**Chapter 10** **WINNIE** The wedding had felt nearly authentic, right up until Archer’s driver pulled the town car to a stop and shut the door, leaving Archer and me in a pocket of silence thick enough to cut. On one side, Archer sat with a storm brewing behind his thundercloud expression, his knuckles pressed against his lips as he gazed introspectively out the window. I was all the way on the opposite side, fidgeting in my seat, completely forgetting to take off my veil before climbing into the car. It now snagged uncomfortably in my hair. My heart raced, an erratic drummer in my chest, debating whether to break the fragile quiet that had suddenly enveloped us or to allow him to dominate the moment. Just an hour before, our lips had met in a kiss that sparked wildfire in my veins—unexpectedly familiar, as if this was a scenario we had played in a past life. Yet now, the weight of reality settled in. Archer’s frigid demeanor left me second-guessing that brief moment of warmth we shared. During the photo shoot, he had perfected the role of the loving husband, but here he was, back to the impenetrable Archer Moore everyone outside of that church knew—detached, icy, and seemingly uninterested. Why couldn’t he just look at me? “Where are we going?” I finally ventured, the silence between us stretching taut. Normally, I relished quiet contemplation, but today, my mind spiraled through thoughts I wasn’t sure I wanted to face alone. “Home,” he replied, still staring out the window as if I were just some shadow in the corner of his eye. Home. That single word cut through the air, laced with an uninvited bitterness that made my skin crawl. Did he truly believe that I would just slip into his life, leaving mine behind without a second thought? “It doesn’t have to be,” I muttered, turning my attention back towards the window, my irritation bubbling. I despised this back-and-forth that felt so utterly juvenile. I just wanted clarity, a sense of predictability amidst this chaotic spontaneity. With an exasperated sigh that practically vibrated through the leather of the seats, Archer begrudgingly said, “It’s part of the deal. You signed it, and now you’re living with me—no arguments.” “Then you can’t just tell me that without giving me a chance to pack,” I shot back, my body twisting away from him as I fought the veil that seemed intent on entangling me further. To my embarrassment, a sudden yank on my hair made me yelp, the tightness of my dress limiting my movements. My frustration mounted as I fidgeted, recalling how easily I had been swayed into wearing this obnoxious veil in the first place. “Let me help you,” he offered with a hint of annoyance, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding across the seat. “I don’t need your help,” I snapped, feigning bravado as I awkwardly attempted to reach for the veil’s pins. Archer’s eyes narrowed, sarcasm dripped from his words. “Clearly.” With an unexpected gentleness, he brushed my hair aside before deftly removing the pins, and just like that, the weight of the veil slid away. I took a deep breath, experiencing an instant relief I didn’t realize I needed. “Better?” he queried, and I couldn’t help but nod, the tension between us slightly dissipating. But as we stared at each other, both of us wearing matching frowns, the privacy of unguarded emotions hung heavy in the air. “I understand your reasons for making me live with you,” I began, steeling myself to speak my mind despite his looming presence. “But I can’t just go there without packing anything first! I don’t have anything.” “Wrong,” he said flatly, his expression darkening. “What?” I frowned, confusion sparking as I reconsidered his words. “You have an entire room full of things waiting for you at my house,” he stated with an air of finality. “How?” I blurted, my surprise spilling over unabashedly. “It’s called a store,” he quipped sarcastically, a ghost of a smirk lurking just beneath the surface. I closed my eyes, trying to summon patience. “So what? You bought me things and assumed I wouldn’t need anything from my own apartment?” He rolled his lips together, his displeasure evident. “Yes.” My irritation bloomed—the man had no idea how to listen. “Are you so accustomed to always getting your way?” “Yes,” he shot back, an inscrutable glint in his eyes as he seemed to challenge me to continue. “Well, I’m here to tell you that’s not going to happen all the time,” I replied defiantly. “I need to go to my apartment.” “Why don’t we go to my house first, and you can decide if the shopping my assistant did for you is satisfactory?