by Sandy Barker
Winter Wonderland was “going off” as the Aussies would say, with thousands of fair-goers milling about the stalls, and the carnival rides blinking garish coloured lights and blaring tinny renditions of famous pop songs from the 80s. Archer had won her a particularly tacky stuffed reindeer with his shooting skills, something he credited to his time playing a sharpshooter in a gritty American Gulf War drama. The reindeer was perched in front of Chloe on her carousel horse; she’d named it Dexter, like Matt’s dog back home in Melbourne.
Eventually, the horses slowed, as did the carousel itself, and a booming voice asked them to exit on the left. Chloe wondered how there could be a “left” when they were on a giant circle, but she climbed off her horse and with Dexter under her arm, followed the others, including Archer.
Back on the thoroughfare, she noticed that the sun was nowhere to be seen and the milky light of twilight coloured the sky with a pale-yellow merging into a paler pink.
She stopped walking and grinned at Archer. “That was fun. I can’t remember the last time I went on a merry-go-round.” She earned a kiss for her enthusiasm and he slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close as they started walking again.
“Would you like to head back to the hotel now?” he asked, almost having to shout. Screams punctuated the air above them, and Chloe looked up to see a whirligig of a contraption, with people being flung from here to there in an instant. It looked like a blast.
Chloe tore her eyes away and looked up at Archer. Another ride, or more time alone with him? Maybe they could climb into that giant tub together? It was an easy answer. “Let’s go back,” she said.
“Oh, my god, are you Archer Tate?!”
The question came from a group of five young women, although Chloe would have been hard-pressed to identify which one had said it. They all looked at him expectantly, with varying degrees of “gobsmackedness”.
“Uh, yes, hello.” Archer nodded and smiled politely. Chloe watched, mesmerised, as he posed for photos, signed random pieces of paper, fielded inane questions, and let them fawn over him. He was so amenable that the entire encounter was wrapped up in a handful of minutes. It was another taste of what life was like with someone as famous as Archer. Although, this was far more pleasant than being ambushed by his ex or being photographed kissing.
“You are very gracious,” she said when they were on their way again and out of earshot of the giggling gaggle.
“It’s part of the job—be kind, say hello, take some pictures. I’d rather be like that than the brooding, surly film star.”
“Sure, but I thought you didn’t want to be recognised today.” Before leaving the hotel, they had donned what Archer called “light disguises”. They both wore baseball caps, the peaks pulled low, and Archer wore a pair of thick-rimmed prop glasses.
“True, but …” He sighed, his shoulders raising in a shrug.
Chloe finished the thought. “A disguise only goes so far.”
“Exactly. It will work on most people and, honestly, in London, you can hardly swing a dead cat without seeing someone famous, so a lot of people are blasé if they notice me. But, unless I want to spend hours in the makeup chair before I pop down to Tesco for milk, it’s just part and parcel really.”
“Mmm, I get it.” Intellectually, she did, in any case. It was still a lot to comprehend, his level of fame and how it affected his everyday life, how it might affect her everyday life. But there was something else. “You know, all that aside …” He glanced at her inquisitively. “I’ve worked with quite a few celebrities, and the way you were with those girls … well, you’re more gracious than most.”
“Honestly—and I truly believe this—if it weren’t for the people who buy tickets to my films or my plays, I wouldn’t be ‘Archer Tate’. I wouldn’t have this incredible career, so when I meet them, they deserve my kindness.”
“You enjoy that aspect of your fame, then?” she asked, somewhat perplexed.
“Being mobbed in public?” She looked up to see that he was joking.
“Well, when you put it like that …”
“I enjoy meeting people who like my work. Some fans, probably that group of girls, can be a little fixated on who they think Archer Tate is, as opposed to liking me, or my performances, but, as I said, it’s part and parcel, isn’t it?”
“I honestly wouldn’t know.”
