The smirk disappears and she shoves the book into my chest, forcing me to take hold of it. I look around to see where I should sit and find nothing but a pint-sized chair in a corner that wouldn’t even fit one-fourth of my body.
“You can sit up in bed with him,” Simone says in response to my expression. “That way he can see the pictures.”
I frown over at the bed which also looks like an inadequate fit for my height.
Stuart scoots over to the side, bringing the dog with him. He pats the area next to him and gives me that smile again. “You can sit here, Uncle Archer.”
I blow out of my mouth and run one frustrated hand through my hair. I walk over and squat down beyond the point of comfort to settle in on the bed. Somehow, I manage to maneuver my long legs and broad back into a semi-comfortable position.
One chapter, max.
“Alright, let’s get started, shall we?” I say, trying to keep the resignation out of my voice. “The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame. Chapter One, The River Bank. The mole had been working hard all the morning….”
Over an hour later, Stuart is still wide awake. I can’t deny I got a bit caught up in the story myself and we’re nearly finished with it. I missed out on most childhood classics during my own youth. Neither of my parents were the reading bedtime story types.
I check my watch and I’m surprised to see it’s been well over an hour. My legs and back are certainly ready for this to be over. “Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight. It’s past your bedtime.” I have no idea when his bedtime actually is, but it seems like as good an excuse as any.
“Why would Mr. Toad want to give up his home for a car?” Stuart asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply wearily. My mind is already shifting to the paperwork I have to go through tonight. I’m finally starting to dig into Kevin’s files to learn more about the REITs. “Sometimes people just get so caught up in something they want, they forget about what’s important.”
It hits me then and there that my lovely wife may have chosen this particular book for a reason. Smooth one, Simone.
“But where will he live with no home?” Stuart asks, with a concerned plea in his voice.
“Well, I guess we’ll have to find out when we finish tomorrow,” I say with a smile.
He goes silent, looking down at the bed and stroking RiRi, who has long since gone to sleep, thank God.
“What’s on your mind, Stuart?” I ask, suddenly curious.
He waits a moment, then turns to me with that squinty eyed look on his face that makes me think of Kevin. “Are you and Aunt Simone going to have a baby?”
Even though there’s nothing for me to choke on, I still cough in surprise. When I recover I give him an amused smile. That only seems to deepen the worry on his face.
My smile disappears. “What gave you that idea?”
All of a sudden, the horrific thought runs through my head that Simone might have been pregnant prior to our “marriage.” All the doomsday legal implications of that nasty little idea run through my head, filling me with dread and anger. For some reason, the anger turns to rage when I think of just whose baby it might be.
“…isn’t that so, Uncle Archer?”
I snap out of my head and bring my attention back to Stuart. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Married people, they have babies.”
I chuckle again, then abruptly stop when he frowns at me. Instead I bring one hand around his small shoulders and give him a firm, reassuring squeeze.
“I can assure you with absolute certainty that Simone and I are most definitely not having a baby. Is that all you’re worried about?”
“But when we talked through the computer Aunt Simone said she wanted to have babies. She told me that one day I’d have lots of cousins to play with. That was when I was with Mummy and Daddy, but they’re gone now and…will you both still want me if you have babies?”
“Hey, hey, hey,” I say trying to corral this stampede of questions. Where the hell do I even begin?
“Listen to me,” I say and wait for him to focus on me. “First of all, like I said, Simone and I…we are not having any babies. Second of all, both of us do want you here, Stuart. Do you understand? You’re not going anywhere, you’re stuck with us.” Well, with me at least, if things go according to plan.
He just brings his attention back down to the sleeping bundle in his lap and shrugs.
“I’m going to need a better answer than that,” I urge.
He looks up at me and gives me a half-hearted smile, but I can see the lingering worry behind his eyes. Damn Simone and her “Skype” sessions. This is not the sort of angst I need in my life on top of everything else.
“I understand, Uncle Archer,” he finally says, perhaps sensing my own rising anxiety level. I take that as a sign that this extremely uncomfortable discussion is firmly over and done with. I give his shoulders one quick squeeze, then pull my stiff body out of the bed.
Stuart slips down into the bed to lie down and smiles up at me, the momentary bout of worry seemingly forgotten. I pull the covers up, trying not to disturb RiRi as I do it.
“Goodnight Uncle Archer.”
“Goodnight Stuart.”
He closes his eyes and I watch his body relax into sleep surprisingly quickly. I take another look around the room, admiring the handiwork of whatever decorator Simone hired.
Batman. The superhero who also lost both of his parents at a young age. I quickly look down at Stuart again and feel something stir inside me. No wonder he’s so concerned about family and home.
As I dim the lights and close the door I think about the Knickerbocker School. It isn’t completely off the table, but maybe I should start looking at what schools New York City has to offer.
Just to be thorough.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’m in the living room tonight looking through Kevin’s files. My body is too sore from that damn child-sized bed to work at the dining room table.
