Page 144 of The Agreement


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"Oh, you mean you lied to me?" Her features crumple.

My heart seizes. My blood pressure shoots up. Sweat pools under my armpits, and I snatch up the mug.

"No, no, babe. Nothing like that. See? I do like it."

I manage not to breathe as I take a sip, and my stomach heaves.Fucking hell. Death by chamomile tea, and at my own wedding.That would give the tabloids something to write about. I take another sip; this time bile boils up my throat.

I hear a chuckle, then another, then the entire table bursts into laughter.

I look at Abby to find she’s giggling. Declan’s collapsed against his chair, holding his sides as he guffaws.

Sinclair’s smirk is now a full-blown smile. JJ holds up his fingers over his forehead in the universal sign that indicates loser. Even the usually inscrutable Michael has his lips curled up in a sardonic smile.

I’m so disoriented that I take another sip of the demonic witch’s brew. My entire body seems to seize up, and my throat closes. But I manage to swallow down the vile liquid. The expression on my face, no doubt, mirrors the agony I’m putting myself through, for Declan laughs even harder.Motherfucker.I glare at him, then raise the mug to my lips again, when Abby wraps her much smaller fingers around my wrist. "It’s okay, baby, you don’t have to drink the rest. We were having fun at your expense, is all."

"It’s not that I hate it—" I draw in a breath. "Truth?" I turn to her. "I hate the infernal infusion. It tastes like horse’s piss, though admittedly, that’s not something I’ve drunk, but it’s exactly how I’d imagine it."

"It’s okay. I know. I promise, I’ll never make you drink it again."

I lower the mug to the table, then take her hand in mine. "If you ask me to drink poison, I’d gladly do so, baby. Fucking chamomile, ain’t got nothin’ on that."

"Aww," the women around the table sigh.

Declan snorts.

I narrow my gaze on him. "Your turn is coming, fucker, and I’ll be the first in line to buy popcorn and watch the mess that is your life become even messier."

"Champagne, I need more champagne." Solene jumps up and glances up and down the long table. "Where is the champagne, anyway?" she asks.

"Uh, we wanted to avoid any incidents, so the champagne is on that table.” Summer points at the table at the far end of the tent.

"Accidents?" Declan asks.

Solene pushes away from the table and heads toward the bubbles.

Isla, who’s seated next to Declan, holds onto Tiny’s leash. The Great Dane lumbers to his feet, his ears prick, and he tracks Solene’s progress across the floor. Max, on the other hand, hasn’t stirred from his position.

"Everything okay with Tiny?" Abby asks.

"It better be." Isla narrows her gaze on her dog. "Tiny, sit!"

Tiny lets out a bark.

"Tiny, don’t you dare make a scene," Isla snaps.

Next to her, Liam glances up, then comes around her chair. Together, they try to restrain the dog, who lets out another delighted woof. His big tongue lolls out of the side of his mouth, and a quiver runs down his spine.

"Fucking hell, that dog sure is excited about something," I murmur.

"It’s the champagne," Isla huffs.

Declan follows the line of sight of the dog to where Solene reaches for the bottle of champagne. She raises it and begins to pour into a glass. That’s when Tiny tugs at his leash with such force, he bumps into the table. Various pieces of cutlery fall off. A plate crashes to the ground, and one of the women lets out a tiny yelp.

"Tiny!" Isla yells.

"Tiny, NO," Liam growls.

Tiny only woofs louder. He shoves himself under the table, taking the tablecloth with him.

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