Alex

I leave Helen in my bed the next morning. She’s exhausted, the poor thing. As I head downstairs, I make a mental note to tell my chef, Louisa, to make Helen’s favorite strawberry pancakes, and lot and lots of coffee.

“Alexander Archer, is it true? Please tell me it is not true,” I hear as soon as I reach the bottom of the stairs.

I find my mother in a pantsuit and little heels, clicking and clacking my way. I sigh, loudly. I don’t have the energy to deal with her now. “Is what true?”

“First, you come to town and don’t even call your own mother. And then I hear from Joan, who heard it from Lisa, who heard from Rhonda, that you were seen around town with that . . . that . . . that . . . I can’t even say her name.”

“Helen, Mom? With Helen Blackwood?”

Jesus Christ, word travels fast!

She gasps dramatically. “So it’s true?”

Damn it, I don’t want Helen to hear this conversation.

“You came all the way over here at eight in the morning to ask me who I was with yesterday? That’s absurd and overdramatic, even for you, Mother. You rarely leave the house, and yet you come here for this?”

“I’ve been calling you, but you’ve been avoiding my calls.”

She’s right. I did get a call from her, several calls actually, but I ignored them.

“Explain yourself, Alexander. Immediately.”

I roll my eyes. It’s ridiculous that she thinks she can order me around like a child. “What is there to explain?” I head to the kitchen and pour myself coffee and then fill a mug for her. “You seem to know already.”

“I don’t understand. Are you . . . are you . . . you can’t be dating her. That would kill me, Alex. Do you hear me? Kill. Me.” She accentuates each word.

I roll my eyes again. “Stop it, Mother.” I just want her to leave. After all Helen went through yesterday, the positively last thing she needs is to deal with my mother.

“No! Not until you tell me what is going on, Alex.”

“Nothing. There’s nothing going on. And please, lower your voice. There’s no need to yell.”

“I’m not—” She stops abruptly and looks around. “Wait, is she here?” She gasps again.

“Yes. Now keep your voice down.”

“What?” she screeches, clutching her pearls.

“Mother, this is absurd. Please sit down and listen,” I say calmly, even though there is not an ounce of calm in me. “I want to talk to you. Explain a few things. We’ve been wrong about Helen.”

“She’s a murderer. You hear me? A murderer.”

“Mother, that’s enough. She is not a murderer. She’s just a victim of her father’s lies. Just like you and me. Stop listening to town gossip.” I pace away from her, needing a moment to calm myself, when I slam right into Helen.

Shit. She heard it all.

She’s going to leave me. I know it. My mother and her vitriol are going to ruin everything. But to my surprise, Helen simply reaches up and caresses my face. “It’s okay, Alex.” She moves around me and toward my mother. “Good morning, Mrs. Archer. I’m glad you’re here. I’d like to talk with you. Maybe we can sit, have some coffee.”

“No! I will not sit and chat with you like we’re friends, and you will not stand in my house and tell me what to do.”

I look at Helen apologetically, before turning back to my mother. “Mom, do it for me, please. Listen to what she has to say.”

“I said no! Get out!” she yells at Helen, and I’ve had enough. I slam my palms down on the table so hard the boom echoes through the house.

“This is my house. Not yours, Mother. And she stays. You are welcome to go. I love her, so if you don’t want to lose me, you’d better listen to what she’s got to say.”

Both women’s eyes are wide as saucers. I realize what I just said and I wince. That was definitely not how I wanted to tell Helen. I glance over at her.

She’s gazing at me tenderly, and for a moment I forget that there’s anyone else in the room.

My mother blinks rapidly, her mouth wide open in shock and dismay. “The Archer men fall for the Blackwood lies every time. Don’t you see, she’s pushing you away from me.”

“If you say one more negative thing about Helen, I will escort you out myself. Now, I’d like you to sit down and listen to what she has to say.”

“Mrs. Archer, please hear me out. I promise I’m not trying to pit you and your son against each other. If you still hate me after we talk, I’ll . . . I’ll walk away from him, I swear.”

