His Wicked Obsession (Archer and Virginia) novel Chapter 412

Even during that late autumn, he had received a pair of hand-knitted, dark gray cashmere gloves.

The stitching wasn't perfectly even, and in some spots, he could see where it had been unraveled and redone, but it was the very first gift Virginia had ever given him.

To this day, he remembered her flushed cheeks and the shy gaze that refused to meet his eyes.

That pair of gloves still sat in the bottom drawer of his study at Bayview Manor.

When had Archer found out she was allergic to dairy? It was probably around that same time.

He had seen her break out in a dense cluster of hives across her flawless arms after eating a slice of the mousse he had brought her.

At the time, his heart had ached with both guilt and a profound sense of warmth, yet they still hadn't taken that final step in their marriage.

Until that one business dinner late in the fall...

The drinks had flowed endlessly that night. The clients were a group of difficult European executives, and Archer had drank far too much, leaving his stomach churning violently.

He had forced himself to stay sharp until he saw them off. When he walked out of the hotel doors, the autumn wind and a biting drizzle hit him square in the face.

Pulling his coat collar tight, he glanced up, only to spot a familiar silhouette at the bottom of the steps.

Archer remembered exactly how she looked. Virginia had been wearing a thin beige trench coat, holding a clear umbrella as she stood under the streetlamp. The amber light washed over her, making her look incredibly fragile.

Seeing him emerge, she hurried up the steps, tilting the umbrella to shield him from the rain.

How had he asked her back then?

"Why are you here?"

She lowered her head, avoiding his eyes, and replied, "It's raining."

"Zachary is with me. He went to the garage to get the car."

What had her reaction been?

That was right: she had frozen for a moment, an unnatural flush rising on her stunning features, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I forgot."

She would have treated that man just as wonderfully.

Maybe even better...

The mere thought of that possibility hit Archer's chest like a boulder, suffocating him with a heavy, crushing weight.

A wave of nameless fury flared up from the depths of his being, burning hotter by the second.

He clenched his fist so hard that the thin, freshly clotted scratch on the back of his hand tore open again, beads of blood welling up.

"Mr. Vanderbilt?!"

Evelyn jumped, crying out in alarm and ripping him from his thoughts.

She had been watching him stare blankly at the band-aid in his hand for a while now.

Did he zone out because he loved the pattern that much?