Three Reckless Words: Chapter 7

I give myself two full days of rest.

Two days of absolutely nothing but harvesting honey, geeking out with my online bee people on Reddit and TikTok, and stopping to enjoy life.

Relaxing. Eating well. Sleeping well, even. Turns out, being away from my controlling family and an ex who never loved me works wonders for my mental health.

Who knew?

But now it’s time to face the music, just like I promised Archer. Um, never mind the fact that we had a flipping moment.

If Colt hadn’t walked in on us, I’m sure his big gruff face would’ve kissed me—and I wouldn’t have objected one bit. I would’ve loved to feel his beard against my skin when I was already climbing him like a tree.

But the teenager showing up was honestly for the best.

Still, it’s not fair leaving Archer to fend off Dad alone.

I know my father, and he’s a human dog with a bone. He won’t let up once he has someone in his sights, meaning I’ll have to persuade him I’m both okay and not coming back.

It’s just that…

I chew a nail as I stare at my phone. I’ve kept it in airplane mode, mostly, only turning it back on for brief stretches when I can stand the message barrage or I want to get online.

Being without it has been kinda liberating. The phone feels like a tether to my old life, and with it off, I can pretend the past doesn’t exist.

If only.

With a heavy heart and fingers that absolutely do not shake—because that would be ridiculous—I switch modes and wait for the notifications to come screaming in.

My phone buzzes like a manic vibrator for a good three minutes.

I drum my fingers as I wait.

Finally.

I find my dad’s contact and call him.

“Winnie?” he answers instantly, breathing heavily. “Is that you?”

“Hi, Dad. Who else were you expecting?”

Silence.

It spreads down the line like a flash freeze. He just has this weird aura where he doesn’t need to say a single word to stop your heart. I guess that comes with being Attorney General, the power to intimidate.

But I’m so sick of it I’m not scared today.

“Winnie,” he says, a warning in his voice. “What the hell did you think you were playing at?”

Closing my eyes, I sigh so heavily I’m sure he can feel it in his bones on the other end of the line.

“Isn’t it obvious, Dad? Like really?”

“Hardly.”

“I couldn’t go through with it. The wedding, marrying Holden, living that life… no thanks.”

“Winnie—”

“I know. I know I should’ve made my mind up much sooner, and trust me, I wish I had”—it’s not like I wanted to be a pushover for so long—“and yes, I’m sorry for putting everybody on the spot and wasting a lot of money. But I couldn’t marry a man who didn’t love me. I couldn’t settle for being his arm candy.”

“Goddamn you, stop being so childish,” he snarls. “Do you know I nearly launched a statewide manhunt after you left? I was on the phone daily with state troopers. I thought you were mentally unwell, that you’d snapped. For all I know, maybe you have.”

“Dad! That’s not fair. My mind’s never been clearer.”

“We had a plan, Wynne. Then you burned it and left to chase these—these ridiculous juvenile fantasies.”

My spine stiffens.

That’s classic Dad, all right, dismissing everyone else’s needs as immature perversions because they don’t align with his. Has he ever tried to relate once?

“I’m not chasing fantasies,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re not being fair. I want you to listen.”

“Then what are you doing? We had everything mapped out, and if it comes down to being happy, Holden would have given you a wonderful life. He would have provided for you, everything you ever needed.”

Everything but love, he means.

Without love, I can’t do it.

I can’t marry a man I have no feelings for.

“I never felt anything for him, Dad. We barely know each other.”

“Nonsense! You’ve been attending charity events and campaign mixers together since you were sixteen. You always sat beside Holden. I made sure of it.”

“You tried pairing us off, you mean. That doesn’t mean I knew him, much less liked him.” I’m pacing now, frantic energy firing through my veins. “So what if we attended a few stuffy speeches? We barely talked, and when we did, it was always about surface stuff. I know his political ambitions. I know he hates gravy. I know he met three former presidents.”

“Now listen—”

“But that doesn’t mean anything. I know shit like that about celebrities, people I’ve never met.”

“Watch your language,” he says, danger thrumming in his voice.

Oh right, I’d forgotten.

Perfect ladylike daughters of the illustrious Carroll Emberly don’t swear.

They don’t curse or wear short skirts or drink more than two glasses of wine at big glam dinners.

The many times Holden or Dad discreetly stole my second glass of wine from my hand because it wasn’t appropriate, I swear.

