Page 64 of Wild Flower

When it gets dark, my father pulls Archer aside, and I wish it was to give him the classicThis is my baby, and if you hurt her I’ll skin you alivespeech. But instead, the snippets I overhear include not approving of my tattoos and wondering where he and my mom went wrong when Helena turned out so perfectly.

All of Archer’s muscles are tense when he finds me again, and I can feel the anger emanating off of him. “I think we should go,” he says, touching my lower back and leading me toward his car. “I really don’t want to have to punch your father.”

I shake my head. That would be rich. That’s exactly what my parents would expect from a man I dated. It would prove everything they imagine about me.

“That would be wise,” I agree.

I thank my parents for dinner, and they make a show of saying howwonderfulit was to meet Archer, even though they’ll be gossiping like geese at a cocktail party the second we pull out of the driveway.

“Please bring your photographer friend next time,” my mother says as we’re walking away, and my skin curdles at her tone.

What does that mean? Is she suspicious about the three of us?

“Ignore it,” Archer whispers in my ear.

“Do you think she knows about—?”

“I think your family is looking for every reason they can find to make you feel like you don’t belong.”

“Welcome to my life,” I joke, only it falls flat. “And I haven’t even told you about the contract yet.”

“Contract?”

“It’s something my mother gave me after the photography incident.” I move away from him to get in the passenger side of the car. “I’ll tell you about it once we leave.”

Speeding away from my parent’s house feels like fleeing a crime scene. The lush, green canopy flies by above like we’re in a tunnel racing for freedom.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, covering my face in embarrassment. “That was the worst idea. I had no idea they’d be so brutal.”

Archer reaches over and pinches my earlobe between his fingers, rubbing softly. “What’s amazing is you and the fact that you’re still one-hundred percentyourselfamidst all that.”

“I’m not a martyr.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He moves his hand back to the wheel. “That’s a lot of pressure to conform, and you’re unabashedly you.”

“To my mother’s displeasure.”

“You’re not doing it to annoy her. You’re not acting out. You’re your own person. You just don’t fit into their mold.”

“Yeah,” I agree, looking at the jade palms rushing by in the dark. “Sometimes I wish I did,”

“And yet, you always choose to be yourself,” Archer says with a smile.

“Was your family supportive,” I ask carefully, “before their accident.” Archer is quiet, and I reach over and pull the gold chain from his neck, lifting the medallion that’s hidden under his shirt into my hand. “This is from them, isn’t it?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. He nods, letting me look at the engravings on the metal. There’s a worn image of a dove at the center with its wings wide, set in the middle of a radiating sun. And there are words at the bottom.

“What does this mean?” I ask, running my fingers over them. “Veni Sancte Spiritus?”

“It’s Latin,” Archer says after a long silence. “It’s a catholic chant called the Golden Sequence. It means:Come, Holy Spirit.”

“Are you religious?”

“My parents were,” he reveals. “This was my father’s. He used to wear it every day. It was his way of getting in touch with God.”

“And for you?”

Archer shrugs, that tightness in his jaw hardening. His parents died in a car accident with very little mercy from a creator, and now his sister might have cancer.

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