Page 33 of Sinful Bride

A muscle leaps in his cheek. “A man trying to keep a promise to his friend. And do right by his wife.” His eyes narrow. “I’m trying to figure out what to do with all this mess I’ve inherited, and make something real out of it, instead of hiding behind staff and spreadsheets and all the bullshit you use to keep me at a distance."

He walks away before I can respond, leaving his half-cooked eggs on the stove.

—

The next afternoon, I'm reviewing fabric samples for new curtains in the living room when Declan comes in with one of his men. They're discussing something about shipments, their voices low and serious. I try to ignore them and focus on the swatches spread across the coffee table—silk damask in cream, velvet in deep burgundy, linen in pale gold.

"What do you think?" Declan asks suddenly.

I look up, startled. He's looking at me, his expression unreadable. "About what?"

"The curtains." He gestures at the samples. "Which one do you like?"

It's a trap. It has to be. But I can't figure out what kind or why. "The silk damask," I say carefully. "It's classic and elegant."

"Expensive," his man—Cormac, I think his name is—mutters.

"Quality costs money," I say coolly. "But I suppose you wouldn't understand that."

Declan's eyes narrow. "Elena."

"What? I'm simply stating a fact." I gather up the samples. "If you'd prefer something cheaper, I'm sure we can find polyester at a discount store. It won't last as long or look as good, but it will save money."

"That's not what I⁠—"

"Or perhaps you'd prefer no curtains at all. Just bare windows. Very minimalist. Very... motorcycle club chic."

The silence that follows is deafening. Cormac shifts uncomfortably. Declan's jaw is so tight I can see the muscle jumping.

"Get out," Declan says quietly.

For a moment, I think he's talking to me. Then Cormac mutters something and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Declan turns to me. "What the fuck was that?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You just insulted one of my men. In my house. During a business meeting."

"Our house," I correct. "And I simply expressed my opinion about curtains."

"Bullshit." He moves closer. "You're trying to humiliate me. Trying to make me look weak in front of my men."

"If you feel weak, that's not my fault."

"No?" He's right in front of me now, towering over me. "Then what is it, Elena? What are you so fucking angry about?"

I sniff. "I'm not angry."

"Another lie." His hand comes up, and for a moment I think he's going to touch me. But he doesn't, just lets it fall back to his side. "You're furious. With me, with your father… with this whole situation. And you're taking it out on me because I'm the only one you can."

My eyes burn. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know more than you think." His voice softens slightly. "I know you're scared. I know you feel trapped. I know you're trying to control something—anything—because everything else has been taken from you."

"Stop."

"But you can't control me, Elena. And that's what really pisses you off."