The memory alone leaves me vibrating with rage.

I’m so over it. I can’t stop the words spilling out now.

“Holden never once opened up to me,” I say. “I don’t know anything but the basics about his childhood and growing up as a senator’s son. I don’t know his fears, his dreams—not his ambitions, but his dreams—or his weaknesses.”

Dad sighs, pure derision cutting through the phone like a razor.

“Don’t do this to me again, Winnie.” His voice is heavy and exhausted.

Maybe so, but I’m not stopping.

“I know he’s allergic to cats. I know he doesn’t like shrimp, but I don’t know what he would do if he found a hurt squirrel in his backyard. I don’t know what he’s like when he’s cooking, or even if he can cook because we’ve only eaten at restaurants.”

“And? I don’t know what that has to do with—”

“I don’t know what he looks like first thing in the morning before he’s washed his hair. I don’t know what he looks like when he laughs—I mean really laughs.” Honestly, I’m not sure that man can laugh. I think he’s missing the humor gene. “We’ve been together since…” I stop, thinking back.

Since Dad pushed me into Senator Corban’s office as an intern right after college and that stupid Geopolitics degree I never wanted.

Since they organized it and I just went along with it for a couple years because I longed for Dad’s approval, and if dating Holden—or pretend dating him—was what it took, I was prepared to do it.

I was ready to put my personal life on the line for someone else’s career. Pathetic.

“It’s always business with Holden,” I say. “He dated me because he had to, because it was the logical step before we could get engaged, and he always put in the bare minimum.”

Dad makes a noise of irritation. “Marriage isn’t about romance, Wynne. How long do you think that lasts, anyway? A good marriage needs a strong foundation, based on practicality and mutual benefit.”

Any questions I had about whether my parents ever loved each other are answered in one fell swoop. My heart pinches.

“Holden behaved like he was entitled to me, Dad.” I know I sound angry. It’s all coming out now, every last scoop of hurt he served up over the years.

“Your union was a hope of ours for a long time.”

“That doesn’t mean he could come and go as he pleased. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to try. Is it so hard to buy me flowers or take me out to a nice orchard with bees? I don’t need expensive presents. I just want him to want to be with me.”

“What are you saying? Of course he wants to be with you.” Dad’s voice is reasonable now. “I wish you could hear yourself. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“No, Dad. I’m thinking perfectly clear for the first time in my life. Ever since you told me he was going to propose and you just expected me to say yes.”

Why did I say yes?

Why did I go along with any of it when it made me so heartsick?

“He’s a forgiving young man,” Dad says. “I know this mess has been horribly embarrassing for him as well, but I know he’ll be able to move past it if you come back. Just think about it, Winnie. Merging our families means all the resources and opportunities you could ever want for yourself and your future children—”

Children?

Children?

I laugh hysterically, cutting him off.

“Kids? With him? You’ve got to be kidding.” There’s no way I could have so much as a puppy with that man—literally, too, seeing as Holden is allergic to, like, anything with fur.

How I went this long thinking I could survive with Prince Anti-Charming feels mind-boggling. Totally insane.

“I’m not doing it,” I say loudly, in case he hasn’t gotten the message. “Marrying Holden—no way. I can’t. I won’t.”

“So what now? You’re throwing your whole life away to run off to Kansas City and do what, exactly?”

I swallow thickly.

That’s a valid question, but at least for the next month, my life is sorted. “I have… things.”

“Things,” he spits back. “I see.”

“I do! I found a place that needs a beekeeper—”

“Are you serious?” He barks out a brutal laugh that chills my spine before his voice turns glacial. “You’re an adult and you can make your own decisions. I can’t stop that. However, that doesn’t mean we’ll stand by and support you while you trash your entire life. Especially when you throw away every opportunity we’ve ever given you.”

“Dad—”

“No, Wynne. Your feelings may matter to you, but they won’t change my mind. I also won’t have you relying on us to bankroll your mistakes,” he says, his voice hard. “Consider your trust gone.”

My stomach drops through the floor.

Holy shit.

Holy shit!

The trust is what I’ve relied on to pay for everything. It’s mine, and it has been mine since my eighteenth birthday. I haven’t been expecting to live off of it forever without working, no, but it was a steady backup. A reliable money cushion.

Having a trust fund is a special privilege I’m very well aware of, yes, so I want to make the most of it, to use it to pursue something that matters.

