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“Because she was never meant to be mine in the first place.”
Damn right she wasn’t. Fake marriage or not, Iris is destined to be with one man and one man only.
Me.
8
IRIS
“Oh, fuck off. I can’t believe I woke up early for this shit!”
I bolt upright in my bed. It takes me a few seconds before my disoriented brain catches up to the fact that I’m sleeping in Declan’s house.
Myhouse.
I run a hand across the crumpled sheets, trying to smooth out the evidence of me tossing and turning all night. Sleeping in a new place is always weird, but sleeping in the same house as my boss? I still haven’t fully processed the idea. Maybe because I’m still trying to come to grips with the way my whole life is being turned upside down.
“Another rain delay?! Since when are the stewards afraid of a little summer shower?” Declan’s booming voice has me jumping out of bed.
I check the time on my phone and groan. “Six a.m.?” It should be a capital offense to wake anyone up this early on their one day off.
Declan is all about rules, so maybe it’s time I enforce a few of my own, starting with quiet hours between 11 and 7. I’m quick to take off my bonnet, fix my hair, and switch my PJ shorts for leggings before rushing out my door.
Declan’s house is a maze of long hallways and empty rooms without a purpose. The only reason I’m able to find him quickly is because I follow the sound of his voice into a man cave.
A massive television takes up the majority of one wall, set up to offer the perfect view from a deep couch I want to dive into. Declan paces the space between the TV playing some kind of sporting event and a coffee table covered in snacks.
“Is that amimosa?” The horror in my voice can’t be tamed.
All I can do is gape at him. I can’t seem to find any other words to describe the scene in front of me besidesotherworldly. Mimosas. Donuts. An unlit cigar next to a half-empty bottle of champagne.
What the hell is going on?
Declan halts his steps, and his eyes snap to mine. I bite down on my tongue to make sure I’m not dreaming. The pain is instant, making this moment incredibly real.
Whoever this man is, he must be a figment of my imagination. There’s no other explanation for the backward ball cap, athletic pants, and T-shirt speckled in powdered sugar.
I’ve never seen Declan in anything but a suit.Ever. Whether we have a twenty-hour flight or a late night at the office, he wouldn’t be caught dead in anything but Tom Ford. I’m tempted to cover my eyes because the man is practically naked with the amount of forearm he’s showing off.
“What are you wearing?” His gaze hardens as his eyes scan my body, making me feel inappropriate in a sweater and leggings.
Me? What abouthim?
“You’re one to talk. The donuts are supposed to go in your mouth, not on your shirt.”
The side of his lips lifts as he brushes the crumbs off his chest. I can’t help but focus on how his ridges of muscle shift from the movement. His arms flex, drawing my attention to the veins lining his forearms—
Enough! What has gotten into you?
“You missed a spot.” I point to my mouth, showing him where some powder lingers.
Good job. Use your embarrassment to fuel his.
Except Declan doesn’t get ruffled. He merely walks up to me, leaving only a few inches between our faces. “Be a good fiancée and help me out.”
My lips press together. I could walk away and tell him to go find a mirror, but that would show him I’m ruffled in the first place by his presence.
Which would make things weird.
