Chapter Three Declan
Chapter Three
Declan
The sound of tires on gravel shakes me from my dreamless sleep. I force my eyes open, and as the light of the room cracks through my lids, I stare across the dusty studio at a blurry pile of green bottles strewn across the floor. With a groan, I roll to my back.
Just then, I remember that I stayed up far too late and drank far too much last night.
“I’m a daft idiot,” I mutter to absolutely no one. I only binge drink when I’m under a lot of stress, and seeing as how I am about to host an entire bloody celebrity wedding at my house, I’d say the stress levels are pretty high.
The sound of a car door slamming outside jolts my eyes open wide.
Oh, fuck.
They’re here.
My head wobbles and aches as I bolt off of the bed in my studio, climbing to my feet and waiting for the oxygen to reach the top of my head.
Or wherever the fuck it belongs. In a mad dash, I tear off my clothes, replacing them with what I assume are clean ones, giving them a quick sniff before throwing them on.
I kick over the green bottles as I rush to the door, padding quickly down the hall to the lavatory.
Another car door slams in the distance as I wash my face and quickly brush my teeth.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m late.
Glancing down at my phone, I see that it’s nearly one in the afternoon. I’m going to lose this bet before it even starts. My head is still pounding, and my stomach lurches as I rush out of my room, semi-presentable, and down the stairs toward the entrance of the house.
After Killian moved out and my sister renovated the manor for events, we sectioned off the eastern portion of the house so that I would have a place to live separate from where random strangers, guests, and employees would be meandering.
When there are no events going on, I have the entire place to myself, save for a few of the staff who stick around most of the time.
Once I slip into the central part of the house, I hear voices outside of the wedding guests who have just arrived. It sounds like an American man and the familiar soft mumblings of what I assume is a British man.
After quickly fixing my hair, I pull open the main door of the manor and greet my new guests.
I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.
Nerves and anxiety lay claim to my insides, fueled by a terrible hangover and the fact that I haven’t entertained or been the least bit social in a very, very long time.
I might be somewhat broody and grumpy in my mature age, but once upon a time, I was a charismatic, personable, outgoing man. Like Anna said, I used to be the life of the party at uni—the one with the stories, who made everyone laugh and never went home alone.
I can entertain a few celebrities for six days to win a bet. How hard can it be?
“Welcome to Barclay Manor,” I announce from the exterior landing.
There’s a Rolls-Royce parked on the gravel in front of the door.
A tall man walks toward me from the car.
Right away, I can tell he’s an actor, probably in films. He is dashing and very familiar-looking—in a movie star sort of way.
I have definitely seen his face somewhere before, although I can’t quite place it. I’m not one for cinema, admittedly.
“Thank you,” he announces as he puts out his hand. “Pierce Michael Hall.”
The name rings a bell.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply as I put my firm grip in his.
He’s very tall, probably a few inches taller than me, with luxurious amber-brown hair that curls behind his ears. He might actually be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. It almost hurts to look at him.
That is, until the other person pops out from behind the car. I would recognize his golden-blond hair anywhere, and it catches my attention first. Then I stare into the abyss of those cool ocean-blue eyes that I know far too well.
And not from screens or posters but from memory.
Colin Shelby.
He freezes on the other side of the car as he stares at me in shock, probably mirroring my own expression. “Declan?” he asks.
Hearing his voice again hits me harder than even the image of him standing in front of my house. It’s like I’m transported back in time.
I don’t respond as he rounds the car and walks toward me, his eyes never wavering from mine for a second.
As he steps closer, I take in his appearance, the way he’s aged in the seven years since I’ve seen him.
There are new wrinkles forming around his eyes and lips, and it’s somehow made him even more handsome.
He climbs the stone steps to where I’m standing until he’s just two feet away from me. “Hi,” he mutters lowly, as if confused.
“Hi,” I reply in the same tone. Part of me wants to reach out and pull him against me for a hug. Seven years is a long time, and I’ve felt every single day, so now that he’s standing here, I’m at a loss for how to react.
Before I can move, the tall, dashing man comes to stand next to Colin, placing a hand on his back as he asks, “Does anybody want to fill me in?”