But now if it’s gone—

At least I still have my grandparents’ trust. It’s not as big, but it’ll give me a month here. I can use that time to figure out my plans.

Get a new job somewhere. Start fresh.

“To be clear, that includes your grandmother’s trust, too,” Dad says. “Until you come back home, you’re not getting another cent from us.”

“Dad.” My voice cracks with panic.

Here come the hot, furious tears.

“Did you think I’d fund your reckless daydreams indefinitely? If you want to do this, you’ll do it alone.”

Tears sting my eyes.

I’m not relying on my dad to bail me out.

I’m relying on my money. It’s always been mine, to do whatever I choose.

“You can’t,” I whisper.

“Can’t I?” He softens his tone, placating me. “Come home, and you won’t have to worry about this anymore.”

“So what, this is blackmail, then? A threat?”

“This is reality, Wynne. Welcome.” He’s back to being the hard, icy man I remember from my childhood. “I only hope you wizen up soon. Come to your senses before I contact any lawyers.”

Before I can say anything, he hangs up.

I stare at my phone blankly.

Lawyers? Is he going to sic his lawyers on me because I don’t want an arranged marriage?

Shit.

I shouldn’t have spent so much on that stupid last-minute bachelorette party in the Keys with my best friend Lyssie. It was miserable, anyway.

I was sick with anxiety from marrying the wrong man the entire time.

I couldn’t enjoy it.

Without the trust money, I have enough for maybe another week or two, if I’m frugal. Then I’m completely homeless.

I drop my head in my hands.

This is awful. Complete disaster.

I have literally nowhere else to go that doesn’t involve crawling back to Springfield and winding up at Dad’s mercy. Even if I crash with Lyssie, he’ll find me.

It’s tempting to cry, but after two days of feeling at peace, I don’t want to ruin it by bawling my eyes out again.

No matter how short-lived it is now, this place is happy.

When I leave—and I will almost certainly have to leave—I can cry then. I’ll spill my tears in a crappy hotel room, if I’m lucky, and a cardboard box if I’m not.

No way am I going back home.

Dad can blackmail me all he likes.

I can get a job as a waitress or something.

I can figure something out. I just need time.

I glance at the kitchen and all the sleek new equipment I haven’t used yet.

The worst part isn’t figuring out what to do from here.

It’s having to tell Archer everything before I make any big decisions.

I hate it, but it’s only fair.

The intercom next to the large gates buzz me in and I pull up outside the front of his house, which looks like it was dropped right out of some modern architecture magazine.

It’s all white stone and the two wings flank me on either side. Large windows with black modern frames keep it from looking too old-fashioned.

Hot damn.

I figured he did well for himself, but this is better than I expected. This is actual multimillionaire status, if not billionaire with a B.

Not flashy politician money, no, but the kind of wealth from guys like Dad’s donors, the people who buy their puppets in government.

Even Dad’s historic home looks like a modest bungalow compared to this. Archer Rory’s anti-humble home is big enough to rival the richest DC hacks and lobbyists living in Fairfax and Arlington.

How much did this house cost to buy? To build? Five or ten million, at least. And in Kansas City, which hasn’t caught up to the pricing insanity of the coasts, that buys you a lot of house.

I’m trying to breathe.

Then again, it makes sense he’d have a mansion. It’s a family, right?

The Rorys. Of course, they’re swimming in money.

Suddenly, the cheesecake in my hands feels like the world’s worst peace offering. It basically screams ‘I’m broke, save me.’

I mean, yes, technically that’s what I’m screaming, but now that I’m here, this whole thing feels like a mistake. A sitcom setup for a funny humiliation.

I rap on the large black door before I can change my mind, though, and for good luck press the doorbell linked to the camera that’s wired in.

I’m expecting a butler to answer, wondering who this peasant is intruding on his master’s turf.

But there’s nothing from the screen.

In the time it takes for someone to come to the door—probably because they had to trek across the Atlantic to get here—I’ve rethought every life decision and concluded they’re all wrong.

This is probably the most wrong yet.

But maybe no one heard the doorbell? They might not be home.

Maybe I should leave while I can and pretend this never happened, before I embarrass myself and—

Then that huge black door groans open.

“Hey, Winnie. I thought it might be you.” Colt stands on the other side. The lazy surprise on his face becomes a welcoming grin. “You here to see Dad?”

