Archer: Ex-Bachelor (Ex-Club Romance)

by Camilla Stevens

  “And you realize that you are about to marry one of the top fashion bloggers in New York?” CoCo says as he lays out an array of ties and bow ties for me to choose from. Each is in a pattern and color I would never be caught dead in, but it was the compromise I made for this circus. I look at the dark green paisley jacket with velvet flaps and dark blue corduroy pants with loafers he’s wearing and figure it could be worse.

  “I thought she wasn’t planning on posting this on her blog?”

  “True, but all the same, there’s never any excuse for bad fashion.” He looks over the plain black dark suit and white shirt that I adamantly refused to budge on and adds, “or boring fashion.”

  I ignore him and look over the ties, trying to find one that won’t make me look ridiculous.

  “Now about your hair….”

  “My hair is fine.”

  “But it would so much better if—”

  “My hair is fine.”

  CoCo just twists his lips at me, but lets it go with an aggrieved sigh.

  It’s bad enough that the purple in Stuart’s hair is still evident, along with the faux hawk. As it turns out, I have the man standing in front of me to blame for that disaster. According to both Simone and CoCo it “cheered Stuart up” and I “should have seen the smile on his face when it was complete.” All of a sudden, the Knickerbocker School doesn’t seem so bad after all.

  I had less sway over what Stuart was wearing, which left him in a lavender suit to match his hair. Thank God none of this will be posted for public viewing. Not only is a courthouse wedding “not blog worthy” but Simone doesn’t want to “disrespect” her readers by exposing them to a sham marriage. I couldn’t care less. In fact, the fewer people who know about this—and thus able to suss out what’s going on—the better.

  I look over the array of neckwear with a frown. Stuart leans on the bed next to them and plucks a tie with blue, lavender and green polka dots. “I like this one!” he proclaims.

  “Perfect!” CoCo says, clasping his hands together with glee.

  My frown deepens at that monstrosity and I reach down to pick the least fanciful option: dark blue with white dots.

  “I thought you might go for that one,” CoCo hums with disapproval as I pick it up. Stuart gives me a disappointed pout.

  I ignore both of them as I throw it around my neck. Upon closer inspection I notice that the dots are actually tiny ice cream cones. For Pete’s sake, can’t something about this wedding be normal?

  “Alright, let’s get this thing over with,” I say with a hint of resignation in my voice.

  “Did we not agree on eleven o’clock?” I ask, giving CoCo an angry glance.

  We’re standing in front of the City Clerk’s Office and Simone and her friend Vanessa are nowhere to be seen. I keep one eye on Stuart, who is passing the time chasing pigeons. The other eye is firmly on my watch, which reads half-past the agreed upon time.

  I’m wearing the vintage Rolex Kevin left me as my one nod to sentimentality. It seemed fitting considering this entire endeavor is being done on behalf of his son. Looking at the face of it calms my irritation—slightly. Waiting here, with nothing to do but stare at it every five minutes is starting to make me aware of the non-legal implications of this “strictly legal” marriage. Pretty soon I’ll be living with this woman. I wonder how long I’ll be able to stand it.

  “I told you not to rush,” CoCo sighs, shaking his head in admonishment. “We could have been waiting in the luxury of the hotel suite.”

  “Where the hell is she?” I say, reaching for my cell phone.

  “No you don’t!” CoCo says, actually grabbing my arm to stop me. I give him a murderous look which he flatly ignores.

  “It’s bad luck.”

  “I thought that was seeing the bride.”

  “Seeing, hearing, smelling, I don’t care. No, no, no!”

  Perhaps it’s the fact that my death stare looks like it may become literal, but he finally sighs and pulls out his own phone.

  “I’ll call her. She’s going to kill me, you know.” He deliberately walks away, far beyond eavesdropping distance.

  Now, I’m left on my own, which only causes my frustration and irritation to grow. My chest feels like a steam valve that’s slowly but surely reaching maximum capacity before it blows.

  “Goddamit.” I pull out my phone to call her. I don’t give a shit if it’s bad luck or not, that woman needs to—

  I stop as I see the taxi pull up in front of us. Stuart runs back toward us to greet them. Vanessa is the first to exit, dressed in a simple, light pink sleeveless dress. She looks nice, but nothing like the woman who steps out after her.

  I watch a white strappy sandal attached to a long, coppery leg step out onto the pavement, followed by its partner. The stretch of smooth skin ends at the knee where the white, lace hemline of Simone’s dress begins. It’s slim, hugging every curve, but somehow still demure, even with the off-the-shoulder neckline. Her hair brushes across one shoulder in waves pushed to one side of her face. As she bends over to pull herself out of the taxi, I catch a brief glimpse of deep cleavage and my dick nearly betrays me as I wonder what it would be like to run my fingers across the clavicle and down over one breast.

  For some idiotic reason, my mind goes straight to the video she made with Josh.

  “Jesus, Archer,” I mutter to myself, knowing that rewinding that image in my head will only lead to an embarrassing situation down below. It’s only the boiling rage I feel toward the man who filmed it that tempers the flow of blood to that region. I still have no idea what the man looks like, but he couldn’t possibly be worthy of the woman standing before me.

