“Wait? It’s not your birthday? Gosh, I’ll have to correct my assistant. She thought it was today. Do you know that I’m on my sixth personal assistant in as many months? Some people have the competence of a trout,” Dad says.
“Trout are fairly intelligent and resilient, as far as fish go,” I mutter.
“Is that so? Speaking of swimming. We saw your little stunt in the fountain. Who was that kid? We’ve tried to track him down for an interview.” My father guffaws.
“Glad to see you traded him in for a football star,” my mother adds.
My mind wipes blank like a computer screen that lost power. I don’t comprehend the words she spoke. Awareness filters back as I realize Declan can hear it too.
“That kid practicallypushedme into the fountain. He was?—”
“I know a ploy for the press when I see it. You learned from the best, Lefty,” my father says into the phone. “Great idea using it to make a move on a star football player.”
“I didn’t. I don’t know what you mean. How do you know about Declan?” I crane my head to look at him, but his expression remains impassive. He doesn’t let me go.
“We have our sources. Remember, the cameras are everywhere and we just hope this blows up as big as your tenth birthday party.” This time, my mother chortles.
“Mom, it’s not like that.”
“The kisses you shared at the Kitten Whisker’s pub in Dublin and on the boat suggest otherwise.”
My breath disappears. The oxygen leaves the room. I’m limp, little more than a sodden rag doll. Of course, they have cameras and sources everywhere. They’re probably following Declan after the #BruiserButt scandal, then realized it was their daughter with him.
“I’m Declan’s coach.”
“Sure you are. You wouldn’t know a football from a soccer ball if it hit you in the head. Oh, wait, Barry, do you remember when we got that footage of her getting beaned on the head at the game? Who was playing? Gosh, I can’t remember. She has two left hands and two left feet. Classic Lefty.”
My stomach churns and my knees turn limp. “Mom, I have to go.”
My father hollers, “Sheila, the limo is waiting. The Bertrams are expecting us at the club.”
“We have a big event this afternoon with the well-heeled in Hollywood. Ta ta.”
The phone goes silent. Declan’s arms around me try to dam the tears, but not even he can hold them back. I try to get loose from his arms, but he holds me in place, slowly turning me around until he embraces me in a comforting hug that’s even better than cheesy mashed potatoes.
I half expect Declan to toss me like yesterday’s trash, knowing now that my mother and father implicated me in trying to use him for publicity. For what purpose? Well, that’s the million-dollar question, literally, to my mother’s single-mindedness. Money. Fame. Influence.
When I finally slow to sniffle, Declan cradles my jaw and smooths away the remainder of my tears with his thumbs. Then he sits me down at the table before dishing us each a heaping scoop of cheesy mashed potatoes.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
“Not really.”
“Well, I have something to say.”
I glance up sharply, awaiting another blow. He believed them. He hates me. He wants me out of his house.
But Declan cups his hand over mine. “I’d noticed that they’ve never really been part of your life. Granted, I didn’t grow up with parents the way most kids did, but it’s safe to assume moms and dads usually call if they can. Right?”
“I didn’t grow up with parents the way most kids did, either.” I draw a breath that lifts my shoulders to my ears. Here goes. “Declan, whereas you grew up poor, I was rich, which just goes to show you that money doesn’t equal love.”
His lips press together, forming a thin line. “For all my flash and flair. I know that.”
“I never went hungry or anything, but they were gone most of the time. They didn’t pay me any attention, didn’t remembermy birthdays. Left me with nannies. Then, that private school in Boston for high school when I wasn’t exactly the teen star they wanted. I was always on the outside looking in. They lived a high-profile lifestyle, but I became a hidden secret, a burden. When I was little, I sometimes wondered if they even wanted me.”
Declan levels me with his gaze. “Maggie, you are definitely wanted.”
My heart swells with hope, then crashes when my phone rings yet again. This time it’s from Cateline, my boss. If my parents, owners of the biggest print and online gossip empire in the world—B&S Media—had seen us together, chances are the headmistress at Blancbourg did too.
