No matter how much he schemes to get his way.
“Do you mind?” I gesture for him to move back.
He steps out of the way. I attempt to make my escape, only to be held back by Declan gripping onto my elbow. His hold doesn’t hurt, but it speaks a silent request.
Stay.
But why?
“Yes?” I ask.
“Is it that bad?”
I look up at him. “What?”
“The idea of becoming my wife.”
I swear, the rise and fall of his moods tonight is driving me insane.
“And you care about my opinion all of a sudden? I’m not sure you pay me enough for that kind of service.”
His jaw clenches. “Answer the question.”
“No.”
“Must you always be this impossible?”
“I don’t know. Must you always act like an asshole?”
“It’s not an act.”
I rear back, ripping my elbow from his grasp. “Trust me. It might have taken me much longer than others, but I finally understand why everyone calls you that.”
His long blink speaks for itself. “What?”
“The way you treated me tonight—on our wedding night no less—is unacceptable. But I guess you couldn’t care less about how or when you hurt other people’s feelings, as long as you get your way.”
“What I said in the car—”
I hold up my hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my fault for setting unrealistic expectations about us in the first place.”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly.
I keep going, wanting to clear the air once and for all. “I never did all of this for love. Obviously.” An awkward laugh forces its way out of me. “I only wanted to help you because I thought we were friends. And yes, before you say you never wanted to be my friend, I’m aware it was probably stupid to think that. I’ve since learned my lesson.”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “I realize I don’t want to be your friend either. Because getting close to you means questioning your motives about everything, and frankly, that’s way too much effort for someone who doesn’t seem to like me in the first place.”
14
IRIS
I hold my head up high the entire walk toward my bedroom. Rather than feel unsettled from my conversation with Declan, I’m hit with a wave of calmness. It seems like we are finally back to where we stood with one another before our whirlwind engagement. Sure, a cake tasting and a family dinner might have been a fun change of pace for us, but that’s all it was.
A show for the masses—kind of like a Royal Tour.
It takes me a whole twenty minutes to undo hours of hair and makeup. I might have ripped off half my eyelashes from lash glue, but it’s a small price to pay for finally feeling like myself again.
By the time I get to removing my dress, I almost throw out my back trying to undo the vintage buttons lining my spine.
“Motherfucker.” I grunt as I twist and turn in front of a full-length mirror.
Nothing works, and I’m stuck staring at my reflection with my hands on my hips.
There’s no way you’re getting out of this dress by yourself. I let out a resigned sigh as I swallow my pride and exit my room.
My fist knocking against Declan’s door echoes off the tall ceilings. I stand there, waiting for him to open up. The pressure in my chest builds as time ticks by. Ten seconds turns into thirty, and before I know it, I’m knocking again. “Declan! I need your help!”
Well, that hurts to admit. If he was sleeping, he sure isn’t now. The jangle of the doorknob gives me hope that I won’t need to fall asleep in my wedding dress tonight.
Now that’s a depressing thought.
When Declan opens the door, I want to run in the opposite direction. My heart rate goes from steady to rapid at the sight of Declan’s muscular, naked chest on full display.
I choke on my next inhale of breath.
Water droplets trickle down inches of pale muscle before disappearing into a white towel wrapped around his narrow waist. He has V-cut abdominal muscles that point like an arrow to an area I sure as hell should not be thinking about right now. An area that only proves Declan is well-endowed even when not aroused.
Warmth pools deep in my belly. My eyes give him another once-over, and my hands itch to reach out and trace the slab of muscle also known as his stomach.
This can’t be happening to me. My eyes snap up toward his face, hoping he missed my temporary lapse of sanity.
He raises a brow at me in silent anticipation.
Oh my God. He knows that you like what you see.