When I wake up the next morning, Archie is still asleep next to me. He’s curled toward me, one hand tucked under his cheek, the other resting on my hip. His lips are slightly parted. He looks younger like this. More vulnerable.
I watch him breathe for longer than I’d ever admit to before I finally wrench myself away.
I find my clothes and head to the kitchen. One of Archie’s crutches is propped by the bedroom door. The other is still by the front entrance where he left it yesterday. He’s been favoring a single crutch for short distances over the past few days, which means he’s been hopping around the apartment with one hand free, making coffee, reaching for things. Getting stronger.
His ankle is healing. The cast will come off. And then there’s no broken bone keeping me here. Just a broken truth I still haven’t told him.
What will Archie say if he finds out that I intentionally injured him, thinking he was Vaughn? I should tell him. Every day that passes without the truth makes it worse.
But every day I spend with him makes it harder to risk losing this.
Elizabeth is seated at the kitchen table, teacup in hand, watching me approach with an expression I can’t quite read.
Shit. I hope we weren’t too loud last night. I wasn’t exactly focused on monitoring the noise level. I sheepishly run a hand across my stubble.
“Is Archibald still asleep?” Elizabeth asks.
“Yeah, he’s dead to the world.”
“Good. He needs the rest.” She gestures to the chair across from her. “Sit. I’ll make you tea.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I’m making you tea, Leo.”
It’s not a question, so I sit.
She bustles around the kitchen, a woman who’s used to being in charge of any space she occupies. She sets a cup in front of me and reclaims her seat.
I take a sip of my tea and almost spit it back out. Why do the British enjoy this so much?
“I guess this is my chance to ask you about your intentions with my godson,” Elizabeth says.
Now I wish I’d taken longer savoring my mouthful of tea, so I have an excuse not to answer her. Because what the hell do I say to that?
“My intention is to be the best boyfriend I can be,” I say carefully.
Elizabeth’s unimpressed look doesn’t flicker.
“Do you understand how truly unique Archibald’s mind is?”
Oh, trust me, I completely understand the uniqueness of Archie’s mind. Even before my discovery last night, I knew I’d never met anyone like Archie.
“Of course I do,” I say. “But it’s not just his mind that is unique.”
She narrows her gaze. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s his personality too, his sense of humor, his kindness. He’s unique in so many ways, and he’s so much more than just his intellect.”
The crease lines in Elizabeth’s forehead smooth out. “You’re right. He is. I’m glad you see that.”
“Of course I see that.”
“Good.” She takes a sip of her tea. “He needs someone who sees the real him, not just the performance.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that.
But something about the way she saysperformancesnags at me. She’s not just talking about Archie being guarded. Her words indicate that there’s a specific reason he learned to hide.