  If only it weren’t Simone Parker.

  She walks over and stares up at me with those rich, brown eyes. She closes them and sighs. Whatever spell I was under is lost. “You can stop fretting, we’re here.”

  “And only half an hour late.”

  She opens her eyes again and we stare at each other letting the venom flow between us until it’s interrupted by the rest of the wedding party, all of whom are far more excited than the soon-to-be newlyweds.

  “Let’s do this,” I say.

  “Yes, let’s,” she says, walking past me to the entrance.

  Congratulations to the happy couple.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  We’ve waited the requisite twenty-four hours after signing the license to make things official, but apparently there is still paperwork that needs to be signed.

  I have no issues with it, but I can see Simone’s hand tremble with each blank space that needs to be filled out. I silently will her to keep it together long enough to get this thing over with. Surely, she of all people understands the ramifications if we don’t leave here today as husband and wife.

  Even the person behind the desk is giving her an odd look. Who could blame him with that blank stare on Simone’s face?

  “You okay, Simone?” Vanessa asks, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  I hold my breath. Thankfully, that is enough to break her out of her daze. She gives me one frightened look and then shakes her head, giving her friend a brief smile.

  “Of course. Go ahead and sign.”

  I exhale with relief, as Vanessa leans over her to sign as a witness.

  “Can I sign too?” Stuart asks, peeking around Vanessa’s waist to inspect the document curiously.

  “No,” Simone says, harshly enough to make him flinch. She immediately plants a quick smile on her face and reaches out to smooth his hair. “You’re too young, sweetie.”

  “I, however, am not,” CoCo announces. He gives me a direct look before speaking again.

  “This is for you,” he points at me, then at Stuart, “and you. I’m trusting both of you with the travesty that my very own parents decided to curse me with at birth. It is to remain, in this circle of silence.” He looks up at the man behind the desk, who just returns a bored look. “This includes you too.”

  I wrinkle my br
ow with confusion, wondering what all the fuss is about as he leans over to sign his name. When he stands up, giving Stuart and me one last look for good measure, my curiosity gets the better of me. Stuart is the one to beat me to it, leaning over the paper and looking hard at his signature with concentration.

  “Co-Cor-ne-“

  “Cornelius?” I read over his head.

  “Not so loud!” he hisses, waving an aggravated hand my way.

  I huff out a short laugh. “There’s nothing wrong with that name.”

  He gives me a horrified frown.

  “I like it!” Stuart said, which earns him the same look.

  “Are we done?” Simone asks, looking over at the man behind the desk pleadingly.

  He scans the document then presses his lips together with a satisfied smile. “Looks good.”

  She’s out of her seat before he can say another word. He shoots me one last suspicious look. I flash a quick smile as I stand up.

  Why in the world is she making this so dramatic?

  After waiting yet again, it is finally our turn to take our vows. Unlike many of the other couples—young, broke and carefree; older and happily practical; ironically quirky—we don’t bother to make a show of it. No flowers. No photographers. No pretending to walk down the aisle.

  The two of us simply stand before the podium facing one another.

  The officiant gets the most precarious part over with from the start.

  “If there is anybody present that knows any legal reason why this couple should not be married, please speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  Simone’s brow wrinkles ever so subtly.

  Come on, don’t bail on me now.

  It’s a silent plea, but I’m sure it’s written all over my face. I don’t know Vanessa and CoCo that well, but I’m sure that they are both fully aware that this marriage is facade.

  Fortunately, the moment passes without comment, and I let go of the breath that I wasn’t even aware I was holding in.

  “Do you, Archer, solemnly swear to take Simone to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  I don’t even hesitate. Looking Simone directly in the eye, I respond. “I do.”

  She blinks, staring wide-eyed at me.

  “Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and keep her, for as long as you both shall live?”

  “I do.”

  “As a symbol of your promise, please place the ring on Simone’s finger.”

  I reach for her hand. She reflexively balls it into a fist and I have to squeeze lightly to remind her that this is a necessary part of the ceremony. She relaxes it, but not before shooting me a look that I can only describe as resentful.

  I don’t understand why she’s acting this way. Yes, it’s a sham marriage. Yes, I’m fully aware that the real thing is a big deal to most women. But there are bigger issues at play here and I need her to fall in line. Besides, she was the one who wanted a no-frills courthouse wedding. I would have happily—well, maybe not happily, but willingly—given her the million dollar wedding of her dreams if that’s what she wanted.

  I place the simple gold band on her finger. As soon as it’s securely in place, she snatches her hand out of mine.

  When it’s her turn to recite her vows, she sounds perfectly flat, almost robotic. Her eyes don’t rise above my neck to meet mine. Her expression is dull, almost sad. It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, but she could at least make an effort at keeping up appearances.

  I refuse to acknowledge the tiny part of me that’s upset for other reasons. The reasons that make her behavior today understandable. When she takes my hand to place the ring on it, I will her to look me in the eye.

  It doesn’t happen.

  The officiant rattles off some more nonsense that I only half pay attention to—until the end.

