Chapter Twenty-Three Declan #2
Hanging my head back, I let out a disgruntled sigh. “Do you hear yourself? His other wife? Why do you and your mum put up with him? It’s ludicrous.”
“Why do you think, Declan?” His expression is deadpan.
“Money,” I reply sadly.
Again, he nods. “I have his inheritance, but my mum has nothing. If they divorce, she’ll be left penniless. And deep down, I think she’s holding on to a fantasy. I don’t know… Maybe he is too, and that’s why he hasn’t divorced her.”
We return to silence, listening only to the rain. I can’t help but look up at him, watching the solemn sadness wash over his features. He always was a hopeless romantic, clinging to the idea of love in a way that was never quite realistic.
Or maybe I’m just the cynic.
“You know, for what it’s worth,” I say. “I loved that historical biopic you did.”
“You saw that?” he asks, looking up with surprise.
“Of course,” I reply nonchalantly. “I’ve seen everything you’ve done.”
His eyes linger on my face for a moment before he turns toward the garden. “Pierce doesn’t like it when I say yes to the low-budget films. It makes sense. I don’t make as much money off of those. They don’t really further my career much.”
“Aye, but you enjoyed it. I could tell.”
“I did,” he mumbles as if lost in a memory.
“Besides, it’s your decision,” I reply. “Who cares what he thinks?”
At that, Colin laughs, a bone-dry laugh. “He’s about to be my husband. Of course I care what he thinks.”
“Well, I’m not your husband, but I’m far more interested in what you think, and he should be too.”
Colin heaves a sigh. “Stop it, Declan,” he says before rubbing his forehead. He looks irritated with me, but I’m not sure what I did.
“Stop what?” I ask.
“Stop comparing yourself to him. Stop trying to be a hero. Stop thinking you’re so much better for me than he is.”
With a chuff, I shake my head. Unbelievable. “I never said any of that,” I argue.
“Yeah, well, I can hear it in your tone.”
“I’m not comparing myself to him, but if I was, I’d prove to be far better.”
“There it is,” he replies with a laugh. “So arrogant, Declan. And all talk.”
“You think I’m arrogant?” My tone is dripping with sarcasm. “Compared to him?”
“You both are,” he snaps. “The only difference is that he is my fiancé.”
“Well, you’ve got me there, Shakespeare. I’m not your fiancé. I’m not your boyfriend, and I’m not your husband. I’m your friend. And as your friend, I’m always going to have your back. Can you say the same thing about him?”
I can see his jaw clicking from here as he grinds his molars with frustration. “You always were such a good friend,” he mutters under his breath.
I don’t argue. I can read the subtext, and I can hear the acrimony in his voice. I was never more than his friend, even when he wanted me to be. There’s nothing untrue in that argument, so I keep quiet.
As if on cue, the rain pours even harder, like the sky is commiserating.
“So what about you, huh?” he asks as he turns toward me with a tired-sounding sigh. “How come you’re not engaged, or married, or dating anybody?”
“When have I ever?” I reply.
“I figured you’d grow out of it eventually,” he says.
“Grow out of it?”
“Yeah, it’s a little depressing, don’t you think? This idea that you have to be alone forever.”
“Yeah, I do,” I sigh. “But it’s just who I am, Colin.”
“I recall,” he says with a hint of sadness in his voice. “So no one’s caught your fancy and made you want to change your mind?”
You have. But I don’t say it out loud.
“No one,” I reply flatly.
“So what are you going to do now?” he asks. “You’re just going to live in this big old house by yourself? Paint and waste away for the next fifty years?”
“It doesn’t sound half bad,” I reply.
“Sounds miserable and lonely,” he quips with a downhearted expression.
It is miserable and lonely. I want to tell him that, but I’ve always tried to protect Colin from the darker, more depressing things.
“Hey,” he says, looking up at me with a bit more enthusiasm. “You remember that asshole Malcolm from uni, the rugby player?”
The sudden change of topic takes me by surprise.
“Aye,” I reply, my brow furrowing as I try to recall the memory.
“Did you know that he went pro?” he asks.
“I honestly haven’t given him a second thought since we graduated,” I reply.
“Well, he did,” Colin says with a hint of a smirk on his face. “In fact, he married an actress, and she was in my last film.”
“Really?” I ask, suddenly intrigued. “Did you see him?”
“I did. At our wrap party.”
“Did you punch him again?” I inquire with a laugh.
He shakes his head as his smile pierces his cheeks with dimples. “No, but he asked about you.”
My jaw drops. “About me? Why?”
“He thought that we were together, and he figured we were still friends.”
“Huh,” I say. “And what did you tell him?”
Colin takes a moment as he contemplates his response. “I told him that we had lost touch,” he replies sadly.
I let my eyes drift downward, away from his face, as regret pummels my insides. “That was a nice way of putting it.”
He nods back at me, and neither of us says anything for a moment. This lingering reminder that Colin and I used to be something amazing, even if there was no name to the thing that we were, stings.
We were friends. We were lovers. We were in love, and yet, never together, never in the right place at the right time.
Out of nowhere, I mumble, “Do you love him?”
Colin stiffens, his throat moving as he swallows. “Declan, don’t do this.”
“Just tell me you love him, and I’ll stop worrying.”
“You don’t need to worry about me anymore,” he replies, shifting against the cold floor.
“Does he protect you?” I persist. “Does he listen to you? I know you give him control, Colin. I can tell. But do you trust him?”
His eyes widen as he stares at me. I’m picking open an old wound. Bringing up Colin’s submissive side is a low blow, and I know it, but I need to be sure.
“Of course, I trust him,” he whispers. There’s an unsteadiness to his voice that triggers my concern even more.
“Like you trusted me?” I ask, and moisture grows around Colin’s eyes.
When he doesn’t answer, I grow eager and restless.
Scooting closer to him, I reach for his hand, but he pulls it away.
“I’m speaking as your friend, Shelby. You are too kind, too forgiving, too pleasing to guys like him.
Don’t give yourself away to someone who doesn’t deserve it. Don’t let him—”
“There you are.” An American voice calls from across the garden. Colin and I quickly shift away from each other. I hadn’t seen Pierce approach or even noticed that the rain has lightened to a drizzle. He’s carrying an umbrella and walking toward us with concern on his face.
My heart is hammering in my chest as I try to look natural. My gaze keeps skipping to where Colin is sitting uncomfortably against the cold wall of the gazebo.
“Baby, what happened?” Pierce asks at seeing Colin’s ankle.
“I slipped in the grass,” he stutters nervously.
“Oh no, are you okay?” Pierce crouches in front of Colin.
“I’m fine. I think I just need to rest it for the afternoon.”
“Of course. And this is where the cake decision needed to be made?” Pierce asks with a haughty laugh.
“No,” Colin replies, glancing toward me. “I just needed a break before going back in to face my father,” he says.
“Oh, he’s not that bad,” Pierce replies, rubbing his shoulder. “Don’t give him such a hard time.”
Colin doesn’t respond; he just seems to retreat in on himself a little.
“Come on,” Pierce says. “Let me carry you back.”
“All right,” Colin replies.
My chest tightens with annoyance. I offered to carry him back. It should have been me.
I’ve never felt so helpless in all my life. And so out of place. What am I doing here? Why do I feel as if their relationship has anything to do with me? I don’t belong here.
“I should get back to work,” I say, rising from the floor and brushing the dirt from my pants.
Before I can leave, Pierce claps a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of him,” he says. “But I’ve got it from here.”
I don’t respond. I just glance down at Colin briefly before nodding at Pierce. Then I turn my back on them both and march out into the rain.