breath. ‘I miss Huxley Castle. My cabin. Ryan. And I miss the kids.’
My head whips to look at him and I nearly collide with a woman furiously stomping towards us. ‘You miss the twins?Myniece and nephew?’ I didn’t have him pegged as the sentimental type.
That rare smile flashes across his face again, revealing strong white teeth. The front tooth slightly overlaps another on the lower arch, a perfect imperfection. ‘Yeah, they’re so cute and cool. Like, how could they not be?’
‘You’re kidding, right? Blake’s the devil himself in the body of a four-year-old and Bella is a bigger diva than Mariah,’ I scoff.
Archie sniggers. ‘They’re not that bad.’
‘Huh! Last time I was home, Blake put twenty bugs from the garden in my bed and Bella used my Charlotte Tilbury lipstick to draw on not only her face but the freshly painted wall of my bedroom.’