He gave a grunt of a laugh. “Quite right, but what I mean is, I consider it a privilege to do what I love for a living, so the aspects of my job that I don’t particularly enjoy—the intrusions on my privacy, especially—they are the price to pay. Sometimes, I wish I could do what Harry and Meghan did; although, their spotlight is far brighter than mine. I mean, I’ve only been noticed what, a handful of times since we got here? They couldn’t even come here.”
“Sorry, do you mean Prince Harry and his wife, Meghan?”
“The Duke and Duchess of Sussex, yes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So, do you know them, or just know of them?”
“Harry and I are quite good friends, actually. After I shot Fallen Soldier, I got involved in the Invictus Games Foundation—I’m a patron—and he and I hit it off. He’s a brilliant bloke, great sense of humour, and Meghan is a truly gorgeous person. I felt terrible for them with everything they went through, all that scrutiny and mistreatment. Sadly, I haven’t seen them in forever, not since they moved to America. Ironic, really, since much of my work’s there.”
Chloe, faced with another facet of Archer’s surreal life, shook her head. She could barely wrap her brain around how much her life would change if she and Archer became a proper couple.
Just as they got to the exit of the fair, Archer asked, “Shall I telephone for the car?” Chloe, preoccupied, nodded her reply, her mind going a million miles an hour as she contemplated becoming besties with Meghan Markle. Jules and Lucy would understand, right?
She was called back to reality when Archer pocketed the phone, then grabbed both her hands and pulled her close. With her head tipped towards his, it struck her yet again how very tall he was. “Now, Ms Sims, what would you like to do for dinner?”
He released her hands as she wrapped her arms about his waist. His hands traced her back over the bulky borrowed coat she was wearing, coming to rest on her waist. “Can we just order room service?” He pulled her towards him and kissed her softly.
“Yes, lovely, we can absolutely order room service.”
She beamed. “You know, I’m pretty sure that we’ll both fit in the tub.”
“Is that so?”
“It is so.”
His phone must have vibrated because he took it out of his pocket. “The car has arrived.” He lifted his eyes and scanned the road outside the fair. “I think I see it. This way.” Archer took her hand again and Chloe let herself be led through the milling crowd.
*
“You were right, Ms Sims, we do fit.”
“I think you will find that I am often right.” He chuckled, and Chloe felt the reverberation of his voice pulse against her bare back.
They were ensconced in the giant bathtub, Chloe cocooned between Archer’s legs, his limbs encircling her. They had said very little since climbing into the bath, and Chloe was content to luxuriate in the feel of his body against hers, ignoring the niggling thought that out there in London somewhere was an ex with a grudge.
“What’s this?” Two fingertips trailed over a small scar running along the back of her left wrist.
“Oh, that’s what happens when you let your best friend talk you into going horse riding on holiday.”
“You fell.” It was statement rather than a question.
“I did. We were in Mexico—me, Jules, and Lucy on one of our May Ladies holidays—and Jules talked us into riding horses on the beach. For her, it’s like riding a bike. For me and Lucy, not so much.” His fingertips traced her arm and brushed the side of her breast. His soft lips found just the right spot behind her ear and she closed her eyes, bre
athing in deeply.
“So, what happened?” he murmured his mouth against her skin.
The memory replayed in her head in record time. She had been given the tallest horse, a behemoth of terrifying equineness, and when a quad bike rode by, her horse had shied, and she had landed with a plop on the wet sand. She’d flown home early from that holiday to have orthopaedic hand surgery. It had been a lengthy and painful recovery and Jules still apologised on occasion.
But Chloe had no intention of going into all of that now. “Like you said, I fell.” His hands were cupping her breasts, stroking gently, while his mouth continued its magic caresses on her neck. She could hardly breathe with the anticipation of him.
“Archer …” She turned to kiss him, their mouths meeting with the urgency. Water slopped over the side of the bath and somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Chloe thought of the clean-up—again.
When Archer groaned, Chloe thought it was with pleasure, but he pulled away from her. “What?” she asked, breathless.
“We ordered room service for seven-thirty. It’s seven twenty-seven.” He must have been eyeing the clock over her shoulder.
