Page 87 of The Sounds of Her
He makes sure we have everything before he takes my hand and leads me back the way we came.
We make it back to the parking lot without seeing Daryl, but we catch the attention of a group of women leaving the tasting room. It isn’t long before he’s recognised because he is no longer wearing his hat and glasses.
“Shit,” he groans. “Let’s go.”
We hurry ahead when one woman calls his name. I can’t help but laugh as we reach the rental and Archer throws open the door for me. He doesn’t wait to help me in, running around the front and jumping into his seat.
We both slam the doors as two women come into the lot. One is scrambling for her phone, and I’ll be forever grateful for the tinted windows, but turn my face away all the same.
Archer starts the car and, despite the urgency, gets us back on the road with only minimal dust kicking up behind the wheels.
He’s about to say something when his phone beeps half a dozen times in succession. Then mine does too. I guess we lost our cell signal in the vineyards.
I have eight messages. Most of them asking where the hell we are. I don’t know who to answer first.
“Shit,” Archer groans. “I think we’re in trouble.”
“Are you okay?” Archer asks as we near the hotel parking lot.
It’s been quiet in the car since he pulled over so I could answer some texts. He took a call from Stone, who is pissed about us being out of reach the whole day. He didn’t have the call on speaker, but I heard Stone yelling.
Am I okay? Aside from the discomfort of not being able to clean up after having sex in the dirt… Peachy. I nearly say it, but that won’t help the situation any.
How do we move forward after this?
We still have to pretend to be together. There are a few more days of us putting on a show, only now there is the added factor of knowing we shared more than a few kisses and light groping.
I’m quiet for so long, Archer’s face is full of trepidation as he stops to allow the parking lot barrier to lift.
I shared a lot of my past with him this afternoon, things I haven’t talked about with anyone. Ever. That has to be why I had sex with him, because I am raw from telling him about my childhood.
I’ve never been good at lying to myself.
Archer doesn’t placate or sympathise with me. He understands, which confuses me because he had a good childhood, even without his mom. When he looked at me, after pulling me onto his lap, there was an understanding in his eyes. And it sucked me right in.
“I’m fine, I need to shower though,” I add.
He stares until the barrier lifts, then drives inside. Once he’s parked, he turns off the engine. Before I can get out, he shifts to face me. I’m surprised when he lifts his hand up to my face, but it isn’t for the reasons I thought. His hand comes away holding a small twig, which he has snagged out of my hair.
My face flushes in embarrassment. Oh God, I won’t be able to explain this if someone asks why I have underbrush in my hair. I pull the visor down and check in the mirror for more evidence.
“Talk to me, Brooke. When we get out of this car, there are gonna be a lot of people wanting to tear me a new one. I need to know what’s going on inside your head.”
How can I tell him I’m scared? I don’t want to fall into the situation I was in with Ciro.
I’ve shown too much of myself to him, when there is something he is guarding, not just from me, but from everyone around him. I should put my guard back up.
“I’m fine,” I answer, flipping the visor back up. “We’re pretending to be together, right? So there is no need to talk about it.”
Archer stares in silence. If I’m not wrong, something like hurt crosses his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. He nods and turns away from me, opening his car door.
Damn, now he’s pissed at me. What does he want me to say? I can’t get attached to something else that isn’t real. I have a better relationship with Archer than I ever did with Ciro, which is what makes it scarier.
Instead of explaining that, I follow him to the elevator in silence. Getting a better glimpse of myself in the mirror at the back of the elevator, I smooth out my hair and straighten my dress. It’s not that dishevelled, although my hands still have some dirt on them, particularly around my nail beds, from where I tore grass from the earth.
“I’ll deal with the fallout, you go get cleaned up,” Archer says. He has his hands in his pockets and is watching the floor numbers light up above us, avoiding looking at me. “We’re flying out in a couple of hours.”
I can’t leave it like this, I don’t want things to be awkward between us, not when we still have a few more days of putting on a show of being together.