Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
marlowe
It’s been four weeks since I last saw Declan.
I’m getting better. Or, at least, I’m pretending it is.
The intercom buzzes on Sunday morning, jolting me. I’m in sweats, my hair is a mess, and I’m still wearing makeup from the night before. I’m not expecting anyone, so who gives a damn?
“Miss Briggs?” One of the security guards says when I press the button. “There’s a Declan Murphy here to see you.”
My heart screeches to a stop.
Then it slams back to life, pounding so hard I can’t breathe.
Four weeks of silence. Four weeks of crying myself to sleep. Four weeks of dancing until my feet bled because it was the only way to stop thinking about him.
And now he’s here.
“Miss Briggs? Should I send him up?”
My hand hovers over the button. I could say no. Tell security to tell him to fuck off. Let him feel what it’s like to be rejected.
But my voice betrays me.
“Yes, send him up.”
I have maybe two minutes. I don’t fix my hair or wipe away the mascara smudges from yesterday’s crying fit. I don’t change out of the ratty tank top with the hole in the hem.
If he’s going to see me, he’s going to see the mess he made.
I make him wait once I hear the knock. I count to ten. Then to fifteen.
A lump lodges in my throat as I pull open the door.
My eyes widen. Wow. He looks almost as bad as I do. Dark circles stain the underside of his eyes. The stubble on his face is closer to a beard. He’s lost weight, too.
Good. Fucker.
“Molly.”
“Declan.”
Then, nothing.
Lola appears behind me, hisses at him, and stalks away.
Monarch runs toward him, tail wagging, and she tries to lick Declan’s face.
Traitor.
“Can I come in?” he asks after petting her.
I don’t move. “Why? I think we’ve said all that needs to be said.”
“Because I’m an eejit. A gobshite. A fucking fool who let the best thing in his life walk out the door because he was scared.”
My heart pounds. Hard. But I don’t let him off easy.
“Scared of what?”
“Of loving you too much. Of losing you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I thought if I pushed you away, you’d be safe. But you weren’t safe. You were just gone. And I was fucking dying without you.”
“Good.”
He blinks. “Good?”
“You should have been dying. I was.” My voice cracks. “You broke my heart, Declan. You told me you loved me and then you threw me away.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix four weeks of crying myself to sleep. Sorry doesn’t fix feeling like I wasn’t enough to fight for.”
“You were always enough.” He steps closer. I don’t back away. “You were more than enough. I was the one who wasn’t. I didn’t know how to love someone without being terrified of losing them.”
“So you decided to lose me on your own terms?”
“Yes.” His voice breaks. “And it was the worst mistake of my life.”
I stare at him. This man who killed for me. Who looks as wrecked as I feel.
“You can’t just show up and expect—”
“I’m not expecting anything.”
He drops to his knees.
Right there in my doorway.
“I’m asking. I’m begging, Molly. Give me another chance. Let me prove I can be the man you deserve.”
“Declan—”
“I love you. I’ve loved you since we hooked up in that fucking underground club in Brooklyn. I was just too stupid to admit it.”
He pulls a box from his jacket pocket and flips open the top. My breath hitches at the sight of the diamond ring glittering against the black velvet.
“Marry me. For real. No contracts. No arrangements. Just you and me.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I know.”
“I should slam this door in your face.”
“Probably.”
I reach down, grab his shirt, and haul him up so we’re face to face.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, you idiot. Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, I love you.” I pull him close and tangle my fingers in the back of his hair. “And yes, I’m going to make you suffer for this.”
Then I kiss him like I’ve been starving, and he’s my next meal.
He kisses me back, and it’s desperate, needy, and full of love.
“I’m sorry,” he says against my mouth. “I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
“You’d better.” I yank him inside. “Now shut up and take me to bed.”
Afterward, when we’re tangled together in my sheets, he traces patterns over my skin that make me shiver.
“I talked to my father,” I say, lacing my fingers with his.
“I heard he’s back.”
“He came to see me. Apologized.” I prop myself up on one elbow. “We have a long way to go. But we’re going to work through everything.”
“And your mam?”
“We talked too. Really talked. She actually apologized.” I trace the line of his jaw. “I told her I’m done being controlled. The ballet, my life—it’s my choice now. She seems to get it. And she’s okay with letting go. Finally.”
Declan pulls me closer. “What do you want to do? Other than ballet?”
“I don’t know yet. Something with business, maybe. It’s been so long since I had to think about it.” I look at him. “What about you? How’s the bodyguard business going?”
“It’s going well. Roark’s been sending clients. Cal’s talking about expanding.” He kisses my forehead. “Legitimate work. Clean money. A future that doesn’t involve breaking kneecaps.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Yeah?” He grins. “Maybe you could help. Be my business manager.”
“Maybe I could.”
The animals have gathered around us. Fiona at the foot of the bed, Lola glaring from his perch, Monarch curled up in the corner.
“I meant it, you know,” Declan says. “Every word.”
“I know.”
“Forever, Molly. That’s what I’m promising.”
“Forever,” I repeat, tracing a finger over his lips.
And for the first time in weeks, I believe it.