Screw him. I did not spend five hours in a salon chair, being poked, prodded, and waxed for him to say I look nice.
As if Declan can sense my brewing feelings, he grabs my bouquet of flowers and holds it out for someone. Both his hands clutch onto mine, locking me into place. Whatever expression on my face warrants a warning squeeze. Instead of allowing my anger to get the best of me, I plaster a fake smile on my face and give the priest a nod.
I’ll show him nice. Jackass.
The priest begins his lecture, but I can barely hear him over the erratic beat of my heart. Declan’s hands tighten around mine as the priest speaks about love, commitment, and hardships that will test us. I feel like a fraud for nodding along, feigning adoration. I’m sure to check the back of my dress to make sure I didn’t catch on fire for lying in the house of the Lord.
The rest of the ceremony is a blur with an exchange of standard vows.
The closer we get toward the end, the heavier my breathing becomes. It’s not until Declan grabs my left hand in his that I nearly go into cardiac arrest.
“Iris, I offer you this ring as a reminder of my commitment to you, our marriage, and our future. Let it serve as a symbol of my devotion to you, from this day on.” Something about his words makes me pause. He could have promised his everlasting love or something equally nauseating for the crowd, but he didn’t.
Because Declan Kane doesn’t show his cards. Admitting he’s madly in love with you in front of a packed church isn’t on-brand.
He silences my thoughts as he slides a thin platinum band covered in diamonds up my finger.
The two sentences I mulled over for weeks escape me as I grab Declan’s ring from my mom’s waiting hand.
“Umm—” Real smooth, Iris.
If Declan is annoyed at me stumbling over my words, he does a good job of not showing it. I clutch onto his left hand while holding onto his ring with the other. “Declan, I give you this ring as a symbol of my promises to you, as your partner and friend. May it serve as a reminder that even during our hardest days, you can always count on me to stand by your side.” I slide the band past his knuckle.
Our eyes connect. Something passes over his face. He almost seems angry, but that can’t be right? Sad? I somehow stop a laugh from escaping me. No, that can’t be true either. Declan has nothing to be sad about.
As if Declan realizes he revealed a tiny part of himself to our audience, he regains control over the emotions on his face.
And we’re back to our regularly scheduled programming.
The priest continues his spiel about trying times and the sacredness of wedding vows. He blesses us, our future children, and everyone attending our wedding.
And then the dreaded moment I blocked from my memory comes to light.
The priest steps backward toward his altar, giving us some space. “I pronounce you husband and wife. Declan, you may now kiss your bride.”
My eyes widen. Everyone around us goes silent. I don’t have to see them to know they’re curious about us. Declan hasn’t ever been seen with a woman, let alone kissing one.
My whole body shudders as Declan wraps one hand around the back of my neck. His fingers tighten, and his thumb traces my fluttering pulse point.
The world shuts off as my boss leans in toward me, the expensive scent of him washing over me.
My knees go weak, and Declan’s other arm wraps around my waist to stop me from falling. He positions me in a way that hides our faces from the audience, keeping our private moment to ourselves.
This is it. He leans forward, and our breaths mingle together. I shut my eyes as his soft lips brush against the corner of my lips.
Wait, what? Not even a whole kiss? It was nothing but a tease meant to appease the masses surrounding us.
He pulls away, leaving only a centimeter between us. His eyes are screwed shut as if he is in pain.
Embarrassment makes my eyes sting. I whisper, “That was hands down the worst kiss in my whole life, and that’s saying something given my last ex —”
Declan’s lips slam against mine, shutting me up. A buzz that starts from my lips spreads through my body like a brushfire, and I’m lost in the feel of his lips pressed on mine.
My arms lock themselves around his neck like a lifeline. I feel like I’m lost at sea, drowning in all the sensations consuming me. The press of his chest against me. The weight of his palm burning into the small of my back.
The brush of his finger across my neck, so soft it seems reverent.
I’m snapped out of the moment with a roar of applause.
Declan’s lips press against mine one last time as if to brand me with his touch. His forehead touches mine, and the sweetness of the gesture has my heart threatening to beat itself straight out of my chest.
What is he doing? More specifically, why are you feeling this way? I have officially lost it. For some reason, this chemical attraction to Declan doesn’t quite match my preconceived notion.
While he might be considered cold to the rest of the world, he makes me burn.
“They bought it.” His rough whisper feels like being doused in ice water.
Something about his comment causes a tight ball to form in my chest, growing until it consumes my heart.
His words shouldn’t hurt. This is a ruse after all, yet the ache refuses to abate.
Maybe because you bought it too.
12
DECLAN
I find it difficult to tear my eyes away from Iris as we walk down the aisle toward the exit of the church. She is the embodiment of elegance and grace, with her smile as dazzling as the new diamond band on her finger.
The ring serves as a reminder of her promise to me.
I wasn’t sure if we would ever make it to this point. After my failed engagement, I thought we would hit a snag. That maybe Iris would wake up one day and decide this was a huge mistake. But finally, for the first time in two weeks, I feel relief.
The pressure against my chest lessens with each step away from the altar.
With one part of my inheritance complete, I only have one more standing in my way of becoming CEO.
Make it through the rest of today before worrying about that.
I twist my wedding ring with my thumb, testing the feel of the metal pressing against my skin. It doesn’t feel as oppressive as I expected. Iris chose a simple band that draws little attention to the eye. Both of our rings get a single message across.
Married.
Two ushers open the doors. Together, Iris and I walk out into the bright sunlight overhead. One of the photographers stops in front of us and yells out our names. I wrap an arm around Iris’s waist and pull her against me, ignoring the way she tenses in my grasp.