CHAPTER EIGHT #2
Well, he is hot!
Declan hasn’t taken off his coat and looks even bigger than usual. Very ‘private security,’ dressed all in black with sunglasses on his head despite the cloudy day. I like how safe I feel with him. Sure, he’s only saved me from pedestrians and skateboarders, but he’s very attentive.
“Her husband was a soldier.” Victoria replies, and she squints gently at Declan. “Are you—”
“Navy SEAL, ma’am.”
“I thought so. Thank you for your service.” She smiles.
“Did Belinda leave her job to care for him?” I ask, rubbing my arms, and wonder if this is uncomfortable for Declan.
He no doubt found himself in dangerous situations during his time in the SEAL teams. It’s ridiculous, but I hate knowing he was unsafe. It’s all in the past, but I want to hug him and tell him how glad I am that he’s here. In one piece.
Utterly ridiculous.
My eyes lift to his warily, and I find him watching me. Can he read my mind? He gives away nothing, but I can feel its intensity.
“Yes. When she had time to herself, which was rare, she began painting as a sort of therapy for her grief.” Victoria glances around the walls. “These are her work.”
“Incredible.” Declan’s voice was thick.
Did he lose friends in battle? Did they have wives who struggled to get on with their lives?
In some ways, it's why I chose my story plot.
“I will leave you both to wander around.” Victoria smiles and quietly strides back to her glossy white desk.
Declan stays by my side as we walk from painting to painting in comfortable silence.
I imagine Belinda’s world, her chaos and grief, as her story merges with my character and brings her to life. It feels a little sordid given her real life suffering and her husband's, but this is how one gets inspiration for storytelling. That, and our own experience and imagination.
Declan stops before one and studies it for a long while.
I feel the need to say something, to let him know I’m aware, and if he wants to talk, I am happy to listen. “Did you lose friends?”
“No.” He shakes his head without looking away.
“Oh.” I blink, feeling stupid. “Sorry, I thought...stupid. Do you like art?”
For all I know, he’s into macabre things.
He might just be intrigued.
His eyes dip to mine, and his lips soften. “You’re not stupid, Stella.”
I feel it.
“Well, I assumed,” I wave my hand out. “Because you were in the Army.”
“Navy,” he clarifies while my cheeks flame.
“Gah. See...stupid.”
I knew that, but my mind blanked out, and I blame his huge biceps.
Declan chuckles and turns back to the painting. “My father was killed in action. Mom has never moved on.”
Oh, God.
“How long ago?” I ask softly, and without questioning myself, I place a hand on his arm.
Declan doesn’t react at first; his gaze remains locked on the deep blue swirls on this piece. When his eyes drift to mine, they’re rich with emotion that wasn’t visible before.
“Twelve years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, emotion boiling up inside my chest.
He draws in a breath and shakes his head. “He was a hero. A SEAL. My hero.”
I don’t make a sound, waiting for him to continue.
“Mom has kept his memory alive through me while I served, but now I’m worried about her. I want her to move on. This art...this woman. She’s done it.”
I rub his arm and turn back to the painting of the house on a lone island surrounded by a wild ocean. There is something violent and yet beautiful about it.
“And you? Have you grieved your dad?”
His head snaps around as if coming out of a daze. “No, I’ve been too busy living in his shadow and the expectations others have had of me. Jesus, sorry. I don’t know why I’m sharing this.”
“Don’t apologize. I like you talking to me.” I realize my hand has slid down his arm into his hand. His fingers tighten as he faces me.
“I did want to kiss you.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and my body jolts with pleasure at his words. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His eyes glisten as if smiling, but he’s careful not to grin. Neither of us should be having this conversation, but we are.
I should be careful. I need the world to believe this is real. Otherwise, it could put Dad in danger. Or me.
“Well, I’m glad you weren’t harmed while you served. Your mom must be pleased about that.” I smile and try to glance away, but his words stop me.
“One life, Stella,” Declan rasps. “That’s all we get. You’re still very young.”
Not that young.
“People think they have all the time in the world.”
“I don’t,” I reply bluntly.
“You must.”
We’re not talking about his family anymore.
He’s judging me, and I don’t like it. In fact, I hate it. He has no right to question what I’m doing with my life. Especially after just telling me he wanted to kiss me. I want to spin and walk away.
Declan unthreads his fingers from mine and, instead of putting more space between us, he gently cups my face. “You must, or you wouldn’t need me.”
Fuck.
His words are a slap in the face so hard I almost physically react. Tears flood my eyes before I can stop them.
“Well, you won’t have to put up with me for long.” Childishly, I turn my head from his touch, then stride through the gallery, briskly thanking Victoria before tugging open the door.
Cold air hits my cheeks.
By the time I’m on the sidewalk, Declan is beside me, helping me tug on my coat.
“I can do it,”
“You’re angry.”
“Stop telling me what I should feel,” I snap.
“That’s not what I’m doing.” His calmness aggravates me so much I spin around and slap his chest.
“Stop it.”
Declan towers over me, his breathing as labored as mine.
“Just stop all of this.” I stare at his chest, feeling stupid because I’m overreacting, but I’m angry that he’s not the man I must marry and that my parents are using me to pay their debt to a criminal.
Declan probably thinks I’m angry about the stupid damn coat.
He steps even closer, and my breath hitches.
Oh God.
He lifts my chin, and my entire body shudders as we gaze deep into each other’s eyes. No, souls. We’ve both shared a moment of vulnerability, and now we are bare inches from making a decision that could change our lives.
We can’t do this.
I can’t do this.
He can’t do this.
“Tell me to kiss you.” His voice is a rich timbre, and I swear my knees are about to collapse under me.
I swallow. “You want to kiss me.”
“More than my next fucking breath.”
Jesus Christ.
I’ve never wanted anything more than I want that this very moment, standing on Eleventh Avenue in Manhattan in November, freezing my ass off.
Kiss me, Declan.
He glances to the side, and my heart sinks.
“But you’re engaged.” Declan brushes my hair behind my ear.
“I...yes.”
I hate my father.
I hate this entire situation.
I hate my life.
Declan steps back. “I’ll get the car.”
“Declan.” I reach out a hand and take his arm. His eyes burn into mine. “If the choice were mine, I would’ve chosen your kiss.”
Fire explodes in those green globes, and just as I think he’s going to take what he wants—me...all of me—he nods and turns to call my driver.
A part of me dies inside.
Why? He’s just a man. Just my bodyguard.
And yet...he’s more.