“That’s not happening,” I interject, but Helen elbows me.

For a second there, my mother looks like she’s going to argue some more. But then she glances over at me and sits down slowly, and Helen starts talking.

“I went to see my father yesterday.”

“Pft,” my mother says with a look of disgust.

Helen ignores her and continues. “For the past twelve years, I’ve been living with my head buried in the sand. Alex told me what my father did and I didn’t believe him. I thought he was wrong, that he didn’t know what he was talking about. Because my father lied to me. He told me that he was innocent. And I was young and stupid and so I believed him, but I know there’s absolutely no excuse for it. I am so sorry, Mrs. Archer. So very sorry for any part that my father played in your husband’s death. I’m sorry my father stole from you. I’m just so very—” Her voice cracks, but she continues. “I’m just so very sorry. You have every right to hate my father. I won’t begrudge you that. I’m not exactly very fond of him right now either. But please know that I had nothing to do with it. Nothing. I didn’t know. Please believe I didn’t know.” She lets out an involuntary sob. “What you and Alex must have felt when Mr. Archer—” She pauses, unable to continue. I sit next to her to try to comfort her, but she pushes me away. I know she wants to get this all out. “Please know that I always thought of you and Mr. Archer as family. After my father was arrested, I had a lot of resentment toward you,” she admits. “And your son too. I thought you had abandoned me. But now that I know the truth, I don’t even know how Alex can stand being around me.”

I’m done listening to this. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to say any more.”

Helen looks at me gratefully and nods. “Please excuse me for a moment.” She gets up and heads toward the bathroom.

“Well,” my mother exhales indignantly. “Are you foolish enough to believe that rubbish? Where has she been all this time? The French Riviera? The Caribbean?”

“Miami, mother. She’s been in Miami. She was homeless and all alone for a very long time. She shops at Goodwill, she has a small house, and she’s worked at a fast-food joint and then at a bar. It’s not what we thought. She didn’t know what her father did, and she didn’t have a secret stash of millions. She’s had a tough time the past twelve years. And we—we did abandon her. She was only eighteen. We should have reached out to her. She wasn’t the one who screwed us. Her father did, not Helen.”

My mother’s smug look shifts dramatically. “Goodwill?”

I roll my eyes. “Is that the only thing that registered with you?”

“Of course not,” she says defensively, then releases a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Alex. How can I trust her? I just don’t know what to believe.”

“Mother, believe me. I love her. You think I’d fall in love with just anyone? Someone who’d hurt you, hurt us, like that?”

“I don’t know . . . I mean, no. Actually, I never really thought you’d want to settle down. You’re just like your father, Alex.” She gets up and walks over to me, and just like Helen always does, she gently cups my face. “My boy. My sweet, very smart boy. You are terrible with feelings but great with the concrete—with numbers, with business, with things you can plan and control. I always knew that the woman who stole your heart would make you get out of your routine, your rhythm; would challenge you and drive you crazy, but also understand that you’re different but in the best possible way. She’d accept your bad moods because she’d know that your heart is big and capable of so much love. I just didn’t think it’d be Helen Blackwood . . .”

“But Helen does all that, Mom. She gets me. She always has. If I have to spend the rest of my life proving to her how sorry I am that I abandoned her, I will. Because as much as her father screwed up, Mom, so did I.”

My mother sighs again. “I trust you, Alex. And because I trust you, I’ll try to give her the benefit of the doubt. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try. I’ve felt a certain way about her, her family, for such a long time . . . I just—I need some time to process all of this.”

I wrap my arms around her. “That’s all I can ask for. Thank you, Mom.”

“You know people in town won’t be as easy to win over, right?”

“Easy? That was easy?”

My mother hugs me again as Helen walks back into the room.

“I’m sorry about that. I’ve been a blubbering mess since yesterday.” She taps under her eyes with a tissue. “Where were we?”