“If he’s around, yes. Um, I looked you guys up. I brought cheesecake.” I hold up the glass container with my pathetic offering.

“Cool!” His face lights up, which eases this torture a tad. I still wish I’d brought something else, or at least remembered a gold serving dish under it. “He’s in his office. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

As I step inside the mansion—literal mansion—following his lead, I’m greeted with soaring walls, gorgeous high-ceilings brimming with natural light, and a wooden floor that leads me into a wide, open concept kitchen with a huge dining room attached.

Colt scampers off, and I take my time looking around.

I wonder how you ever get used to a house like this. Do you ever learn to stop feeling small?

I thought the kitchen at my cabin was impressive, but this is like four times bigger, with dark marble counters, a large island, and a rounded old-world arch leading into the dining room, which is flanked by bookshelves along the walls that reach to the ceiling.

So many books.

It’s like a mini library, except for one wall by the window overlooking an insanely large garden and pool. There’s nowhere to sit except the huge dining room table, all stunning and glossy wood, large enough to seat… a lot of people.

There are also red paintings of cardinals hanging on the walls. They all look like the same artist’s work, the birds striking different poses in new landscapes and seasons.

I’m sensing a theme.

“Gorgeous,” I murmur, reaching out to touch the modern frame. The signature in the painting’s corner is large and loopy, with a D and a R intertwined, but I can’t quite make out the name.

“Winnie.”

I whip around to face the voice behind me, clamping a hand over my mouth.

“Oh—hi. You… you startled me.”

“Clearly.” Archer folds his arms as he looks at me, more bear than man.

It’s insane how hard he rocks the daddy look. Like you’d know he’s a dad just by looking at him, stoic and intense and maddeningly hot.

He’s just wearing trousers and a button-down shirt today, no jacket to be seen. And holy hell, it shows off his shoulders, two massive hills honed by pushing boulders. What does this man eat?

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

Right. Back to business.

I clear my throat, nodding at the painting I was admiring. “They’re so pretty. I was just wondering where they came from.”

“Oh, that.” His arms loosen slightly. “They’re my mother’s. She’s been painting for years.”

“Cardinals, huh? Is she big into birds? They’re really pretty.”

“They’ve become a family symbol of sorts.” His mouth opens like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. “Colt says you brought cake.”

“Oh, yeah!” I gesture at the container on the table, which looks laughably tiny in this cavernous room. “It’s not much, but I figured I should bring you a peace offering.”

“What peace offering? Didn’t know we were at war.” After raking his eyes over my body, he picks up the cake and cracks the lid open to sniff. “Smells good,” he says, and I swear there’s a trace of surprise in his voice. “What is it?”

“Cheesecake. Honey and lemon. I whipped it up with some of the honey from the hives.”

“I see the purple. Impressive, knowing that’s not dye.” He puts the cake back down and turns his attention to me, which I could do without because now I’m ready to throw myself on his mercy and my courage is sputtering. My cheeks are red, mere seconds from combusting. “So why are you here?”

“Well.” Deep breath. “I thought begging might work better in person than over the phone.”

“Begging?” His frown hasn’t left his face, which makes me feel worse.

I’m in his space, making him feel weirded out, and it’s so large and elegant and oh my God this is humiliating.

“I spoke to my dad earlier today…” I draw in a long breath and exhale, focusing on not letting it shake on its way out. You know, just in case I’m tempted to fall apart. I wrap my arms around my shoulders, hoping I can hold myself together. “He’s kind of a control freak. Maybe you guessed that. He likes to keep a tight lid on money that’s rightfully mine.”

“I see,” he says slowly.

“And right now, the lid just kinda stuck—it’s locked. Permanently. Like throw away the key.” This time, I can’t stop my voice from shaking.

My eyes sting.

I blink harshly, another black mark on the long list of embarrassing things I’ve done in front of this man.

But he’s so close to me now.

I don’t even know when he got this close, but I can see every detail of his blue-and-white striped shirt, so tight against his biceps it looks like it’s painted on.

His sharp scent washes over me. No man has any right to smell this good, like mint and citrus and fresh laundry thrown together in this unholy union.

God, it would be so easy to lean forward.

To rest my forehead on his chest, safe and secure in his wall of heated human stone.

