Archer’s surgical scars have gone pale beneath Oliver’s grip. He must be in excruciating pain. If he is, he keeps it well concealed, his indifferent mask never flickering. I let out a relieved breath when they finally break apart.
“Funny,” Oliver says after a long moment, winding his arm around my back as soon as it’s free; pulling me close like I’m a prize he’s won in their contest of wills. “Josephine never mentioned an old friend.”
Archer smiles coldly. “She never mentioned a boyfriend either.”
“She’s not one to brag.” Oliver forces a laugh at his own joke. Archer does not join in. When silence descends again, it’s even more stagnant than before.
“So,” I squeak. “Uh—”
They both look at me.
I fight the urge to squirm like a bug beneath a magnifying glass.
Kill me now.
I glance up at my boyfriend. “Sorry, Oliver — I’m just so stunned to see you standing here, I’m at a bit of a loss for words. I had no idea you were flying in.”
“Wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if I’d warned you first, darlin,’ now would it?”
“Right,” I agree weakly. “When did you get here?”
“Touched down just over an hour ago. I came straight here from the jetway.” Oliver glances at Archer. “Josephine’s parents were kind enough to lend me the company Gulfstream for the journey. Can you believe that?”
“Oh, I’d believe just about anything when it comes to Blair and Vincent.”
I glance at him sharply, eyes narrowing at the cutting edge in his tone.
What’s that all about?
Oliver doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “They’re great, aren’t they? I’m lucky to have two bosses who don’t mind me dating their daughter. Or taking a personal leave to surprise her halfway across the world.” He grins wide, a flash of bright white teeth. “Hey! Here’s a thought. You’re an old friend — maybe you can convince Josephine to fly back to Switzerland with me in a few days. Everyone knows it’s where she belongs.”
Something inside me quails.
Archer’s jaw is locked down tight. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, but his words are low; nearly guttural.
“She’s all yours, Beaufort.”
With that, he turns and stalks away, disappearing down the dock in a handful of strides. I watch him go — muscles in his broad back rippling, long legs carrying him swiftly away from me — and have to swallow down the urge to lean over the edge and vomit straight into the water.
“Not the friendliest chap, is he?” Oliver murmurs, watching Archer untie his dock lines and step aboard. “I guess all those stereotypes about grumpy New Englanders aren’t too far off, after all.”
“He’s just…” I shake my head, trying to clear it, then force my eyes away from the yellow lobster boat. “A little rough around the edges, right now. He’s been through a lot since I left.”
“Hmm.” Oliver looks down at me. “You’ve been friends a long time.”
Despite the curiosity lurking beneath the words, they are not phrased as a question. He sensed the strange, electric intimacy between Archer and me a mile off.
I nod. “Since we were kids.”
“You never told me about him.”
“No,” I say softly. “I didn’t.”
There’s a long silence. Oliver stares at me, weighing my words. Parsing hidden meaning from the gaps I’ve left unfilled. “I’m guessing you dated,” he says with forced nonchalance. “First boyfriend?”
“No. We never dated.”
Not exactly.