My mom holds her hand up. “It’s fine, Helen. You don’t need to explain anything else to me. My son’s happy and in love. That’s enough for me to get to know you again.”

Helen looks up, surprised. “I’m—thank you, Mrs. Archer. I hope you know I love your son. Very much.”

“Please call me Doris, like you used to. I think I’ll take my leave now. It’s been an interesting morning.”

I rub my palm over my face and breathe deeply. It’s a start at least.

And it makes me realize that my mother’s acceptance of Helen is not only important for me, but also for Helen.

As soon as my mother is out of the house, Helen turns to me with an indignant look on her face.

“What?” I ask, innocently.

“You know what!”

“It just slipped.”

“So, you don’t love me?”

“No, I do. I do love you.”

Her hands are on her hips, her eyes are puffy, and her nose is red from all the crying. “You’ve taken your sweet time saying it, though.”

I pull her by her waist close to me. “Well, as you know, I’m not great with words.”

She chuckles. “Maybe I’ve noticed that a little. But tell me something else. Something from the heart. I know you have more words trapped in there somewhere.”

 “It’s more than just not being good with words. I’m just not good at understanding feelings sometimes. I’m logical and methodical. But when I first saw you again, that night at Duality, and then when I followed you to that shitty motel . . .” I pause and shake my head, reliving the moment briefly. She knows what I’m feeling, I can tell by the way her lips are set in a knowing little smile, but she’s not letting me off the hook. Not this time. She’s waiting for me to get it out.

“Your brain and my brain don’t work in the same frequency.”

“That’s okay, Alex. I don’t care about that—”

I put my finger up to her lips. I don’t want to be let off the hook, as it turns out. “I wasn’t thinking in cold logic. Hell, since you’ve been back in my life, nothing I’ve done has been based on rational thought or calculated reason. It’s all been done out of desperation to see you safe and secure. It’s been out of feelings that I don’t know how to quantify. So, yes, I can be stone. But with you I’m not. I’m soft and befuddled and illogical. And I want to feel that way for the rest of my life because being with you—whether we’re fighting or making love—is the most alive I have ever felt.”

Her eyes tear up again. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Was it? Because I think what I meant by that was you make me crazy.”

She laughs a watery laugh. “Yes. But in the best possible way.”

Alex

It’s the night of my mother’s seventieth birthday party. She absolutely did not want this party (at first), but it’s time she had something good. Something that didn’t involve mourning, or sadness, or anger. The fact that she didn’t fight me too much about it shows me she wanted this for herself as much as I wanted to give it to her.

It’s a black-tie affair, and the damn tie feels like a vise against my neck. And then I see Helen.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” It’s always the same when I see her. It hits me like it’s the first time every time. She’s stunning.

“Thank you.” She smiles, then looks at me with concern in her eyes. “You are so fidgety, Alex. What’s wrong?” 

“How can you not be nervous?”

“What are you talking about? I am nervous!” she exclaims, incredulously. “But this event is important to your mother and your mother is important to you, so . . .”

I kiss her soundly. “You don’t take any shit from anyone, you hear me? Anyone says anything offensive, you come and tell me, immediately. You feel uncomfortable, we leave. No questions asked.”

“Relax, Alex.” She adjusts my bow tie. “It’s going to be okay.”

Did she forget how terrible our last gala went? And that just reminds me what an asshole I’d been.

We walk in and my mother is the first to greet us. She hugs me tightly and then gives Helen a kiss on the cheek. It’s polite, not warm, but a step in the right direction.

“You look wonderful, Doris.”

“Thank you, Helen. You do too. Is that vintage Prada?” she inquires, stepping back to admire the stunning canary-yellow dress Helen is wearing. I love how she didn’t hide in black. She chose to stand out, proudly, in a bold color. I’m so unbelievably proud to be standing next to this woman.

“No, it’s not. But thank you.”

I know that it’s not Prada or any other brand name because I tried to take her dress shopping and she refused to accept my money. She did, however, come back from shopping this morning with this dress, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she bought it at a secondhand store. With all the money I have to shower her with, the woman still refuses any of it.