The decorator has finally removed all of my furniture and replaced it with two sofas that have some geometric black and white pattern, but are certainly more comfortable than my stuff. The black, white and gold decor with bits of color here and there wouldn’t be my first choice as far as aesthetics, but it isn’t completely terrible.
Right now, I wouldn’t give a damn if I was sitting in Buckingham Palace. I’m far too focused on Kevin’s notes in front of me. Somehow my brother made a connection between the company that’s been so hot to trot to buy us and the REITs we’ve been investing in.
Excelsior?
There are pages and pages of documentation, all collected only the week before his death, showing that whenever Bennett Financial purchased shares in the RIET fund, Excelsior would purchase the same or a similar amount soon after. There could be a number of reasons for this, many of them perfectly innocuous. But the fact that Kevin was investigating it is worrisome.
What did you find out, Kev?
I stare at the paperwork and realize that the end of such a crazy day, and even crazier night, is no time to try putting it all together. I’ll get my usual few hours of sleep in and focus on it first thing in the morning.
My mind goes back to the phone call I made earlier today regarding Simone’s sex video. That will definitely have to be put on the back burner for now.
There’s also the troubling silence from my mother’s camp. I’d have thought she’d be the first one to call shenanigans on this marriage by now, but so far I have yet to hear a peep from her or her people.
With all of this running through my head, I realize a drink is in order. I collect all the paperwork and place it back into my briefcase, then head into the kitchen to pull out the bottle of whiskey and a glass.
With my glass poured and the bottle brought back with me I settle into the couch and take in the new living room. Simone did have a point, the old decor was definitely more gloomy than what I’m looking at now. I’m used to wallowing in my thoug
hts when I sit in this room with the unobstructed view of the night. Right now I just feel a certain level of ease flow through me.
“What did I say about drinking alone?”
I flinch at the interruption and turn to find Simone heading over. She’s in her usual sleeping getup of pajama shorts, tonight in baby blue, and a white tank top. I duly note the lack of bra as she walks over on graceful legs and bare feet. The last thing I need on the plate of things I already have to deal with is this visual dessert.
“In my experience, that’s usually the preferred way to drink,” I reply.
“That explains a lot,” she says with a cynical tone in her voice as she boldly settles on the couch beside me. She has a glass in her hand which I presume was meant for water originally. Instead she tips it toward the bottle. “Mind if I join you?”
“What’s a drink between a husband and wife?” I say with a dry smile.
She actually chuckles, which forces my eyes to notice just how thin that tank top is. I take a large sip of my drink, the burn forcing those thoughts far, far, away.
“So, how was your first night actually performing uncle duties?” She asks as she reaches for the bottle and pours.
“He asked if we were going to have babies.”
The bottle shakes in her hand, sloshing more than she probably wanted into the glass as she looks up at me in surprise. “He didn’t!”
“Careful,” I say, idly watching the ingredients of the bottle slosh around, a drop or two falling on her thigh. “That’s a thousand dollar bottle of whiskey you have there.”
She looks down at the bottle. “You’re kidding.”
“Surely you know me well enough by now, dear wife, to know that I would never cheap out when it comes to liquor.”
She gives me a sarcastic smile as she sets the bottle back onto the table, then her brow furrows and she straightens up as she remembers the more important issue at hand. “Wait, what did you tell him?”
“I assured him in no uncertain terms that you and I were most definitely not having babies.”
She heaves a sigh of relief and takes a sip of her whiskey. “Oh, thank God.”
I turn down one side of my mouth. “You don’t have to sound that relieved.”
Now the cynical look is back. “I may not know your drinking preferences, but I don’t need a crystal ball to know you have no interest in children. I also happen to know you have no interest in marriage either. You made that clear enough at Kevin and Bette’s wedding.”
“Was I that obvious?” I ask, one eyebrow quirking up with mild curiosity.
Her head tilts to the side as she rolls her eyes up in recollection. “Well, let’s see, there was the continual scowl on your face during the whole thing. Then there was barest, most grudging, amount of hope for the future you gave in your speech. The way you completely ignored my advances. Then of course, you basically said as much while walking me down the aisle during the rehearsal. Speaking of which, who could forget you calling the maid of honor, what was it, ‘that silly, cotton-candy brained, coed?’”
That has me sitting straight up, turning to her in surprise. “You actually heard me say that?”
To her credit—or maybe that of the whiskey she’s already sipped—she actually laughs. She looks at me with a smile that’s both amused and disappointed. “And he doesn’t even bother to deny it,” she muses.
I sigh and run a hand through my hair, unsure of what to do with that revelation. No wonder she gave me such a death stare during the reading of the wills.
“I was...,” I stop when something she said hits me. “Wait, did you just say that you were making advances toward me?”
She gives another small laugh then gives me a look that says: well, duh!
“God, who would have thought you of all people would be so clueless.” She turns to let her head fall back on the sofa as she stares up at the ceiling with a smile. “Oh boy, when I first saw you…I had the biggest crush. You were like something that walked straight off the pages of GQ Magazine. All the bridesmaids were crazy about you and I felt so special because I was the one who got to walk down the aisle with you. You were so intimidating though!”
