I might be somewhat broody and grumpy in my mature age, but once upon a time, I was a charismatic, personable, outgoing man. Like Anna said, I used to be the life of the party at uni—the one with the stories, who made everyone laugh and never went home alone.
I can entertain a few celebrities for six days to win a bet. How hard can it be?
“Welcome to Barclay Manor,” I announce from the exterior landing.
There’s a Rolls-Royce parked on the gravel in front of the door. A tall man walks toward me from the car. Right away, I can tell he’s an actor, probably in films. He is dashing and very familiar-looking—in a movie star sort of way. I have definitely seen his face somewhere before, although I can’t quite place it. I’m not one for cinema, admittedly.
“Thank you,” he announces as he puts out his hand. “Pierce Michael Hall.”
The name rings a bell.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply as I put my firm grip in his.
He’s very tall, probably a few inches taller than me, with luxurious amber-brown hair that curls behind his ears. He might actually be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. It almost hurts to look at him.
That is, until the other person pops out from behind the car. I would recognize his golden-blond hair anywhere, and it catches my attention first. Then I stare into the abyss of those cool ocean-blue eyes that I know far too well.
And not from screens or posters but from memory.
Colin Shelby.
He freezes on the other side of the car as he stares at me in shock, probably mirroring my own expression. “Declan?” he asks.
Hearing his voice again hits me harder than even the image of him standing in front of my house. It’s like I’m transported back in time.
I don’t respond as he rounds the car and walks toward me, his eyes never wavering from mine for a second. As he steps closer, I take in his appearance, the way he’s aged in the seven years since I’ve seen him. There are new wrinkles forming around his eyes and lips, and it’s somehow made him even more handsome.
He climbs the stone steps to where I’m standing until he’s just two feet away from me. “Hi,” he mutters lowly, as if confused.
“Hi,” I reply in the same tone. Part of me wants to reach out and pull him against me for a hug. Seven years is a long time, andI’ve felt every single day, so now that he’s standing here, I’m at a loss for how to react.
Before I can move, the tall, dashing man comes to stand next to Colin, placing a hand on his back as he asks, “Does anybody want to fill me in?”
Colin quickly shakes himself out of his stupor. “Honey, this is Declan Barclay. The one I told you about. We went to uni together.”
“You’re the famous Declan?” the man asks in astonishment. He uses the wordfamousironically to describe me, and perhaps condescendingly, since he is the celebrity and I am not. Then he thrusts a hand out with a smug smile and takes mine, shaking it with vigor as he says, “Well, this is fantastic. I expected your sister to greet us, but this is a pleasant surprise. What a small world.”
I feel as if I should smile at the American, but I’m finding it hard to tear my eyes away from Colin. His unexpected presence has me forgetting my manners…and how to function, apparently.
“When Pierce told me where we planned the wedding, I thought maybe… But I never imagined you’d be here,” Colin says, stammering as a crease forms between his eyebrows.
I chuckle to myself. “Normally, I’m not. My sister usually handles these things, but I…” My voice trails, unable to remember how or why it’s me standing here today and not her. Everything else just feels irrelevant now.
He laughs, creating dimples in his cheeks that I’ve never once forgotten about.
“God, it’s good to see you,” I mutter under my breath. Embarrassment floods my cheeks, and I quickly compose myself.Was that an odd thing to say?
Colin only reacts with a smile. “You too.”
But it’s his fiancé who shuffles his feet awkwardly for a moment. That’s when I glance at the taller man, then back at Colin, putting two and two together.Fiancé.
Something cold and heavy expands in my chest. “You’re getting married?” I ask, trying to remain casual.
“Uh, yeah,” Colin replies, glancing over at the man to his right, who hugs him closer affectionately.
“We’ve had to keep things under wraps,” the American man explains. “The media and paparazzi can create such a hinderance for these sorts of things. That’s why this will be a private ceremony. Your sister said security would be tight, and we wouldn’t have anything to worry about.” He has a sense of arrogance I can spot right away, as if he expects the world to turn a certain way just for him.
“Of course,” I say to please him, “and we have that all under control. Nothing to worry about.”