As we walk farther in the ballroom, I’m aware that there’s a lot of staring and shocked expressions. When we hit the bar, I see a group of women whispering among themselves and men glaring.

“Baby, stay here for a second, okay?”

She opens her mouth but before she has a chance to question me, I walk to the band and take the mic. My mother smiles at me and winks, knowingly. I tap the microphone and the music stops playing.

“Good evening, everyone. I’d like to thank you all for coming. I know it means the world to my mother to have all her loved ones here tonight. My father’s greatly missed tonight.”

There’s a bunch of “here, heres” and “happy birthdays” and clapping from the guests.

“I’d also like to take this opportunity to introduce you all to Helen Blackwood.” I gesture to Helen by the bar and she looks like she wants the earth to swallow her up. But I want everyone to know that I have no hard feelings toward her. Maybe if they realize that, they can get over their own crap too. She gives a mortified little wave. “She’s the woman in my life. Some of you may already know her, or think you know her. If not, you are missing out. She is someone you want to know. She is the smartest, most caring woman I’ve ever met. She’s also forgiving, something I wasn’t too good at doing until recently. It’s a very liberating trait, if you don’t know that already.” People are looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind. But they understand my gist. “She loves it when I talk.” I chuckle softly into the mic. I can’t believe I’m doing this. But, fuck it. For Helen, I’d do anything. “Most people don’t. And they’re probably justified, since I usually say the wrong things. But tonight, I hope I say the right thing, and more than that, I hope to God she says the right thing.” And there in front of the entire Seattle society that shunned her twelve years ago, I reach into my tuxedo jacket pocket and open a box. There’s a collective gasp, but I ignore it, looking right at my Helen. “Baby, you were made for me. I know there is no one else in the world that I would ever, could ever, love as much as you. Helen Blackwood, will you marry me?”

And just like that day twelve years ago, with complete abandon and trust, she runs right into my arms knowing I’m right there to catch her. She looks up at me, those big eyes full of unshed tears, but also full of joy. “Yes. Of course I will.”

There’s utter silence for a moment. The shock from the guests is a living organism in the room. Then I hear a long solitary, loud clap. It’s from my mother. She’s smiling at us and clapping happily. The rest of the guest slowly follow.

If my mother can forgive Helen, so can everyone else in the room.

I hand the mic back and pull Helen out of the room for some privacy.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she whispers, her face still a little flushed. “It was unexpected.”

“Unexpected good or unexpected bad?”

“Good! So good.”

“I wanted you—and everyone else—to know I got your back. And I won’t let anyone mess with you in any way. Not tonight, or ever.” She smiles at me and kisses me softly.

“I think that point was made clear, Alex. You didn’t have to propose for that.”

“I’ve wanted to make you mine since the day we kissed on your birthday. Shit got fucked up and derailed for a while, but you and me, baby, we are exactly where we should have been for the last decade.”

“I thought you were bad with words,” she says, cupping my face lovingly. The way she always does. The way I love.

“You opened a dam. Prepare. I may tell you sweet things often,” I tease, kissing her cheek and tugging her back into the room for the rest of the party.

When I pull out her chair for her to sit, I glance around and see glares from a few people, but mostly smiles. And slowly people stop by to offer us their congratulations, including my mother. Those who don’t congratulate us will eventually loosen up. If not, fuck ’em. Helen’s more important to me than all these people.

Although I mentally take note and vow to call my attorneys tomorrow about their interest in my businesses or vice versa. I know Helen says money can’t buy happiness. But money can buy a little revenge, and I can’t help but want to hurt those who hurt my Helen—even if I’m doing it in a passive-aggressive sort of way.

I’m still Alex Archer, after all.

The rest of the evening goes by without a hitch. We dance to the live band and after dinner, we politely excuse ourselves and leave.

“You see, nothing to worry about,” Helen says as we climb into our limo.

“You didn’t even believe that yourself.”

