Page 44 of Pretty Rings and Broken Things

Archer is already my husband, but through the fake kisses and the small, private conversations, he’s started to become a friend—a companion. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it.

Maybe that’s why I find myself pacing in front of the front door of our house this morning, knowing any minute, Archer will come downstairs to go and work out. Heis the most punctual person I know. I’ve memorized his schedule in the weeks we’ve been living together.

First thing in the morning, I can hear his footsteps in the hallway as he goes downstairs to make a smoothie. I’m pretty sure he makes the same exact one every morning.

One scoop of vanilla protein powder, one frozen banana, a tablespoon of peanut butter, a scoop of Greek yogurt, and a handful of spinach. Some mornings, I’ve sat at the counter and watched him make it, barely awake to have a conversation.

I tell myself I wake up early in the mornings because I want to change my schedule, but I know part of me does it because the mornings and the occasional evenings are the only time we get together.

If I’m going to be married to him for the foreseeable future, it only makes sense for me to get to know him better. After he chugs his smoothie, he takes more vitamins than I’ve ever seen someone take. Then, he makes a cup of coffee and drinks it black as he answers work calls and emails.

After that, he changes into workout clothes and goes to the gym to work out. Recently, he’s started the habit of coming back and going on a walk with me before he leaves for work. We’ve established a routine. On the walk, we talk about the small, insignificant things about each other that have added up to mean a lot to me.

He’sbeginning to mean something to me.

I’m mid-pace when he comes down the stairs, his dark eyebrows scrunching on his forehead the moment he spots me at the front door.

“Going somewhere?” he asks, his voice low. I’d been busy getting ready when he came down for his smoothie and coffee earlier, so this is the first time we’re seeing each other this morning. I don’t know if it’s the fitted long-sleeve exercise shirt he wears or the joggers that fit just a little snug around his muscular thighs. Maybe it’s just him in general that makes it so I can’t look away.

“Maybe,” I answer, my voice quiet because I’m too distracted by his appearance.

Archer Moore is dangerously handsome—and he knows it.

He uses it to his advantage. I watch him do it when he talks with others. I can tell he’d rather not have to give interviews or make small talk with people he doesn’t care about, but he still does it well. He’s great at eye contact and giving whoever is speaking all of his attention. He knows how to smile just enough to make them want to earn it but still so little that he gives off this mysterious vibe.

I’ve started looking forward to the times we go out in public because it’s the only time his touch lingers against my skin. I love playing the part with him because it’s fun to pretend his jokes about our first date and the little quirks of mine he tells people made him fall in love with me are all true.

Deep down, I know he’s made up every single thing he tells people and that his touch doesn’t mean a thing, but it doesn’t change the rush of anticipation I feel anytime we’re in public.

“We still have two hours until our walk,” Archer points out, taking a seat on one of the bottom stairs to pull on a pair of tennis shoes. It still takes me by surprise to see him in such normal clothing. He shouldn’t be allowed to look so good dressed up in a suit but look even better when he’s getting ready to go work out.

“I was thinking…” I begin, wondering if maybe I shouldn’t ask him this, “that I could go to the gym with you today.”

He stops right in the middle of tying his laces. Slowly, he looks up at me. “You want to come work out with me?”

I nod. Maybe it’s a silly request, but I’m over being in the house all of the time. My dad still hasn’t asked me to make an appearance alone at events. He knows that no one wants to see just me right now; they want to see Archer and me together. The stock in both hotels has gone up because people are excited our families are nolonger feuding.

“Are you not going for a walk?” he asks, pushing off the stairs and standing up once again.

I try not to be obvious about taking a deep inhale of his cologne when he gets closer. “I’d still be good with a walk, but I want to do more.” I let out a nervous laugh. “To be honest, I’m a little bored, and maybe I’m having a quarter-life crisis and want to get into working out more.” I shrug, too deep into asking him to take me with him to give up. “There’s worse hobbies I could take up, right?”

He stays silent, his eyes pinned on me. He’s quiet for so long that I lift my hands and wave at the air dismissively. “You know what? I don’t actually want to work out.” I look down at my matching leggings and sports bra, knowing that the outfit I chose this morning is exactly for working out. “And if I do, I’m going to ask for the trainer all of my school friends use. I hear he’s young and great and I’m sure will know how to get me in shape,” I ramble, already backing up to the stairs.

I’m turning to race up the stairs and prepare to not see Archer for the rest of the day when his fingers latch onto my wrist. He pulls, turning me to face him.

His eyes are darker than normal. Maybe it’s because it’s early and he isn’t fully awake. Or maybe he’d rather just go alone since he’s never asked me to join him before.

“You don’t need a trainer.” If I’m not mistaken, there’s a bit of an angry tone to his sentence.

Oh man. Maybe I really made him mad by trying to crash his plans.

“You’re right.” I let out a nervous laugh, trying to pull my hand from his grip, but it’s too strong. “Going for a walk is all I need.”

He sighs, his eyes focusing on the ceiling for a moment before his chestnut gaze is back on me. “You don’t need a fucking trainer because I’ll work with you.”

I shake my head. “Oh no, you don’t have to do that. I know that you probably have a trainer and that you’ve got a systemthere. I don’t want to barge in on it. I just want to go there with you, that’s all. You can pretend I’m not there,” I offer with a smile, hoping maybe I will be able to get out of the house with him.

His nostrils flare as his gaze rakes down my body. I try not to show him that I feel the warmth from his heated stare. “That’s impossible.”

---