  “By the power vested in me by the laws of the great state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss.”

  That wakes something up in both of us and finally our eyes meet once again. She looks positively terrified.

  Once again, I don’t hesitate. My hands come up around her, drawing her in until her face is only inches away from mine. Before kissing her, I take a moment. It seems to last forever.

  The feel of her body pressed against mine.

  The heat radiating against my palms resting on her back.

  The feel of her breath on my face.

  That damn intoxicating floral scent of hers.

  The way her huge brown eyes stare up at me.

  I’m almost reluctant to shatter it all with a kiss, but a different longing spurs me on. I plant my lips against hers and close my eyes, watching the stars collide behind my lids.

  It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. Everything about this wedding is wrong…but right now in this moment it feels right for some reason.

  The squeal of Stuart laughing and the sound of him and CoCo clapping, breaks the spell.

  I quickly pull away, immediately directing my attention to the officiant with an almost angry expression as if to ask, are we finally done?

  I don’t want to see what look Simone is giving me. Did she feel the same thing I felt in that kiss? Or did it mean nothing to her. I hate that I’m letting emotion come into this, the very thing I’ve been silently criticizing her for.

  I can’t help but think of Kevin and Bette’s wedding. If ever two ceremonies could be complete opposites, ours are. No one could have denied the love they were practically swimming in. Right now, it feels like Simone and I are just floating, aimlessly adrift.

  The only person in the room who is completely oblivious is the one person who is the reason for today’s events in the first place.

  Stuart laughs as he skips ahead of CoCo and Vanessa and leading the charge out of the room. He happily engages with the other couples who actually want to get married.

  “My uncle and aunt just got married!”

  There is laughter and congratulations and an atmosphere of excitement that completely contradicts the negativity radiating off the happily wedded couple. Simone stares at the floor with a morose expression. I just want to get the hell out of here.

  Stuart is still oblivious to it all, thanks mostly to CoCo and Vanessa, who keep him moving forward. At least there is one bright spot on this day.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I step out of the car in front of my apartment building just as the time on my watch hits eight o’clock.

  This is day three of Simone and Stuart living with me, and day three of me being home by eight—almost. It’s one of the conditions I agreed upon during our negotiations at the prenup signings. It seemed like a minor inconvenience at the time, especially since I’m in the habit of bringing my work home with me anyway. The only difference being, in the past I came home to a quiet oasis of solitude and quiet. The past three days have been the exact opposite of that.

  Stuart has taken over the second bedroom and Simone has turned my bedroom-turned-home-office back into a bedroom for her. She explained the separate sleeping arrangement to Stuart—who asked why we weren’t sleeping together if we were married ‘like Mummy and Daddy’—by blaming my perfectly made up snoring. I was more than happy to fall on that sword if only to keep her decorator’s hands firmly off the last little bit of my own personal space.

  I can feel the tension inside of me rise along with the elevator. When the doors open on the fiftieth floor I stare at the door to my apartment at the end of the hallway, bracing myself for what lies behind it. I take a deep breath and exit, walking down the short hallway. My face begins to contort in confusion as I get closer and closer. Thank God the walls in this building are soundproof because it sounds like a damn concert is taking place behind that door.

  I stick my key and turn the knob with a sense of dread. The noise hits me as soon as I open it and I’m quick to step inside, slamming the door behind me before the loud chorus to Pharrell’s Happy fills the hallway.

  I stare at the surroundings that look
completely foreign to the apartment that I left early this morning. Simone wasted no time in hiring a decorator. When I left today there were already paint samples on the walls and strangers brought in to measure and move things around.

  Today I can see that the black, gray, and chrome has been replaced by bright white and pops of color everywhere. What little there is left of my furniture—I gave her permission to put mine in storage—is covered with plastic sheeting. If my key hadn’t worked I’d swear I had entered the wrong apartment.

  Then the worst part comes…in the shape of a rat-looking thing that is running straight for me yapping for dear life.

  What the hell is this?!

  I stare in horror down at the little dog that is currently running around my feet, barking nonstop.

  “Simone!” I roar.

  There’s no response, probably because my voice is fighting a losing battle with Pharrell’s. I exhale a frustrated sigh and storm down the hallway to the guest bathroom. The dog, a Chihuahua, follows me, adding his own chorus to that of my new housemates singing along to the lyrics that are getting louder and louder as I approach the source.

  Clap along if you know what happiness is to you (Because I'm happy)

  Clap along if you feel like that's what you wanna do.

  The door is open and I walk in to find Simone on her knees in front of Stuart who has his Batman bathrobe on while she rigorously dries his hair with a towel.

  “What the hell is this thing?” I yell above the sound of the music as I point my briefcase down at the dog who has followed me in.

  They both turn in surprise, then completely ignore me as the dog scampers through my legs to run toward them.

  “RiRi!” Stuart yells, bending down to pick the little thing up in his arms, laughing as the dog, now blessedly silent, licks his face.

  Simone stands up and stares down at him laughing before turning to me. The happy expression on her face disappears and is replaced by one that tells me an explanation is coming.