“Room service is never on time.” She captured his lower lip between her teeth. “Oh.” It occurred to her where they were. “The Four Seasons.”
“Precisely.”
“Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.”
He laughed. “I told you it was a good swear word.”
She shook her head and sniggered, then reluctantly climbed out of the tub. When she’d patted herself dry, she wrapped the fluffy bath sheet around her and, as if on cue, the suite’s doorbell rang. “Shall I get that?” she asked.
“Would you mind?” Archer stood in the bath, the water sluicing from his lean frame, and she handed him a towel.
“I do not mind.”
“Perhaps exchange that for a robe, though.”
She dropped her chin and looked at the towel, which on her small frame looked as though she was wrapped in a blanket. “Sure,” she said humouring him. Sliding into the robe, she let her eyes rove over Archer’s glorious nakedness while he dried himself off.
The doorbell rang again, and Chloe pulled herself away from her handsome, naked lover. She rushed the length of the suite and flung open the door, first taking in the white-linen-clad trolley covered in silver cloches, then the uniformed porter who was wearing a somewhat mortified expression, and then the harried looking woman standing behind him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Chloe said.
“Is he here? I want to see him. Archer!” Madison craned her neck to see into the room. “Aren’t you ever dressed?” she spat at Chloe.
Chloe, perplexed by this bizarre scene, had no time to form a response before feeling Archer’s arm wrap protectively around her shoulder. She looked between him and Madison—both glowering—then clocked the porter’s expression.
You couldn’t write this shit, she thought before snapping into action.
“Right, could you bring that inside, please?” Chloe said to the porter. The poor man looked so relieved to have an instruction that he wasted no time before complying. Chloe squeezed Archer’s hand on her shoulder, then stepped aside, making room for the trolley. The porter didn’t unload it or even wait for a tip before he hastily retreated.
“Now,” said Chloe to Madison, “you, go wait downstairs in the bar next to the lobby.” Madison’s eyes widened and Chloe could feel the outrage seeping from the other woman’s pores. She started to say something, but Chloe cut her off. “Go.” Then she slammed the door.
Only then did Chloe look at Archer, suddenly sheepish. He blinked a couple of times, scowled, and shook his head as if to dislodge some awful thought. “I’ve overstepped,” she said simply, her stomach clenching as she waited for his face to settle into a single expression. This could be the end of whatever it was they were doing together.
“No.”
A single, simple word, yet it meant everything and Chloe let her breath escape.
He stepped closer, taking both her hands in his. “No, you didn’t overstep. You’ve no need to apologise. I do, however.”
“Wha—”
“Please …” His eyes dropped from hers to the floor and he scowled again. “I should have dealt with Madison before we left for the day, as soon as I found out she’d been here. I put you in the firing line this evening—again—simply to avoid an unpleasant task, and I am so very, very sorry.”
Chloe pulled her hands free of Archer’s and reached up to encircle his neck. “An unpleasant task? Really? You English truly are the masters of understatement.”
He gave a wry laugh, finally meeting her eyes. “You’re being too good to me, lightening the mood.” She shook her head. “You are.” He regarded her intensely for a moment. “You’re incredible, do you know that?” Chloe shrugged in mock modesty, trying to lighten the mood again. “I mean it. You’re authentic, you’re brave—so brave. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone speak to Madison like that. I certainly never did.” Chloe bit her lip, false modesty replaced with its true version.
Archer sighed. “How about this? I’ll get dressed and go and talk to Madison. I’ll be firm and clear, something I obviously wasn’t before, and then I’ll take you somewhere for dinner, somewhere quiet where we won’t be bothered. Can I do that? Can I make it up to you?”
She nodded. He leant down and kissed her softly, then rested his forehead against hers. “You are a wonder, Chloe Sims. Oh, my heart.” With those last words, Chloe felt hers burst in her chest, flooding her with something she hadn’t felt in, well, ever.
Was she falling in love?
*
Thirty-two minutes seemed to take an awfully long time to tick over, especially when you were waiting for your lover to tell his ex that it was finally, truly, and completely over.
