DECLAN #2
“I can hear you thinking.”
She lets out a soft giggle. “I’m sorry.”
I can feel her regret the words the second she turns over to face me, my hand cool against her flaming cheek. “You know the rules, Firefly.”
She huffs, but I don’t let up, my eyes locked on hers.
“I’m not sorry that I helped Lara ace her summer school quiz today.” She counts off on her fingers as she goes. “I’m not sorry I volunteered at the food pantry. I’m not sorry I went to the coffee shop with my mom and had two cinnamon strudel muffins and a caramel frappe.”
Three things she’s not sorry for.
I started making her do this when I noticed how much she apologized. Sometimes it felt like she was sorry for simply existing, and that didn't sit right with me.
“Good.” I go to place another kiss on her forehead, but she starts to sit up at the same time, and I end up catching the side of her lip.
A faint flush works its way up her cheeks. “Oh, I’m so—”
“You sure you want to finish that sentence?” I warn, and then I lean down and brush my lips against hers.
It’s a barely-there kiss. One that she probably won’t even remember in the grand scheme of life, but it makes my stomach flip.
Which is crazy because this doesn’t come close to the things I normally do with girls.
It’s so much better. I wish I could have been her first kiss, but my prick of a best friend, Ash, had to steal that from me.
He claimed he thought he had feelings for her and only realized he didn’t when they kissed.
Doesn’t matter. I kicked that fucker’s ass into next week.
I glance at the cloud-shaped clock on Skylar’s nightstand. It must be new. Her mom is always buying her these little whimsical knick-knacks for her room.
It’s two twenty-six.
“Go to sleep, Firefly, before I give you something to be sorry about.” My words are stern, but my tone is soft and teasing. The irony is that I’m an asshole to almost everyone else in my life.
But not to her.
Never her.
A quiet laugh escapes her lips as she wiggles her butt deeper into the blankets. I wrap my arm around her, soaking up her warmth.
“Hey, Dec?”
“Mmm?”
“I’m not sorry I met you.”
My heart stutters, but I don’t.
“I know, Firefly.” I brush my nose against her hair, inhaling the green apple scent of her shampoo. “I know.”
“Declan.” Once again, her voice pulls me from the memory. It’s impossible not to think about when everything about her reminds me of the past. “Say something.”
“About what?
“What I just said.”
“Your birthday. You get the trust on your birthday.”
“No, after that.”
I run my hands through my hair, and she rolls her eyes in annoyance. “I have to be married in order to access it.”
Oh.
“Which I am. Married, that is. So my proposal is—”
“You proposing to me again, Firefly?”
The words spill out before I can catch them.
I told myself I wouldn’t call her that again unless I got her trust back.
That name was ours, only whispered in the quiet of the night and through secret messages.
Ashton didn’t even know about it. Remembering that night—her worry for me and that kiss—made my brain short-circuit.
Calling her that again felt like the most natural thing in the world.
It’s too late. She’s pissed as hell, liquid fire flashing in her eyes as she stands abruptly. “This was a mistake.”
“Skylar. It slipped out.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“What exactly are you telling me?”
“You don’t get to call me that.”
“I know.”
We’re having two different conversations. She paces back and forth a few times, her eyes squeezing closed in concentration. I want to reach up and smooth out the lines of worry forming across her brow, but I don’t. I stay still, quiet, while she figures out her next move.
“I’m asking you to stay married to me for the next six weeks so I can get access to my trust,” she finally says all in one breath.
“In return, I’ll give you a cut of it. We can work out the specifics later…
or now if that makes you more comfortable.
Then after my birthday we get a divorce.
From the research I’ve done, we weren’t likely to be granted an annulment, anyway.
We don’t have to see each other or even speak.
I’ll let you know if there’s anything I need from you when I meet with my dad’s attorney again, but other than that, we can go our separate ways. We don’t need to—”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I’ll do it.”
“Just like that?” Her voice is shaky like she’s close to tears. Is this why she was crying earlier? “You’re not going to ask why I want the money?”
“Do you want me to ask?”
“No.”
“Then, no, I’m not going to ask. I do have a condition, though.”
Her eyes roll, forcing out the lone tear edging along the surface of her lid. “Of course you do.”
“We live together.” She opens her mouth to protest, but I press on. “I don’t do things half-assed, Skylar. You know that. If we’re going to be married for the next six weeks, we’re acting like it.” Her eyes go wide, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Within reason,” I add.
Her eyes dart to mine, something between resignation and exhaustion shaping her features. “I’m not—I can’t—”
“That’s my condition, Skylar.” It kills me to say the words, but I think it might be worse if I didn’t say them. This is selfish. I know it is, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “Take it or leave it.”
She looks around the room at everything but me. I have to convince every single cell in my body to turn my back on her, but I do.
I haven’t even reached the door handle when she calls out. “Wait.” Her soft footsteps break the silence. “I’ll do it.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll come back in the morning to help you move your stuff.”
“Me?” she snaps. “Why am I the one moving?”
I look around her tiny cottage, my gaze sweeping over the kitchenette and landing on the closed door at the end of the small hallway. “I mean, if you want to share a bedroom, I’m up for it.”
She crosses her arms, looking off to the side, no doubt unwilling to make eye contact with me for whatever she’s about to say.
“Fine,” she scoffs as I make my way to her front door. “Wait, don’t you even want to know how much I’m going to give you?”
I turn back to her, needing to choose my words carefully.
Honestly, I’m set for life. My grandfather passed away this fall, leaving me a large sum of money.
Unlike Skylar’s father, my grandfather didn’t require me to jump through any hoops.
He also ensured my dad couldn’t touch the money and kept the inheritance hush-hush, so my father doesn’t even know I have it.
If there were ever anyone who hated my father more than I did, it was the man whose daughter he brainwashed.
The truth is, even if I didn’t have two pennies to rub together, I wouldn’t want Skylar’s money. That’s not why I’m doing this, but she can’t know that yet.
“I trust you” is what I finally settle on before I yank the door open. I don’t need to stay to see her face and the unspoken words written all over it.
I already know she doesn’t trust me back. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight like all hell to change that.