I smile to myself. I love that my sister is not one of those brides obsessed about being a size zero, and that she hasn’t lost her appetite because of the upcoming nuptials. Plus, the cheeses and cold cuts we had for lunch at the ranch, while tasteful and curated, lacked in quantity.
Famished, I move to the back of the line for the grills and grab an empty plate from the stash near the first station, my stomach grumbling in anticipation. I load my plate with a bit of everything and turn, ready to go back to the table.
That’s when I see him.
Archie is standing on the threshold, between the big French doors leading outside from within the hotel. The patio is three steps down from those doors, granting me an unobstructed view of Archie in his raised position. He’s looking chill in a short-sleeved button-down shirt in a plaid print and beige cargo shorts.
Honestly, he’s just missing a shark-teeth necklace to be the perfect Surfer Boy, another great fantasy of mine. I add the image to my mental catalog of his outfits, undecided on what guise is my favorite. Probably still the one that doesn’t require any clothes.
His eyes search the crowd, moving over the heads of the people assembled below until they finally come to rest on me. When he spots me, his entire face brightens up in an open smile, and my empty stomach has its usual reaction and promptly explodes with butterflies, making those I used to experience for David Montgomery feel like amateur hour.
Archie cuts through the throng of people, heading straight for me, and only stops a step short when the giant plate loaded with meat standing between us forces him to. It’s good I’m holding this thing in my hands or I would’ve thrown my arms around his neck already.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey, yourself.”
I inch the plate toward Logan and Winter’s table. “I’m sitting with my sister over there.”
“I’ll grab some food and come join you.”
I nod, and am about to brush past him when he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Nice dress, by the way.”
A cold shiver spider walks down my spine while my face heats up. I’ll admit I made a bit of an effort for a casual barbecue evening. I’m wearing a white sundress with a pineapple print, not exactly vintage, but with a retro, elegant feel. The dress has a V neckline and is sleeveless; it ties behind the neck in a bow it took me twenty minutes to shape in perfect symmetry. The skirt is wide and knee-length, while the waist is tight for that great fit-flare silhouette effect that flatters my figure. My hair is arranged atop my head in a deceivingly messy giant bun I spent half an hour sculpturing—I call it the Hepburn. To complete the outfit, I’ve put on killer-heels, strappy sandals. I went easy on the makeup only because I don’t want to leave it all smeared on Archie’s pillow later tonight. Instead, I pampered my skin with a gentle scrub and a facial mask, and I’m only wearing a layer of transparent mascara and ChapStick.
But the hungry way Archie keeps looking at me throughout dinner makes me feel as beautiful as if a professional had done my makeup. Being in public with him when we can’t kiss or touch or do anything other than play with subtle stares is an unbearable form of torture. And dinner tonight is no different.
We spend the whole evening eye flirting with each other in what is an hours-long, hands-off foreplay session. I don’t pay much attention to what everyone else is saying; it’s mostly anecdotes from the day. Half of them I already know from personal experience, and the other half are not as interesting or amusing enough to tear my concentration away from Archie’s lips. From his sizzling, icy stare. From those big hands…
I’m desperately trying to find a polite way to leave as soon as all the plates are empty when Tucker gives everyone the perfect excuse.
“Guys,” he says, standing up and stretching his arms. “I’m super tired. I’m calling it an early night.”
“Are you sure?” Logan asks. “We can sleep in tomorrow; nothing but a spa day ahead.”
“No, I know, but I’m positively beat.” He chuckles awkwardly. “Must be all the wine.”
Archie throws his friend a stare that, if I had to define, I’d call suspicious. But he’s also just as quick to jump on the “going to bed early” boat. But, as he gets up, his devilish grin promises a whole lot of fun activities to take place in said bed, none of which include sleep.
“If you’re going, I’m going, too,” Archie says.
Winter narrows her eyes at him. “To bed? Alone? This early?”
“That’d be correct.”
“Why aren’t you trying to sleep with any of the female guests? Are you ill?”
He winces at being put on the spot. “Subtle much?”
“No, honestly, what’s up with you?”
“Maybe I already have a rendezvous arranged and was trying to leave politely without drawing attention,” he says, making my face catch fire. I hide it behind a glass of water, compose my features into the mother of all poker faces, and dare a peek at my sister. She’s completely oblivious and hasn’t looked my way once.
“Really?” Winter asks. “And who’s the lucky lady?”
“A true gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Archie replies.
I almost roll my eyes, but catch myself at the last second, my gaze landing on Lana. And, oh my gosh, she’s staring at me slightly wide-eyed, kind of slack-jawed as if she’s just connected all the wrong dots. I try to telepathically send her a “please keep quiet” plea, and she must receive the message because her lips press together into a furtive half-smile and she gives me the tiniest of nods.
After some more badgering from my sister to know who Archie’s conquest is, and more stubborn refusals from Archie to fess up, he and Tucker finally walk away, leaving me in need of a fresh excuse to beat it.
Now I can’t go. Not after Archie has openly admitted he’s seeing someone. I want to avoid arousing any suspicion in my sister’s head. I have to. At. All. Costs. Sorry, Surfer Archie will have to wait a while before I can safely join him in his room.
I’m already resigned to this sad destiny when Lana, unexpectedly, comes to the rescue. Giving me that secretive half-smile again, she stands up, saying, “Guys, I’m going to call it a night as well.”
“Not you, too,” Winter protests. “What’s your excuse?”
“Christian has been busy shooting all day and I haven’t spoken to him yet. Now is the only good time to talk.”
I can’t honestly say how much truth laces Lana’s statement. Does she really plan to call Christian, or is she leaving so that I, too, can leave without giving my sister the wrong impression?
Before I can decide on an answer, the maid of honor blows us kisses and is on her way off into the hotel.
Now or never.
I stand up. “Well, you guys, as much as I’d love to stay and be the third wheel all night, I’m going to go, too.”
Winter snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll never be a third wheel with me.”
“I was joking,” I say. The last thing I want is to make my sister uncomfortable. “But you guys haven’t seen each other all day. I’d understand if you wanted to go rest a little.”