“Okay, it was stressful, but we made it. Nothing but a few shocked people.”

“They’ll have to get used to it. Or not. We could make Miami our permanent home, if it makes you happier to stay away from Seattle.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you, Helen. It’s time you had a little easy in your life.” I grin wolfishly at her and stroke my hand up her thigh. “And I think I’ll start by making you feel good.”

Since the moment I first saw her in her sexy dress, I’ve had to hold myself back from ripping it off her. Now that we’re finally alone(ish), I want to give in to my primal need to take her, to feel her come around my cock.

I cup the back of her head with my palm and kiss her. Consume her. It’s rough and needy, my tongue exploring her mouth, warring with her own needy tongue.

Thank God the privacy partition in the limo is up, but I know that her little mewls and my loud groans are being heard.

When the car stops, the driver discreetly knocks on the partition to let us know we’ve arrived instead of opening the door for us.

As I help her out, I grin at her. She looks disheveled. Her breasts are heaving, her dress is askew, and her lips are swollen. And I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want Helen right this second. I need her naked and in my bed ten minutes ago.

I swoop her up in my arms. She yelps in surprise and then wraps her arms around me. She kisses my neck, hungrily, as I carry her into the house, up the stairs, and into my bedroom, where I toss her on my bed.

“I’ve wanted you since before I even knew what it was to want,” she breathes, as she scurries to her knees and lets the tiny straps of her dress fall, exposing her breasts. The dusty pink color of her puckered nipples makes me salivate.

“You didn’t have a bra on? All night, and I didn’t know,” I complain jokingly as I undo my bow tie and toss it aside. My cuff links are next, then I begin to unbutton my shirt as her dress falls lower and lower. If she were to stand up, I’m certain it would pool down to her ankles.

“I don’t have panties on either,” she confesses sexily. I immediately stop unbuttoning my shirt and simply pull it open . . . buttons flying all over the place.

“I’ve always wondered what it would take to make Alexander Archer lose control.”

“You. It’s always been just you.”

“I love you, Alex.”

“I love you too, baby. Now, stand up.”

Her eyes narrow, but she does as she’s told and stands up in the middle of my bed. And just as I suspected, her dress falls right down and she’s standing in front of me completely naked.

“Fuck,” I groan deeply.

“Come here,” I say, tossing my shirt aside and undoing my pants. She kicks her dress off the bed and walks to me. I look up at her as she places her hands on my shoulders. “Are you going to be tossing orders at me all night?”

Her pussy is right in front of my face, since she’s still standing on the bed. “Yes. But you’ll enjoy my order. Spread your legs.”

And she does. I’ll never admit it, but my hands are trembling. Not because I’m nervous or scared but because I’m so eager and so goddamn turned on, I’m afraid I won’t make it. If she so much as touches me, I’ll explode.

I inhale her scent, and it’s intoxicating. I kiss her right above her knee, first the right, then the left, and her grip on my shoulders tightens. I run my thumb along her pussy, feeling the wetness coat my finger. I look up and she’s looking down at me. With her eyes still on me, I put my head between her legs and eat her pussy like a starved man. When she comes, she has to hold on tightly to the headboard behind her. I wipe my face against her thigh and then turn her over and push her chest down on the bed, her ass up, and I fuck her.

Seeing her beautiful, slender back and feeling her ass in my hands as I knee each cheek while fucking her is wicked perfection, and it doesn’t take long before I’m shouting out my own release.

After she cleans up in the bathroom, she grabs one of my T-shirts from a drawer and lies down in bed next to me. Her dark brown hair is spread out against my white sheets. She looks like a siren. She’s my siren.

“Us,” she whispers, as she twirls some of my chest hair in her fingers.

“What about us?” I ask, my brows furrowed.

“I dreamed about being an ‘us’ for a long time. I was lonely and scared and never thought I’d find real love. But here I am, in bed next to my first crush and my first real love, being an us.”

“Helen Archer has a good ring to it.” The irony of it is not lost on us.