Chapter Eighteen Declan
Chapter Eighteen
Declan
Four days until the wedding
The front of my house has turned into a car park. Why in God’s name anyone would have an engagement party four days before a wedding, I’ll never understand. I swear these people will look for any excuse to party.
I’m hiding out back, enjoying a smoke, when I hear my sister scurrying around the side of the house to find me. I roll my eyes when she comes barreling around the corner.
“I thought you quit!” she snaps, stealing the half-smoked cig from my fingers and throwing it into the gravel. As she stomps it with her shoe, I glower at her impatiently.
“And here I thought I was a fully grown man.”
Waving me off, she asks, “How are things going?”
“Well, let’s see. The blood sacrifice is at four, orgy is at six, and then at eight, we’re driving all of the cars into the loch. So you’re just in time.”
“I’m being serious, Declan,” she says with a head tilt.
“What, Anna? What could possibly go wrong? It’s a wedding. The two most important people are alive and accounted for. I mean, what else does this event really need?”
“Did you order the flowers? Pick the cake? What about their tuxes? Did you send them in to be pressed? We have a steamer in the back if you need it because it might be too late—”
“For Christ’s sake, Anna. Will you relax? Everything is fine. And you can’t be meddling. I’m supposed to be doing this by myself,” I say with a sigh.
“Aye, but you’re not over there. You’re out here.”
“Och, fine!” With a huff, I stomp toward the party behind the house. It’s an intimate affair, mostly with friends who are almost all high-maintenance celebrities.
There’s an entire waitstaff handling the food and drinks, so I don’t know what she wants me to do. Anna and I stop in the periphery of the party and watch to be sure everything is going smoothly.
Immediately, my eyes catch on Colin at Pierce’s side. The American has his hand on Colin’s back as if he’s holding him in place, and I feel something in me tighten.
Anna turns to look at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she murmurs.
“I’m fine,” I mutter as I turn away and walk toward the house.
“Yo, Barclay!”
I freeze in my tracks as the party goes silent, all eyes on my back, I’m sure. The American actor’s voice carries across the garden, and after a deep breath, I turn to face him.
“Yes, Mr. Hall. How can I help you?”
Anna stiffens by my side.
“Oh, don’t be so formal. Come have a drink with us!”
Turning toward my sister, I force a fake expression of enthusiasm on my face. “See? I’m doing great. Now relax.”
But she doesn’t. If anything, she seems even more tense. Leaving her behind, I close the distance between myself and the party. As I reach the couple, I take a flute of champagne from the server’s tray.
“Of course, Mr. Hall,” I say politely as I raise my glass. “To the lovely couple.”
I’m an impostor, pretending to be posh and congratulatory, although I’m neither. I’m slobbish, disorderly, obnoxious, and unruly. And I’m not happy for this lovely couple, but I will be happy when this wedding is over and I get what I want. Until then, I can fake it.
Everyone raises their glass before we all take a drink in unison. Colin’s watching me with a guarded expression, and it’s as if he’s the only person here who can see past the facade. He knows I’m faking it.
When Pierce’s glass lowers from his lips, he smiles at me. “My friends here were noting the beautiful art in the main hall of the house. Is it true you painted those?”
“Not all of them,” I reply with a polite nod.
“The portrait of the family, though?” a beautiful woman asks.
I clear my throat as I feel my sister’s presence next to me.
“Yes,” she says sweetly. “That was Declan’s work. He painted that from memory, eight years after our parents had passed. Isn’t that so impressive?”
“Quite,” Pierce says as if he’s sizing me up. I gulp down the rest of my champagne and immediately reach for another.
“He’s so talented,” my sister says, grinning up at me. “He also sculpts and sketches as well, but his portraits really are his masterpieces.”
“Anna,” I mutter before taking another drink. “Please stop.”
“What?” she asks innocently.
“I think it’s awful,” Colin mutters and there’s a collective gasp around the party. The corner of my mouth lifts in a smirk as I stare at him with gratitude in my eyes.
“Thank you,” I mumble to him while his fiancé and my sister stare at him in horror.
“What? It was a joke,” he says with an uneasy smile. “He doesn’t like compliments.”
Pierce looks away with stone-cold judgment on his face as he picks up his drink.
“Oh, he never did,” my sister says with a giggle. “I’m afraid our brother used to torment him about it.”
“This is an engagement party, and yet we’re talking about me,” I complain.
“How long does it take you to do a portrait?” Pierce asks, obviously ignoring my protest.