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, as though contemplating the weight of our impending discussion gave him a headache. “I know it won't be,” I retorted, battling the annoyance coursing through my veins. “Why?” he probed. I hesitated, yearning to hide my embarrassment. How could I possibly admit I had a stuffed turtle I couldn’t bear to sleep without? Norbert—the secret that held a warm place in my heart since childhood. My cheeks flushed at the thought. “Because I have things I need.” “What things?” he countered, curiosity piqued. “Just things,” I deflected, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “Why the urgency to rush to my house now? Just stop by mine, and I’ll be quick.” “Tomorrow morning, we have an interview with Ruby Robinson,” he stated firmly. “She’ll be asking a lot of personal questions, and tonight, we need to bond. It’s our wedding night, after all.” The way he said those last words made my cheeks heat; “I’ll agree to that if you just let me stop by my apartment for two minutes.” “Maybe if you tell me what you need, I will,” he challenged, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Fine! I need Norbert!” I blurted out, the confession filled with embarrassment, my cheeks aflame. “Excuse me?” he said, his confusion evident. “NOR-BERT!” I repeated, defensive. “He’s my stuffed animal—the one I can’t sleep without!” He seemed frozen momentarily, processing my admission with a blank stare. “Norbert is a stuffed animal?” I nodded, feeling utterly ridiculous. “A turtle.” His lips quirked as he stifled laughter, fully unguarded now as amusement flickered in his gaze. “You need to get a stuffed...turtle?” I glared, narrowing my eyes. “Are you mocking me?” An uncontainable laugh broke free from his chest, and I covered my face in my hands, peeking through my fingers. “Stop laughing!” “I thought Norbert was a person—maybe a dog. I just didn’t anticipate a stuffed turtle!” he admitted between chuckles. I crossed my arms, somewhat mollified but still indignant. “You’re done now?” “Yes,” he managed, still catching his breath from laughter. “Great. So, are you telling the driver to head to my place, or should I?” His brow arched, and a mischievous smile danced across his lips. “You’re going to show up at your apartment in your wedding dress?” I shrugged, glancing down at the ostentatious gown. “People spill drinks on expensive dresses at receptions. Showing up in my apartment moments later is practically tame.” He rubbed his chin, considering me carefully. The weight of his gaze was nearly palpable as the stillness stretched between us. It felt unnervingly intimate. “What's going on in that head of yours?” I prodded, breaking the silence. “Nothing,” he finally said, although the slight upward curve of his lips told a different story. “You clearly have something to say,” I urged, unperturbed. “It’s just you,” he remarked, and the weight of those words flickered with something deeper. “What about me?” I inquired, suddenly self-conscious. “You’re perfect.” Unexpectedly, it slipped out like a confession he hadn’t intended. He recaptured himself, pulling back. “It’s just you in general. I expected you to be different.” “You don’t know me well enough for opinions,” I whispered, acutely aware of the shift in the air around us as proximity lent itself to intimacy. Archer’s cologne was inescapable, intoxicating even. He conceded, eyes glinting. “You’re right. We haven’t spent enough time together, but you’re different from what I thought.” “What did you expect?” “A raging asshole.” He burst into laughter again. “Many think that of me.” “Trust me, I know.” A sudden calm fell between us, and then he pressed a button on the ceiling. “Change of plans, Franklin. We’re going to the Brentmore Apartments before going home.” “Yes, sir,” the voice replied over the speaker. The rest of the ride was uneventful, an electric undercurrent vibrating between us until we reached my apartment building. I reached for the door but found my hand halted by Archer's swift intervention. “Wait,” he commanded. I paused, curious about his intentions. “What is it?” “Just let me open the door for you. That’s what a good husband does.” Before I could protest, he was out of his seat, swirling around the car, and throwing my door open with an air of gentility that made my heart do a strange flip. He extended his hand, and I took it reluctantly, stepping out and realizing the cool evening air was more refreshing than expected. As we climbed into the building, Archer graciously held the train of my dress to prevent me from tripping. Beneath the flickering elevator lights, when I told him it was unnecessary, he merely repeated, “It’s what a good husband does.” Racking my brain for a clever retort, I found a certain warmth rising within me despite the whirlwind of emotions whirring around us. I would adjust to this newfound life, even if it meant navigating Archer’s unexpected complexity along the way.