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Unreasonable anger builds in my chest. My heart beats hard, throbbing in my temples. This feels too much like when my work was stolen from me. He claimed to never lie. Until with a smile, he lied right to my face. The sinking realization I’ve been deceived again overlays that old, grinning face over Archer’s. Or is it Marcus?
I draw back my hand. The slap echoes in the quiet morning air. Gasping back angry tears, I escape, running toward the only place I belong. But my workroom holds no comfort. My tears are no longer angry. I fear I may cry these desperately sad tears until forever ends.
thirteen
Archer
Ipress my palm to my stinging cheek. What the hell just happened? What caused the confusion in Bailey’s expression that morphed into anger. I watch the distant photographer stomp in front of Brody’s horse. I don’t think that idiot caused Bailey to go ballistic. Not toward me at least.
I shake my head to clear the remnants of the encounter. Sometimes when I have to confront someone as Mars, it takes a few minutes for me to find myself again. Is that what confused her? I’ve never shown the angry side of my brother to her. Maybe I frightened her.
I cross to the winery in record time. Did she go up to her apartment? No, the workroom. That’s where she feels the most comfortable. The door is closed tightly. Probably locked so I don’t even try the knob. I rap lightly on the wood. “Bailey?”
No response but I hear movement. “Bailey, talk to me, beautiful.”
“Don’t call me that. Go away. Archer, Marcus, whoever you are. Leave me alone.”
“It just took me a few moments to stop pretending to be my brother.”
“Which brother is pretending? Go away.”
“Bailey?”
A loud bang vibrates the door next to my ear. “Who are you?”
“I’m Archer,” I say softly. “Archer.”
“I need time. Go away.”
Another loud thud. Fearing in her anger she’ll destroy her work I back from the door. “I’m going. Bailey, I love you.”
“Easy words to say.”
Easy to say perhaps, but to feel? To share? That’s the hard part. Music overlays my thoughts. I don’t have time for this. Even though it appears I’m fighting with my muse, the music never stops. Another song for my love. I softly kiss my palm and press it to the door. “Bailey…”
By the time I reach the keyboard, a song begging forgiveness has fully formed. The compulsion to compose hovers at the edges of my consciousness but intrudes no further. The process drains me yet doesn’t overtake my functioning or recognition of the world outside the composition. I almost wish it would. Without Bailey I will be nothing but an empty shell.
I try calling. Every call goes to voicemail and after twenty calls I stop leaving desperate messages. After a rash of texts suddenly none of them are being delivered so I assume she’s blocked me. I wait at her workroom door, her apartment door. Leave desperate notes reflecting the desperate man that I am.
Finally after two days I drag my sorry ass to the main house to arrange for transportation from the ranch to the nearest airport. If Mars needs more time, his team will have to deal with the paparazzi. I’m done. I won’t pretend to be Marcus ever again. That deception brought me to the only woman I will ever love. And ripped her from my arms.
“Hey, Marcus,” Alice greets me. She bends to stare up at my face. “Uh oh. Looks like heart trouble. Come in. Talk to me.”
I shake my head. No one else needs to know the depths of my pain.
“Come on, Archer. You and Bailey haven’t necessarily been that discrete. What happened?”
She pushes on my shoulders until I sit at her kitchen table. She pours a glass of lemonade and sets it in front of me. “You don’t have to talk to me, just know if you need an ear, I’m available. You need to know Bailey has been happier with you here than I’ve ever seen her. You’ve been relaxed and at ease.”
“You’re very observant.”
Her eyebrows arch. “Not much goes on here that I don’t know about. So, what are you going to do?”
“She won’t talk to me.”
“This have to do with that paparazzi creep Brody chased off?”
“That’s what started it.”
