Chapter Seventeen
Hayden
“Divine Princess!” His voice booms and carries across the house. A couple of days ago, I discovered this nickname he had for me because he couldn’t find his phone and asked me to call it for him. Turns out, it was near me, and I got to it first, discovering my supposedly unflattering nickname.
Little did he know I liked it.
I cover my mouth to hide my laughter as the curtain around me ruffles with each little shake of my body.
He’s too close to finding me in the sitting room for me to respond now.
Be still, I silently scold myself. It’s almost midnight, and on nights like this when Darcy’s up late, stressing out, and on a horrendous rampage, I try to lighten the mood by being childish and silly.
I admit it’s not the most becoming method for me to use, but it works.
I think he secretly likes it.
The curtains open with a swoosh, and I stare into the deadly blue eyes of my husband. Wow, the term comes so easily to me now. Has it been a little over a month already?
“Yes. A month of literal hell,” he barks, answering my apparently spoken thought and grabbing my arms, yanking me from the curtains.
Since the paintball game last week, he’s started touching me in little ways—and if I’m being honest, it’s almost as if he finds reasons to touch me.
I still initiate in front of cameras, but Darcy? He’s taking initiative off-screen.
The thought causes a wave of heat to crash over me.
One month of suffocating in Darcy’s presence every day and every night has done something weird to my brain.
Sure, he’s always been attractive. But living with him?
It’s like a switch buried deep within me labeled “wife mode” has been flicked on while my hormones harass me—not just for physical encounters such as the little touches, but also for emotional connection, which I get on occasion from him.
It’s making me spiral into a pit of longing.
Not for Darcy, necessarily, but for something genuine and real.
“Admit it,” I tease as I look him over. He’s still sporting his suit from work today.
“You like being married to me. I bring a bit of fun into your life, Killjoy.” It was only appropriate that I shared my nickname I had for him.
At least he hasn’t realized my ringtone for him is “Love Yourself” by Justin Bieber.
“Chaos. That’s what you bring. Maybe I should change your nickname to that?
” He drops his hands from my arms. This has been another change for the better.
Darcy says more than simple sentences to me on the daily.
Even when it’s not work-related. Sure, most of the time it’s grumpy with a sprinkling of condescension, but I’ll take what I can get.
Secretly, I desire more of the man from the paintball arena, but I could never bring myself to admit that aloud. That would be equivalent to admitting that I like like Darcy.
And I’m 85 percent sure I do not like him like that. I just like the flirty and playful banter and the light touches letting me know someone chose me and cares.
I would almost call us friendly now. At the very least, we are no longer awkward people learning the ropes of a marriage of convenience who ignore each other as we pass in the hallway or end up in the kitchen together.
He nods his head, sometimes says hello or hey, and then I respond with a peppy smile and something out of the ordinary.
A perplexed expression will cross his face, and then he will continue with whatever he was doing.
I enjoy those moments the most. He can’t figure me out, and I love that.
“I much prefer Divine Princess.” I bat my eyelashes.
“All the more reason to change it.” He smirks, then fixes his expression back to his regularly scheduled scowl.
It’s the flashes of expression that key me into his true emotions regarding situations.
His media mask is perfected, but with me, the mask has holes.
Darcy sighs and runs a hand through his tousled blond hair.
“I’m sorry it’s late, but I need your help finalizing the schedule for the rally.
I didn’t know I would have to play a game of Marco-Polo to find you and make my request.”
“Eh, it was more like a game of Divine Princess-Killjoy, but anywho. You found me!” The background music to Link finding a Korok in the video game Zelda: Breath of the Wild plays in my head.
I have the sudden urge to do Hetsu’s dance.
It’s funny how little phrases such as “you found me” bring the silliest memories to the surface.
Speaking of Zelda, I need to call Stella soon. I miss playing her favorite game with her.
“Yes, I found you.” Darcy rolls his eyes and shifts his weight. “Now, would you mind assisting me with this schedule?”
“That’s what I’m here for, boss.” I salute him, and he rolls his eyes again. “I mean, who needs sleep? Not me. Certainly not you. I’m technically off campaign managing duty right now…”
He crosses his arms, and I try (but disastrously fail) not to notice the pull of his suit around his biceps. “I’ll make you ramen.”