“Depends,” I reply with a shake of my head. “A day for a sketch. A couple weeks for the paint if it’s small.”
I don’t think anything of his question or my reply until Pierce looks at Colin adoringly. With his arm still around his shoulder, he squeezes him tighter and leans in to press his lips to Colin’s. I force myself to look away.
“I know you’re so busy with the wedding, but I would love a painting of my soon-to-be husband.”
“Oh, no. Absolutely not,” Colin says, immediately shutting down the idea.
“Why not?” Pierce implores.
“Because he’s busy, and I don’t want to sit for a painting.”
“I’ll pay him, of course. But how special would that be, Colin?
The artist who owns the place where we got married could do a portrait of you as a gift for me.
” There is something in the way he enunciates each word that spears the haze of my champagne buzz.
He’s showing off. Or rather…he’s rubbing it in my face.
His soon-to-be-husband. His painting. This is a show of ownership and intimidation because he thinks I care.
Pierce is enthusiastic and quite compelling, but I’m standing across from them both, frozen in place and oddly hopeful he actually talks Colin into this. Why? I don’t know. I can see this overinflated, chauvinistic pissing contest for what it is, but at the same time, I accept his challenge.
Not that I want to be alone with someone who clearly can’t stand me. But I’ll take the work and the money.
“Then why don’t we both get our portraits done? Together,” Colin argues.
“Because I don’t want to be in it,” Pierce replies. “But I might want to watch,” he adds with a mischievous wink.
My cheeks grow hot as I silently watch them argue. I have to admit, Pierce does seem enraptured by Colin. He’s always admiring him, touching him, smiling at him as if he’s thinking of devious and filthy things he’d like to do to him.
For some reason, it makes me despise Pierce even more. He’s arrogant and obnoxious. There was a time when I was myself both arrogant and obnoxious. But things have changed.
“What do you say, Barclay?” he asks, and by the look on his face, I can tell he would never expect me to deny him.
“Of course,” I say without expression. “I could make it work. Perhaps tonight…after the party.”
I watch the movement in Colin’s throat as he swallows.
Then, I spot a hint of mischief in Pierce’s expression that has my eyes narrowing and my spine stiffening. Something about him has my suspicions raised, but I can’t quite put my finger on it yet.
“We should really get back inside to check on the caterers,” my sister says, tugging gently on my arm.
“Yes, of course,” Pierce says with a charismatic smile. “Thank you for everything you both have done.”
Colin doesn’t say anything as Anna and I move away from the party, but I feel his eyes following me. We’re barely out of earshot when my sister starts.
“I don’t feel right about this,” she mumbles under her breath. “There’s something strange about him.”
I shrug it off as I pick up the pace. I agree with her, but I won’t voice it. I won’t let Pierce’s peculiar behavior get in the way of this wedding and my future.
Besides, their relationship is none of my business. No matter how uncomfortable it makes me.
* * *
It turns out running a wedding is bloody exhausting.
Sometime after working out table assignments and making flower arrangements, I pass out on the chaise lounge in my studio.
I skipped dinner altogether, so when I hear someone calling my name and wake up to see the windows are now dark, it takes me a moment to figure out if it’s very early or very late.
Then I recognize the blond figure standing over me with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Oh hey, Shakespeare,” I say groggily as I force myself to sit up.
“I’m going to tell him you’re too busy to do this,” he says in a flat tone.
“Too busy for what?” I ask.
“The painting, Declan.”
“Oh shit… Yeah, I forgot about that.”
“We’re not doing it,” he says coldly. “I’ll make up an excuse.”
I stand from the couch and run a hand through my long messy hair. “What are you talking about?” I ask. “You’re here. I said I’d do it, so I’ll do it.”
I keep a coffee press in the corner, so while I prepare myself a caffeine pick-me-up, I feel Colin standing like a statue behind me.
“Have a seat,” I say over my shoulder.
He doesn’t listen, which isn’t like him. I watch him skeptically from the corner of my eye as he starts to wander around my studio. When I notice him approaching the large chest in the corner, I tense, ready to pounce if he tries to open it.
My studio is a mess, still half in boxes and packaged-up old paintings.
It has been my studio for as long as I can remember.
Although it was never my bedroom growing up, I slept in here more often than not.
I have a memory of my mother making my dad carry up an old mattress because she was tired of finding me sleeping on the dusty floor.
It’s not the same one that’s up here now, but it’s in the same place.