Phoebe
WeleftArcher’sparents’house with less fanfare than when we’d arrived, his father having taken his leave from us as we stood there stunned by his revelation. The man confessed to selling Archer into an arranged marriage to clear his debts and he walked away without so much as a goodbye after dropping that bomb. His mother was conspicuously absent when we took our leave as well.
God, I’m not sure whether I hope she heard what her husband said about having had so many mistresses or whether I hope she missed that part. She seemed remorseful when she realized Archer sincerely had no interest in marrying Annabelle, and I could see the sparkle in her eyes when she was looking at the picture of Lincoln. Other than her rather unflattering assessment of me, she didn’t seem like anentirelyterrible person. Is she still pretty awful? Yes. But she’s not wholly unredeemable.
Archer hasn’t said a word since we got back into the vehicle. He simply started driving in the opposite direction of either of our homes. If memory serves, he’s driving toward the lake where many of the more affluent families in Westborough have summer homes, or in my friends Denise and Ryder’s case, their year-round home away from the bustle of the city. I wonder who Archer knows out this way.
“So...” I drawl, letting the word hang in the air. I was expecting this to be an uncomfortable excursion, but not for this reason. I was worried he wouldn’t convince me of his innocence and I’d have to forget about any romantic future with him because of that. I never thought I’d be forced to let him go for anything like this, though. The weight on my chest hurts makes it hard to breathe. Watching him marry someone else to get his family out of trouble is going to hurt more than if he’d been a lying scumbag. I can hate a scumbag. Ican’thate a man for wanting to help his family. “That was... interesting.”
He snorts but continues looking straight ahead, showing no other sign he heard me.
“Your mom seemed to like Lincoln’s hair,” I lie. “It is pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. At least I’ve had a lot of experience with taming mine, so when he’s a teenager I’ll have lots of tips if he wants to make it do anything other than sit in a puff on top of his head. These curls are no joke.”
He laughs a little louder this time, the corner of his lip turning up ever so slightly. I take it as a hint to continue.
“I think she likes me,” I say, plastering a huge grin on my face, ignoring the tears welling in my eyes. “At least, I think she could like me if she gave me a shot. She seemed like she wanted to see more of Lincoln, anyway.”
Archer sighs. “My mom’s never been the best at expressing herself. When I was really little, she was a decent mom, but when the company started making money, she changed. She started focusing on what other people would think at the expense of everything else. But when she was looking at this picture of Lincoln, for one quick moment, I thought I could see a little of that old spark in her eyes.” He shrugs. “But maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part. I want her to love Lincoln. I want her to light up when she sees him. I want her to be more like... more like MaeLynn.”
I nod even though he’s looking at the road ahead, because I don’t want to interrupt his train of thought.
“Did I tell you that my mom and MaeLynn used to be best friends? But my mom broke it off shortly after MaeLynn started working as my dad’s assistant. I always thought it was because she got so full of herself that she could no longer stand to associate with ‘the help’. It was like she thought MaeLynn wasn’t good enough for her anymore, but I’m beginning to think it was something else.”
He sinks back into himself and we’re silent until he turns into the lake community about twenty minutes later. He takes the road to the private residence section of the lake and soon he’s turning into a brick driveway blocked by a huge black gate. Whoever this is has better taste than Archer’s parents. That golden gate back at their house rivaled the golden fountain for the title of most garish yard decor.
“Let’s hope this still works,” he mumbles as he leans out of the window and punches a series of numbers into a box beside the gate. The doors swing open as he sits back in his seat. “Well, looks like it’s my lucky day. They haven’t bothered to change it.”
“Where are we?” I ask, finally giving in to my curiosity.
He opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, I see a somewhat familiar blonde standing next to a man struggling to load a giant suitcase into the back of a tiny little sports car and I have my answer. “This is where Annabelle lives.”
Archer pulls the car up behind her and jumps out, walking around to my side and opening the door. He reaches his hand out and I take it. I don’t know what we’re here for, but the way he’s acting toward me doesn’t make me think of a clandestine affair. It’s like he’s claiming me right in front of her. Not that I would have agreed to be a mistress, but it’s nice to know that even though he’s stuck in this crappy situation, he’s still considerate of my feelings.
My chest hurts thinking about how much I’ll miss him.
“Mason?”
Archer’s voice drags me from my private pity party. I look up to see him staring at the dark-haired man holding the end of the enormous trunk that’s resting on the back end of the sports car. Annabelle looks between the two men, the appreciation obvious on her face as she watches when Mason sets the trunk on the ground. He clears the distance to Archer and reaches out for a handshake.
“Hey, man. What…what are you doing out here?” He doesn’t look guilty, exactly, but he looks a little uncomfortable.
Archer’s mouth is hanging open as his head swivels between Mason and Annabelle before his face settles into a bemused expression. “I was coming to introduce Phoebe to Annabelle and explain why I can’t marry her like our fathers have arranged. This is Phoebe. Phoebe, this is my friend, Mason.” Mason nods, like he’s heard all about this before. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, about that. I’m helping Annabelle with something before her parents get home.”
I peek at Annabelle and find her looking at me with curiosity. She gives me a small, sad smile before joining Archer and Mason.
“Mason is driving me to rehab, Archer.”
My breath leaves me in a rush. If she’s going to rehab, then does that mean... does that mean Archer will want her back after all?
“You don’t even like Annabelle,” Archer spits at Mason, the anger plain on his face. “Why would you be driving her anywhere?”
Mason scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that.”
Annabelle stomps her foot and huffs. “That’s not important, Archer. I assume you’re here because of the wedding? Well, I’m calling it off. I don’t care what my father says, I’m not marrying you.” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved to hear it from her mouth and not just Archer’s.
Archer throws his hands up. “Iknow that,” he yells. “That’s whatI’mhere to tellyou. I had no idea you were planning a wedding until I heard you were out shopping for wedding crap today. You have no idea how much trouble that’s caused me.”