Chloe could either fret and obsess and imagine the worst—a passionate Archer-Madison reunion in the lobby bar of a five-star hotel—or get dressed for dinner.
Her insides in upheaval, she dried off her damp hair, carefully applied a smoky eye and nude lip, slipped on her dark-wash skinny jeans and a low-cut black jumper that nipped in at her waist, and stepped into her ankle boots.
She looked incredible, but she felt like crap. How had she let herself develop such strong feelings for Archer? When had that happened? It wasn’t that she was anti-love or anything. She hadn’t had some excruciating breakup in her past to turn her sour on love and her parents were still (reasonably) happily married. She just hadn’t prioritised it. She had a good job, even if she was starting to think about her next career move, she had her close friends, she had a life. She didn’t need love.
But did she want it? And if she did, what would she need to give up to have it?
“Besides, who falls in love in less than a week?” she scoffed at herself.
It reminded her of those Christmassy romcoms that Lucy liked so much, where entire relationships unfolded in a matter of days. Truthfully, Chloe also liked The Holiday, but as sexy as Jude Law was, his character came as a package deal with two children and Natalie had to give up her mansion in Beverly Hills. Chloe had secretly crushed on Miles, Jack Black’s character. He seemed like a lot of fun and he was so thoughtful and romantic.
Romance! Ah-hah! A clue. Chloe’s thoughts rocketed back to the village Christmas Fair and the Capels. Every exchange she’d had with them, every time she’d thought of them since the day she and Archer had rescued Mrs Capel, she’d been practically obsessed with …
With what?
She lost the trajectory of her thought and, stumped, poked about in the corners of her mind.
With love, Chloe, you twit. Despite the unkind tone of her inner voice, she agreed with it. She’d been obsessed with love—the Capels’s love, for sure, but also her own. The love she felt for Archer, feeling protective of him, that she was completely herself when she was with him, that she had started imagining how their lives could fit together, that she felt love
d by him.
When she heard the key card activate the door to the suite, she had one thought. I’ll know for sure when I see him.
He opened the door and looked straight at her, his eyes swarming with emotions—relief, resolve, joy and, yes, there it was, love. Well, that’s my answer. Chloe leapt up and threw her arms around his neck. He clasped her tightly to him and they held each other for what seemed like minutes. When she felt his arms ease, she stepped back a little and looked up at him.
A frown clouded his beautiful features. “I worried you,” he said softly.
“No.” She shook her head to reassure him, but her eyes welled up, betraying her innermost thoughts. Deep down, she must have worried that Archer would reconcile with Madison.
“I have. I’m so sorry, Chloe …” Her tears turned into sobs as relief coursed through her and in a heartbeat, she was in his arms again, his hands cradling her gently as he made soothing sounds.
Eventually, her sobs subsided, and she pressed away from him. Why on earth had she chosen to go with a smoky eye? She must look like a panda. Embarrassed, she dropped her head and wiped her tears with her hands. “Hey …” His fingertips found her chin and lifted it, but she didn’t want to meet his eyes. He dipped his head to place a soft kiss on her lips, somehow not caring that she was a blubbering mess.
Chloe chewed on her bottom lip. Usually sure of the protocol for handling any disaster, she was at a loss in this one. “I must look a mess,” she said with a half-laugh. Perhaps self-deprecation was the right way to go.
“Darling one, you do look upset, but if ever there was a woman who could pull off tears and smudged mascara, it’s you.”
Chloe pressed her hand to her mouth as a breathy laugh burst from her. When she looked at Archer, he was smiling at her with such warmth that it nearly set her off crying again.
Instead, she contained herself, and retrieved a tissue from her jeans pocket to wipe her face. Always be prepared for any eventuality. Her mentor’s words echoed in her mind as she mopped up her tears. After a slow, steeling breath, Chloe asked the one question she knew she had to ask, hoping she’d been right about Archer’s feelings for her. “So, how did it go?” her voice cracked on the last word and she clenched her jaw in annoyance at herself.