Page 20 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

“You didn’t reply to it,” I pointed out. “What, are you worried about Declan’s feelings or something?”

“It’s not that. It’s just …” She picked at some melted cheese on the paper wrapper. “I feel a little funny about hiding the truth from Peter.”

My eyebrows shot up. “I’m not sure what I’m doing is any of your fiancé’s business.”

“No,” she said, hesitant. Then she nodded. “No, you’re right. You have my approval.” She twirled a hand like she was bestowing some great gift. “Proceed.”

Not that I needed her approval, technically speaking. It wasn’t like she was the one who was supposed to be breaking the rules for the sake of a story. The rules didn’t really concern her, anymore; she’d as good as stuffed them into a shredder, leaving me to tape up the pieces. I gave her a sarcastic curtsy, adopting something that vaguely resembled an English accent. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“I swear to God, if you do one of your voices during the maid of honor speech, I’ll unalive you with the cake knife.”

I cracked a smile, though it felt a bit wan, thinking about the day looming ahead of me. “No promises.”

I had never seen so much as a picture of Renee Dunkirk, but she looked nothing like I was expecting. I’d been imagining a real hardline corporate type—Miriam from S&C on steroids, the sort that browsed Upwork for fun—but instead I was greeted by a cheerful woman with sunburned cheeks and khaki shorts that would’ve made the Crocodile Hunter jealous.

“Pleasure to finally meet you all in person,” she said, tucking a yellow notepad under her arm to offer us each a rough handshake in turn. “You know, I have to admit, when I first reached out about this whole promotional thing, I had something a bit smaller in mind.” She laughed heartily as she swept the notepad back into her hand and scribbled something with a pen. “Look where we are now.”

I’d had something smaller in mind, too—preferably something that didn’t involve soaring six hundred feet over Catalina with nothing but a few hooks and cables to prevent me plummeting to my doom, but here we were. I didn’t have a clear view of the zipline itself from the lawn that abutted the arid cliffs in Descanso Bay, but if the sharp incline in the hills was any indication, things weren’t looking promising.

“And you must be Peter,” Renee continued as she beckoned us over to a sort of training grounds, where a few employees were waiting in orange safety helmets and harnesses to give us the rundown. A photographer stood at the ready. “Lucky man, to have captured such an elusive lady.”

“The luckiest in the world,” Peter agreed, with a starry-eyed look at Jo. She nestled herself under his arm.

“And you,” Renee said, looking up from her notes, “I don’t think I caught your name.”

Lucas had elected to get a two-hour massage rather than join us for ziplining, and Autumn was busy filming her next vlog, which meant Renee could only be talking to one person. Declan was hovering behind us, like he hoped to put as much distance between himself and the whole sponsored side of things as possible. He was just along for the ride. Quite literally, on this particular occasion.

“Oh.” He obviously hadn’t expected to be acknowledged, but he stepped forward and gave Renee a firm handshake. “Declan Walsh.”

“Boyfriend?” Renee asked, and it took me a second to register that she wasn’t talking to Declan anymore. She was looking at me, and I didn’t miss the hungry curiosity behind it, as though she was wondering whether I was next on the menu—two steps from being gobbled up by the normalcy of commitment, and all the potential publicity that would come with it.

“No,” I said firmly. “Just a—” I wasn’t sure friend was the right word, so I didn’t finish the sentence, glancing at Declan. He raised his eyebrows, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the brief but awkward pause.

“He’s the best man,” Jo jumped in to clarify. “But we all went to high school together.”

Renee gave him a quick, assessing look. Declan was more clothed than I’d seen him earlier, though the thin, breathable fabric of his white T-shirt and the cut of his jeans only did a slightly better job of concealing his physique. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Prince Harry?”

A giggle burst out of me. It was more out of surprise than anything, and I tried to stifle it behind my hand, but everyone looked at me anyway. “Sorry,” I said, but offered no further explanation because I didn’t really have one.

Declan ran a hand through his hair, obviously self-conscious. “Among other comparisons.”

“You have a good face for ad work,” Renee continued, as though my interruption had never happened. “Handsome, but approachable.” She clicked her pen absently, then turned to the photographer. “Get him in a few pictures for the website.”

Declan’s face went slack, but Renee didn’t seem to have noticed. I was still biting back a grin—sure to be wiped off my face the second they hauled us to the top of the zipline course, but I was going to enjoy it while it lasted—as Renee introduced us to our tour guides.

“Brandon and Yesenia here are going to get you all geared up and walk you through a quick training course and then they’ll be taking you up to the ziplines. Rory will be taking pictures the whole time, so try to keep that in mind as far as what you’re doing with your face, posture, et cetera.” Rory had a ponytail and a camera around his neck that looked like it might’ve been too heavy for his tiny head. He waved.

“Any last-minute questions?” Renee asked. When no one said anything, she gave us a curt nod. “Then I’ll see you all at the bottom.”

The leg straps of the ziplining harness were chafing my inner thighs by the time we descended the wooden stairs to the first platform. The course was built several hundred feet into the hillside above the bay, which was looking a lot less like a hill and more like a mountain from my current vantage point. I kept as far behind the guides as I could get away with, hoping against hope to delay the inevitable. Good thing I skipped breakfast this morning. My eyes were glued to the stairs, the wood dry and creaky beneath the unforgiving sun. Coffee sloshed around in my stomach with every step.

Declan trailed behind me. “Does that happen often?” he asked.

I turned to look at him, and the world rocked on its axis. It felt like the stairs might tilt right out from under me. My hand tightened on the rough wood banister, splinters be damned. “What?”

“People asking about—” he broke off. There was that reddish color in his cheeks again. “Ah, maybe I’m reading too far into things, but I kind of got the impression that—”

“That Renee thought we were dating?” I finished for him.