A KNOCKING AWOKE ME the next morning.
A man in a high-vis jacket was stood by the window, wrapped snugly in a variety of layers. He wore a hat and a scarf, too, but I could still see his flushed cheeks from the cold.
I sprang upright, whereas Archer took his time rubbing his eyes and sitting erect.
"Vous pourrez conduire dans environ dix minutes, Monsieur," he said through the window.
[You will be able to drive in about ten minutes, Sir]
Archer glanced at the wrist watch still decorating his arm and nodded.
The guy went on his way to the next car, notifying them of the same.
I looked down to the weight resting on my waist and coughed a little awkwardly. Archer removed his arm, promptly, but didn't say anything about it. I decided not to, either.
We both started getting up, easier said than done with two people taking up the back seats, both laying down. I got up first, forcing my way back into the front seat, taking my blanket with me. Archer waited for me to be done, before returning to the driver's seat the outside way.
We stayed in silence for the ten minutes, and the rest of the drive afterwards.
The next time we spoke, we were already approaching the chalet— a towering, mansion-like place, but looking as if each layer of snow encasing it had been put there specifically, just for the... aesthetic.
"Woah," I said, cutting the silence a little bluntly.
"Autumn and Noah are already here," Archer said, ignoring my comment, as a figure approached us.
"Monsieur," the man greeted Archer, shaking hands. "Ah, Madame!" I was immediately engulfed in a hug by the brusque, well-built man with a thick french accent. "Mademoiselle Redwood has told me so much about you. You had difficult journey they say on the news. Mais you are here now, eh?"
"Snow storm came early, Martin," Archer said.
"Ah," he said with a slight frown. "Ah well, I cannot be right all the time." He seemed to remember something then, starting a little violently. "I am so rude, not introducing myself. Forgive me, Mademoiselle. My name is Martin La Guerrec."
"Jolie," I supplied. "Jolie Dubois."
"Dubois, it is a French name, non?" He commented. "Parlez-vous français?"
"Bien sûr," I said, making Archer raise his brow.
He launched into conversation with me, asking me about my heritage and anything else he could. I didn't mind all that much, but I could feel Archer's impatience.
I paid him little mind, though. Because, despite my french being frightfully, chaotically rusty, it felt like I was submerging myself into a warm bath speaking it again; a breath of comfort I didn't know I needed.
"We really ought to be going," Archer said, staring at me pointedly.
"Oh right, yes," I said. "It was nice to meet you, Martin!" I called. He waved, going to the car and then began hauling the suitcases out. I pitied him, really, as I looked up at the stairs, likely icy. But Archer was halfway up and I didn't particularly want to be locked out, so I followed hurriedly after him.
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Agreements With Mr Rich Boy | ✓
Teen Fiction[The Mr Series #1] ❝oh, you silly girl. didn't they ever tell you?... rich boys don't have hearts.❞ Don't speak to them. Don't go near them. Don't breathe within 3 feet of them. The prestigious Attwood Academy was home only to the richest and most...