“I can’t afford the cabin anymore,” I blurt out. I have to say something before I lose my courage and start honking ugly sobs. “I thought I could, honestly, but he’s pissed that I’m not coming home and—” The lack of oxygen makes my head spin, and I take a breath. “And the point is, I don’t get access to my money again unless I go home. He’s holding everything except my bank account hostage.”

Archer’s mouth is a hard, flat line.

Big surprise.

I’d be pissed too if this weird bee girl showed up with a runaway bride sob story to complicate my life. I’ve already cost him his patience, his time, his sanity—and now I’m asking for his financial well-being, too.

I don’t let myself stare at his face for too long.

“I see,” he says again, this strangely gentle tone that says maybe he really does understand.

“I’m so sorry, Archer. I never meant for any of this to happen. The last thing I wanted was to make myself your problem.” My whole body is shaking now. Get it together, Winnie. “I know this is dumb and you must be furious. I know—”

“Winnie, stop. Just look at me and breathe,” he rumbles.

He’s even closer now.

I can feel his wonderful body heat, this invisible aura comforting me, stroking me like a kitten right down to my bones.

He’s so tall. I have to look up to meet his gaze and those ice-blue eyes that aren’t so icy after all.

In fact, they’re more like a wide, welcoming sky.

I blink so fast it hurts.

Sad, scalding tears fall down my face.

The shame just keeps piling up. This is the third time I’ve cried in front of him.

“Breathe,” he says again.

I hadn’t thought this bear of a man could sound so gentle. He runs a hand up my arm to my shoulders and the gesture is so reassuring, I have to fight to keep my eyes up. If I’m not careful, I’m going to melt right into him.

“I’m really sorry to come here like this, crying all over you. To even ask for something I don’t deserve.”

“Enough. Stop apologizing.” The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but he holds back, his eyes speaking with warmth and seriousness. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever else happens, I need you to know that.”

“Easy for you to say,” I whisper.

“We’ll work something out. It’s a premier property and this involves the company, so I’ll have to talk to my brothers, but they’re not unreasonable. No one’s throwing you out on the street, Winnie.”

I frown, trying to hash out what he’s telling me.

“You mean you’re… not kicking me out?” My knees feel like they’ll crumble under me.

“Nah.” The other side of his mouth twitches and he loses his grimness. “You’ve just tapped into a honey gold mine on our property, right? Why the fuck would I fire my top bee expert?”

Holy hell.

Only Archer flipping Rory could leave my heart in shambles with a single question.

I sniff back the ugliness, wiping under my eyes. “That’s crazy generous, but I’m no expert. I don’t have a degree in entomology or anything. I just love bees.”

“False modesty. You’re a bee nerd and you ought to be proud of it.”

“No, really, I…” I finally figure out what he’s doing. “Oh. Well, I mean, I guess I’m not not an expert.”

“There we go.” Just like that, he slides an arm around my shoulders and tucks me against him.

I look up to find his eyes fixed on my face. Such warmth, such fire, it curls my toes and sends heat flooding my veins.

Twisting to get a better look at him, I balance myself with a hand on his arm. It feels way too natural, too easy, too close to a real attraction.

If we’re not careful, this could get very weird. Especially if I can’t make myself care whether or not it’s right and—

“Dad! Hey, Dad!” Colt comes pounding through the kitchen to where we’re standing.

Archer springs back, releasing me like I just burned him. His cheeks are heated and mine are definitely torched.

Why do they always say karma’s a bitch?

Because I think déjà vu might be worse.

Colt stops and looks between us, but his eyes are wide with whatever news he’s brought, demanding his dad’s attention.

“Um, just thought I’d let you know Mom’s here,” he says urgently.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, flaming crap. The wife.

How could I forget?

Just thinking a man like this would be alone with a kid, that’s the height of insanity.

About as crazy as almost kissing a married man and then blubbering all over him.

Archer takes another step away from me and clears his throat as I stare numbly at the cake, feeling like I’ve had a bucket of cold water tossed in my face.

Archer has a wife. Colt’s mom.

Of course, of course.

And while he was comforting me, all soft and sexy and tender, I let my idiot brain fly off into fantasyland, where men built like oak trees and richer than sin magically fall in love with girls who have nothing but honey to their names.

I willingly forgot there must be a woman in his life.

It all makes perfect sense, though.

But for some reason I don’t dare focus on, the thought of a wife stings. It’s becoming a huge effort to breathe for a different reason now.

Congratulations, Winnie Emberly.

You just won the Too Stupid To Live award.