Yes! But no. I need to drive a harder bargain. “And it’s midnight. No matter what the schedule says, we do have to leave at 5:30 a.m.”
“I’ll add a cinnamon roll for dessert,” he says without a smile. He then looks me over, his stoic expression holding his thoughts on my pajamas captive. “And you may remain in your night clothes.”
I give him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Ha, like I would have changed. You still don’t get to dictate my clothes, Killjoy. But I’ll take you up on the cinnamon roll.” And then I prance out of the sitting room and toward his office while wearing my My Hero Academia Deku onesie proudly.
The click of his dress shoes follows close behind.
I wish for once he would let himself be free.
I have never seen Darcy around the estate dressed in anything less than a suit.
Sometimes, he gets a little wild and takes his jacket off, but that’s the extent of his “dressing down.” It would do the man some good to let loose.
Or maybe just to bring back those bootylicious jeans he saves for Wednesdays.
“Actually.” I stop in front of his office door and turn around, only for my face to come unreasonably close to his chest. I shift my gaze upward and immediately drag it back down.
I’d much rather be unreasonably close to his chest than to his face.
“Could you, um…” I motion my hand for him to back up.
He does no such thing. “You suddenly stopped.”
I place my hands on his chest to shove him away, but he leans closer and my back presses against the door to his office. Swallowing the growing lump in my throat, I risk tilting my face to meet him.
His eyes are fierce, locked into mine. His face seems to grow bigger.
No, he’s moving closer.
My breath hitches.
Closer.
I should push him away. My hands are on his decidedly muscular chest. I admit, I’ve wanted to know what he’s got going on underneath these stuffy shirts he wears every day.
His face pauses inches away from meeting mine, and I rise on my tiptoes without a second thought.
Darcy Marshall is going to kiss me.
And I’m going to let him.
I close my eyes.
His breath tickles my ear and his arm brushes my waist.
“Hayden, I—” he whispers in a gravelly, broken voice. The way he said my name has my bones crumbling to dust.
A moment of nothing passes before something clicks and Darcy’s body heat no longer seeps through my pajamas and into my skin.
I stumble backward, dropping onto my backside through a now-opened door.
“What the—” It takes a second to comprehend what just happened, but once I do, I snap my head up to glare at the heinous man. “You let me fall!”
Can a voice achieve a higher pitch than mine did?
The marble floor is cold against my palms, which thankfully, do not hurt. My butt, however, is a different story.
Darcy ignores my accusation and walks around me with clenched fists.
I hear his desk chair scrape against the floor.
How does he have a right to be angry right now?
His mood swings are giving me more whiplash than the car accident I was in when I was eighteen, driving a beat-up Kia, and speeding away from the demon of my past: the group home.
I push myself off the floor, wincing at the slight pain in my lower back. It’s nothing a bag of ice and ibuprofen won’t fix, but still. Turning to face him, I repeat my statement with a tone of disbelief.
Darcy takes his dear sweet time shuffling papers on his desk before clasping his hands together until his knuckles go white. “Sorry, but I’m not a seer. How was I supposed to know you would fall when I opened the door?”
Agitation spreads through my veins. “How were you—what? It’s common sense!
It’s gravity. What do you mean—” Anger fills my vision, and I can’t string coherent thoughts together, much less words.
How dare he? One minute he is offering ramen noodles and cinnamon rolls and is making fiery eyes at me like he wants to devour my lips.
The next minute he lets me fall to the floor while I am close enough that he could have caught me or at the very least grabbed my arm or clothes.
The teenage girl who didn’t know how to control her emotions begs to be set free, but one thought keeps me grounded: Darcy Marshall, regardless of his abhorrent behavior, is running for president and is my boss…and my husband.
I finally speak through gritted teeth. “Let’s just get this schedule fixed so that we can go to bed.”
Darcy’s face remains emotionless, but his thumbs circle each other over and over. I’ve learned to recognize this as a sign of uncertainty and confusion. Does he truly not understand what just happened?
No. I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. Whether he understands or not, it doesn’t mean you have to take this treatment.
He nods. I sit down in the chair in front of his desk while trying to mask the pain I feel. The anger. My own confusion.