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“You’re serious?” My brows contracted.
He nodded. “I’ve never been more serious. When you left, I missed you like crazy. And it wasn’t just our amazing lovemaking. I also missed having you around to chat to. That’s when I knew.”
“You knew what?” I had to milk this moment. I’d become a glutton for Declan’s encouraging words and warm, loving affection.
“I knew that our connection meant more to me than just lust. Even though you’re incredibly sexy.” His eyes grew hot. “I just want you around all of the time.”
All of the time?
I was speechless as we continued to glide on the dance floor. My cheek on his warm neck, I breathed in his maleness, while my heart fluttered about like a butterfly on a sun-drenched flower.
When the song ended, we left the dance floor. I don’t think I could feel my legs. I seemed to float, holding the hand of a handsome prince while all eyes were on us, as though we were that special couple they’d been reading about in glossy magazines. I imagined their interest was more to do with how gorgeous Declan looked in his black tuxedo.
Me married? To Declan Lovechilde?
He held my hand as we walked through the guests. All smiling and nodding at Declan and their eyes landing on me and looking me up and down.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I think so. It does feel a little weird seeing people whom I served at the dinner parties.”
“Don’t worry about that. They’ll soon get used to seeing you around in designer dresses and forget you even worked here.”
I turned to face him. “Designer dresses? Will I have to go through a whole makeover? Like cut my hair and end up looking like everyone here?”
He laughed. “Hell, no. I’d hate you to do that.” He played with a lock of my hair. “I love your hair. I’m not a fan of clones. That’s one thing I’ve often detested about this upper-class scene: everyone dressing, talking, and looking alike. That’s why I love you.”
Love? Pinch me someone.
His soft tender lips pressed gently against mine, leaving behind the promise of an endless summer.
“I thought you liked me for my body?” I asked, needing to lighten the conversation.
I’d become an emotional mess since meeting Declan. My eyes welled up over almost anything vaguely moving. Even movies and silly shows that normally I’d roll my eyes at for being too soppy. I’d never been like this before. If anything, I’d always identified as stoical.
But then, I’d never been in love.
“I need the bathroom,” I said. “Back in a minute.”
Our eyes locked, and I returned a tight, quivery smile. I needed to be alone to process what had just happened.
I walked off, lost to my thoughts, when I nearly bumped into Reynard of all people talking to Mrs. Lovechilde and Cleo.
“Fucking marvellous,” I muttered under my breath, sensing an ambush.
Reynard wore his usual supercilious smirk, which I was convinced was sculptured onto his face, while Mrs. Lovechilde remained cool. Her face barely moving, which I speculated was due to Botox combined with a cold heart.
Cleo turned to me and said, “Oh, it’s the maid.”
“I’m no longer that,” I said with some ice in my tone.
“I can see that.” Her eyes travelled up and down my dress.
“Excuse me.” I pushed past her and headed to the bathroom, when much to my horror, she entered.
“You’re really a couple now?”
I turned to face her square and nodded.
