I smile, but inside, my mind is whirring.
What was Declan like before we married? Was he a player? Or did he just not meet the right woman?
Someone like me, my naïve heart says.
I look over at my husband, who’s looking at me. His gray eyes lock onto my blue ones, and for one beautiful heartbeat, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.
And then, Tex cracks a joke, and the moment ends.
* * *
“That went well,” I say to Declan on our drive home. “Right? I know your teammates had a lot of questions…”
He chuckles. “Sorry about that. They’re not accustomed to seeing me with a wife.”
“I liked them,” I say. “They were all friendly. It did feel a little strange being around so many people who don’t know the truth. I’ve been spending most of my time with my dad, Jamie Beth, and your cousins, so I haven’t had to pretend anything, you know? Tonight was the opposite. I hope I handled it okay. I know how important the ownership stake is for you.”
“You handled it perfectly. I was impressed by how you dealt with all those fuckers.”
I laugh. “I meet new people every day. This was fine.”
“You were great with that reporter. Rick can be an ass.”
“Aw, he was easy to handle. No worries.”
Declan glances over at me. “Seriously, though—was it difficult for you?”
“Which part?” I ask him. “Pretending to be your wife?”
He nods.
And maybe I’m reading into things too much, but the way he tenses his jaw—I sense my answer means something to him. Something more than just getting the prize of being made an owner of a professional hockey team.
I reach over and touch his arm. “Being married to you is never difficult, Declan.”
And now, maybe I’m being naïve, but something about this moment gives me hope that at the end of this fake relationship, maybe Declan and I can stay friends.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I don’t think I’m awake enough,” I say lamely the next morning as Declan hands me a cup of coffee and leads me out the door of the cabin.
“You woke up before I did this morning,” he says. “You were sitting at the kitchen table when I got up.”
That’s true.
Right now, I’m wishing I’d just told Declan about my riding issue. Then, maybe we wouldn’t be marching to the barn together. And on the anniversary of my mother’s death to boot.
Declan keeps walking toward the barn, and the only choice I have, other than to watch him leave, is to follow him. So I do. But inside, I’m shaking.
When we reach the barn, he stops and turns to face me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I bite my lip.
“Mia.” Declan runs the rough pad of his thumb along my bottom lip, forcing me to release the hold my teeth have on it. “Let’s go sit on the couch in the barn and talk.”
“Okay.”
We sit down in the spare office room in the barn, and I inhale the calming smell of horse and hay through the open door. I’m surprised when Declan takes my hand gently in his.