Colin quickly shakes himself out of his stupor. “Honey, this is Declan Barclay. The one I told you about. We went to uni together.”
“You’re the famous Declan?” the man asks in astonishment.
He uses the word famous ironically to describe me, and perhaps condescendingly, since he is the celebrity and I am not.
Then he thrusts a hand out with a smug smile and takes mine, shaking it with vigor as he says, “Well, this is fantastic. I expected your sister to greet us, but this is a pleasant surprise. What a small world.”
I feel as if I should smile at the American, but I’m finding it hard to tear my eyes away from Colin. His unexpected presence has me forgetting my manners…and how to function, apparently.
“When Pierce told me where we planned the wedding, I thought maybe… But I never imagined you’d be here,” Colin says, stammering as a crease forms between his eyebrows.
I chuckle to myself. “Normally, I’m not. My sister usually handles these things, but I…” My voice trails, unable to remember how or why it’s me standing here today and not her. Everything else just feels irrelevant now.
He laughs, creating dimples in his cheeks that I’ve never once forgotten about.
“God, it’s good to see you,” I mutter under my breath. Embarrassment floods my cheeks, and I quickly compose myself. Was that an odd thing to say?
Colin only reacts with a smile. “You too.”
But it’s his fiancé who shuffles his feet awkwardly for a moment. That’s when I glance at the taller man, then back at Colin, putting two and two together. Fiancé.
Something cold and heavy expands in my chest. “You’re getting married?” I ask, trying to remain casual.
“Uh, yeah,” Colin replies, glancing over at the man to his right, who hugs him closer affectionately.
“We’ve had to keep things under wraps,” the American man explains.
“The media and paparazzi can create such a hinderance for these sorts of things. That’s why this will be a private ceremony.
Your sister said security would be tight, and we wouldn’t have anything to worry about.
” He has a sense of arrogance I can spot right away, as if he expects the world to turn a certain way just for him.
“Of course,” I say to please him, “and we have that all under control. Nothing to worry about.”
“Good,” the man replies.
Like a magnetic pull, I find myself looking back over at Colin. The more I stare at him, the more it feels as if my brain is broken. I forgot what I’m supposed to say or how to even say it. I still can’t believe he’s standing here on the front steps of my house about to get married…to someone else.
That’s when I suddenly recall that not only has it been seven years since I saw Colin, but the last time I saw him was not on good terms. We fought and said some hurtful things to each other. I told him to leave. He said he never wanted to see me again.
And now I search his features for signs that that still rings true, but for now, he seems to be smiling, as happy and surprised to see me as I am to see him.
“Well,” Pierce says, clapping his hands together, “how about a tour?”
“Yes, of course,” I say, breaking myself out of the spell that Colin’s blue eyes have put me under.
Clutching my sister’s brown leather planner against my chest, I turn away from the guests and focus on the task at hand.
Regardless of who the wedding couple is, I still need to win this bet and get my house back to being just my house.
I tuck a messy curl of hair behind my ear and fix my wrinkled shirt as I lead the two of them away from the front steps.
“I will take you on your tour of the property and then show you to your room. A full staff will be on hand for you at all times over the next six days. And they’ve prepared a lunch for you today on the veranda behind the house.
So once we finish our tour, I will leave you to it.
Of course, I will be around, available for whatever you might need. ”
With that, I guide the two of them around the property, showing them the gazebo, where the ceremony will be held; the hall of the manor, where most of our parties are held; and the gardens, where we will hold their reception.
I feel Colin’s presence behind me like a shadow the entire time. The memories come flooding back, but I shove them away, devoted to doing my job and winning this wager.
After the tour, I lead them to the table at the back, where our staff has already prepared their lunch.
But as I move to step away from them, I feel a warm hand on my arm, sparking goose bumps across my skin.
“You should have lunch with us,” Colin says, looking me in the eye.
Heat flushes to my cheeks. Then I glance at his fiancé.
“Of course! You’re an old friend of Colin’s,” the man announces, pulling back the extra chair for me. “I absolutely have to hear what you two were like in college.”
Instantly, Colin and I stare at each other with wide-eyed, surprised expressions on our faces.
And I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing I am.
If he only knew…