Page 34 of Love You Always

“I thought so too until I realized I was getting further and further from my goal.”

“Which was?”

“I’m a theater nerd. Even with the rom-com roles I get, I do deep dives into characters and research everything I can. It’s like science to me. I studied drama because I fell in love with Shakespeare in college.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I know, I know. Everyone thinks Shakespeare is something you just have to get through in order to graduate, but if you read it closely, he’s actually?—”

“Hilarious,” he interrupts. For a second, I’m not sure if his conclusion is directed at me. The way he grouches around, I assume he thinks my love for Shakespeare is ridiculous, if not hilarious. But he doesn’t give me a chance to question him.

“Actually, yeah. Shakespeare is a fucking riot. Why don’t people realize that? He had the best possible insults in the world of literature. ‘I am pigeon-livered and lack gall.’”

“Hamlet,” I say, dumbfounded.

He nods. “‘Thou cream-faced loon.’”

I shake my head. “I don’t remember where that’s from.”

“Ah.Macbeth.It’s a good one.”

“Almost as good as ‘thou lump of foul deformity.’”

He holds up a hand. “Call me that and the science lesson is done, princess.”

I laugh, my eyes settling on his face and noticing for the first time that he’s not frowning. It makes me want to keep looking, and I take in his angular cheekbones and slanted nose. The stubble from a couple days without shaving. It softens the hard line of his jaw. Then there are his eyes, like blue lasers that miss nothing, leave nothing to chance. Lips that make me wonder…

I startle when I realize I’ve been staring longer than I shouldbe. And he’s staring back, daring me not to look away. I don’t want to, but I should.

My lids drop closed for a moment, breaking the bond between us. It’s necessary. I don’t know what I’m doing, staring into the eyes of a man who isn’t Callum, the man I’ve committed to marry.

“Hold that thought.” Archer disappears into a back room and returns with a half dozen bottles of wine on a tray, along with glasses and what looks like a hunk of cheese. He pulls a box of crackers from his back pocket. “Full service,” he says, laying the tray on the table next to us and presenting me with a glass. The bottles are all open with corks in them, and he spins them around so I can see their labels.

“What looks good to you? Red, white? Or dealer’s choice?”

The only problem is that I can’t see. “I, um, think you should decide.” I fish around in my purse for my glasses, but I’m pretty sure I won’t find them. “I didn’t bring my glasses because of all the media hoopla with the magazine, and since I didn’t drive, I don’t need them. Which means I can’t read the labels too well.”

“What do you mean? What does the magazine have to do with you wearing glasses?”

“I prefer not to see all those people so clearly when they’re fussing and taking photos.”

“So, you can’t see? Right now?”

I shake my head. “Not well. It’s a thing I do when I go places with big crowds. Mostly it’s when there’s paparazzi around or people yelling my name. It completely overwhelms me to the point of feeling nauseous and actually starting to freak out a little. So I started going without my lenses and realized it helps. It forces me to focus only on whoever is directly in front of me. I can handle one conversation, one person.”

The one person I can see clearly is staring at me with his jaw open as though he’s learned something profound.

“So you never even saw me.” His gruff words are so quiet I barely hear them, and I’m confused even then.

“Never saw you where?”

He blinks a couple times and shakes his head. “In LA.”

“What?”

“I was at a party in LA, and I tried to meet you.”

“Wait, when?” Holding up both hands, I try to temper my shock with some sort of recall. My confused brain tries to rewind history because I have no recollection of Archer Corbett before I walked into the barn at Buttercup Hill.

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