“No, I’m not. I—” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, frustration edging his voice. “I’m not patronizing you, Amanda. I’m trying to—God, I don’t know—engage? Tease? Flirt, maybe? Except every time I open my mouth, you take it as an insult.”
“When were you flirting?”
He groans. “I don’t know how to do this, okay? When it comes to talking to you, I’m shit. I keep putting my foot in my mouth. It’s that way with pretty much everyone here except Tarek, which… I’m not sure if that’s comforting or terrifying. Fuck, I almost got us killed because, since the moment I met you in person, I’ve been off my game.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he continues.
“I’m better at being a mirror than a window,” he mutters.
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t think that’s the saying.”
Declan throws his hands up, pacing a step ahead before wheeling back to face me. “I am great at projecting what people want to see. That’s what makes me so good at my job—so good that it’s become my whole fucking life.” Heshakes his head and drags one hand down the back of his neck. “And my parents, especially my dad, they expect—no, theydemand—a certain level of success.”
He exhales sharply, gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder, like eye contact might break whatever dam he’s barely holding together.
“I can talk down hostile investors, restructure eight-figure portfolios, and negotiate buyouts with billionaires in boat shoes…” His voice cracks on a bitter laugh. “But when it comes to a normal conversation with someone I actually—” He cuts himself off, the thought hanging unsaid between us. His fists curl and uncurl restlessly at his sides. “I say the wrong thing, you take it the wrong way, and then I fall into CEO-speak or turn into a fucking Chad as a defense mechanism.
“And yes,” he adds, “I know it’s annoying. For both of us.”
I study him in the golden light of the sun. “I thought you were just being a dick. Waiting for everything to sort itself out the way it always has for you.”
He lets out another short, humorless laugh. “That’s not how my life has gone.”
He stares out at the sea of glossy scarlet and tangerine tents, jaw pulsing as he clenches and unclenches his teeth like he’s weighing whether to bother saying the rest aloud.
“When you’re in full-on save-the-day mode, I don’t know where I fit. I’ve tried everything—talking to the locals, digging for information about Fortune, even finding someone who might get us in front of the queens. Nothing works. I hit a wall at every turn, and I don’t know how to push past it.”
His shoulders sink, the fight draining out of him in a single reluctant breath.
“I can’t remember the last time anyone tried to save me from anything. Ever.” He looks down at his hands, flexes them once like they might hold an answer, then lets them fall uselessly to his sides. “And I’ll admit, there’s a part of me that doesn’t know what to do with that. A part that doesn’t know how to exist if I’m not the one driving forward. It’s…messing with my pride.”
Words bottleneck in my throat, and my thoughts swim in a disorienting loop. Declan has been nothing but composed and infuriatingly calm since the second we landed in this tarot-themed kingdom. But now, with the sun baking us in his admissions, and his voice rough around the edges, he looks less like the untouchable CEO who steamrolls boardrooms and more like…a man. A man who doesn’t have all the answers, who doesn’t always know what to do, who’s just as scared and lost as I am.
My mouth goes dry, and I’m all too aware of how close we’re standing. How his dark hair curls slightly where it’s damp with sweat. How the sun makes his eyes look almost amber around the edges. How I could maybe fall for him—therealhim—if I let myself.
Declan drags a hand through his hair, leaving one dark strand tumbling across his forehead. It clings stubbornly to the sweat beading at his temple. I reach up, brush it back, my fingers lingering against the heat of his skin.
“You can let it go. I’ll be your knight in shining armor.”
His jaw flexes, then his calm facade slips. His eyes lock on mine, and the shift there guts me. “That’s not how this is supposed to work,” he says, voice low, rough. “I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you.”
“I think we’ve both seen how well that’s gone,” I tease gently, but my heart squeezes.
I pull back, and he catches my hand as it falls away. He lifts it and presses a kiss to the pad of my thumb. The warmth of his mouth lingers, and when he draws in a breath against my skin, I’m dizzy.
“You don’t know what that means to me,” he murmurs against my fingers.
But I think I do. Because the ache in my chest is reckless and unguarded and reaching out to him.
A shadow wheels over us. A bird circles high, its wings cutting feathery brown pinwheels into the sky. Declan looks up and winces, rolling his neck.
“Everything okay?” I ask, tucking my hand against my stomach, holding his warmth for as long as I can.
“Thirty-five is too old to be sleeping on the ground.” He rolls his shoulders until the joints pop. The motion makes him wince, pain flickering across his face before he tries to smooth it over with nonchalance. “Tarek took me to see the healer, which sounded promising until she gave me honey drops, a clay jar of balm, and told me to lie on a piece of charred wood to draw out the bad spirits.”
I choke on a laugh and, before I can stop myself, loop my arm through his as we continue walking. His body is solid and warm beside me, the kind of anchor I’ve always wanted.
“I think I have something that might actually help.”