She turns to face me with a skeptical look. “Didn’t you notice how nervous I was around you when we first met?”
“I just remember a lot of smiling and hair twirling,” I reply, still stuck on what an idiot I was.
She laughs again, and I find myself enjoying it. I settle back into my seat absorbing everything she’s just said.
She leans in to grab my attention. “By the way, you still haven’t apologized.”
I blink at her, then shake my head with a small smile. “I apologize for calling you silly and cotton-candy brained.”
She sits back with a satisfied smile. “I accept your apology, Archer.” She gives me a scrutinizing look as she takes another sip. “Where did that come from anyway?”
I turn my head to stare out of the window before us, raising my eyebrows in consideration. What the hell, I think to myself before taking a long swig from my glass and swallowing. “Truth be told, I guess I had a crush on you too.”
“What?” she exclaims, laughing as she slaps my shoulder. “No way.”
“Well, not a ‘crush’ per se. I was twenty-six after all, but you were like...,” I think back remembering the morning of the wedding rehearsal when I first saw her. I know it’s my tired mind, mixed with the drink, that has all my walls and emotional defenses temporarily torn down. The words come spilling out of my mouth like a damn avalanche.
“You were like walking sunshine, the way everyone was just so drawn to you. I remember you bouncing up the stairs of the church. Every eye followed you. And the way you smiled made me think of,” I pause and chuckle to myself, “Well, frankly it made me think of cotton candy at the fair, or running through the waves at the beach. It was a carefree lightness that you carried with you. I had no idea what to do with it.”
I’m still staring ahead, the image of her in my head as vibrant and lively as she was that day. “The funny thing is, all it managed to do was turn me into some kind of black hole. The more I had to interact with you, the more miserable I was. Maybe it was seeing how happy my brother was with your sister, despite all my protests about him getting married, and worse, without a prenup. And there you were reminding me of everything I was missing out on because I was so focused on this company he and I were trying to build. They just looked so damn happy and perfect and when he caught up with me to chew me out…I just went on a rant, letting it all out at once.”
I chuckle down into my drink. “If it makes you feel any better, he damn well put me in my place. I think it’s the only time I’ve ever seen him truly angry at me,” I slide my eyes over to her.
There’s so much raw emotion and tenderness it’s unbearable. I’d rather she go back to hating my guts than cause me to tumble down that rabbit hole of feelings again.
“And to think,” she says, something in her voice and eyes filled with the regret of remembering, “it could have been you.”
There’s something hidden in that statement that I know is meant more for her than me, but I don’t care. I focus solely on those words.
It could have been you.
I feel the years of regret explode inside of me: the meaningless sex, the hollow pursuit of another dollar, the steel walls I’ve build up around me, shielding me from anything approaching emotion. In its wake, I feel something else replace it. It’s like a volcano that’s been dormant all these past years and is finally coming to a head. The full, unbridled force of it hits me hard and I reach out, filling the space between my fingers with her hair as I bring her toward me.
Her lips taste like whiskey-flavored perfection. It sends a warm flow through me that resembles that of the amber liquid still half-filled in both our glasses. The burn starts in my belly, growing warmer from the intensity with which Simone reciprocates. I blindly place the glass on the coffee table. Simone, pressed against t
he couch can’t reach it and her glass tumbles out of her hand onto the seat. I feel the faint apologetic cry from her lips.
“Fuck the couch,” I say against her lips.
Every part of me takes in every part of her and I wonder how it all went so wrong six years ago….
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Six Years Ago
“Have you lost your mind, Kevin?!”
“Maybe,” he replies with a lazy smile on his face, which pretty much confirms it.
“We just broke ten million in profit and you’re telling me you didn’t get a damn prenup?”
He sighs and gives me another idiotic grin as if I’m the one who doesn’t get it.
“This is why I waited until today to tell you.”
“Because you were afraid I’d talk some damn sense into your head?”
“Because you have no idea what it feels like to not just love someone but just…know. Know that you can trust them with everything. Know that they’re the one. I knew it the first moment I met her.”
“The famous last words of many a poor bastard who gets taken to the bank ten years down the line.”
He shrugs in that frustratingly easygoing way he deals with everything, still with that damn smile on his face. “I guess in ten years you can say I told you so.”
Now I’m the one sighing, as I realize nothing I can say will change his mind. In less than twenty-four hours it’ll be too late anyway.
Before we can discuss it any more, a limousine parks in front of the church and Bette and all her bridesmaids pile out of the car. They’re all giggles and laughter and high-pitched voices. It’s only the rehearsal, but they’re all still dressed in pink. The rest of the groomsmen and parents watch from the steps as they happily skip their way to the church steps.
Bette is the last in line and I see Kevin’s smile visibly get bigger when she finally comes in to view.
Good grief, he’s hopeless.
Today is my first time meeting Bette’s family. Kevin and Bette’s engagement party was held up near Harvard where all their school friends still live. I was conveniently preoccupied with clients in Miami at the time.
Archer: Ex-Bachelor (Ex-Club Romance) Page 13