Page 15 of Declan

Her brow furrows, her expression pained when she says, “I’m not a cheater, Declan. And I know you wouldn’t do that to me.”

The reminder of that fucking blowhard makes my blood boil, and I growl, “Fuck that guy. You don’t belong with that piece of shit.”

“Well, maybe I won’t be after he sees the little spectacle you put on tonight. He’s already fuming over the whole Kylie debacle, and this one is obviously even more outrageous than that one. For all I know, he’s already dumped my ass.”

I laugh at this, highly amused that she would think for a second that fucking douchebag would leave her for any reason. He can’t afford to leave her. “You know he’s not gonna do that.”

“Maybe not, but he’ll probably be an asshole about it, and who would blame him after watching his fiancé get serenaded by Declan Hughes on stage at her own show?”

“Just tell him it was a publicity stunt put on by your people,” I reply dryly. “They’re trying to test what kind of moneymaker us going on tour together would be.”

“Is that what this is all about?” she asks snarkily. “Another Declan propaganda bullshit move to make more money?”

Now, she sounds pissed, which is confusing to me because I just gave her an excuse to give her douchebag boyfriend that would speak to him because he speaks in dollar signs.

I open my mouth to speak, but then she continues, “Are you doing all this bullshit in hopes of getting me to agree to go on tour with you? For the money?”

I roll my eyes at the insanity of her question. “Come on, doll face. You know I don’t need any fucking money.”

“This isn’t funny, Declan. And this isn’t a game.” She grimaces, her hand coming up and pressing against her chest. She clears her throat. “I don’t think you fully comprehend the position your impulsive little stunt puts me in.”

I step back from her, assessing the pained look on her face as I ask, “Are you all right, Issa? Are you in pain?”

She waves a hand at me and clears her throat again, whispering, “Probably a stomach ulcer giving me a hard time due to the stress of this entire night.”

“A stomach ulcer? Why the hell would you have a stomach ulcer?”

She raises her brows at me. “Why couldn’t I have an ulcer?”

“You seem a bit young to be having stomach ulcers, doll face. And if you do, then that’s an indication you maybe need to make some big changes to your fucking life.”

“Well, if you ask the press, they’d say it’s because I’m fa–”

“Do not say that fucking word in such a manner,” I cut her off, instantly pissed off and outraged by the insensitivity and idiocy of people. “The only possible reason for you to have a stomach ulcer is because you work too hard, and you surround yourself with shitty people who stress you out every fucking day.”

She presses her lips together, then straightens and walks around me. She sits at her vanity and stares at her own reflection. “My life is what it is. It’s too late to change it now.”

“Bull fucking shit,” I snap. “You have the time. You have the money. You make the fucking rules.”

She snorts in a decidedly unladylike fashion, and I smile, but then she says, “You’d think so. But sometimes, we’re just doing what we have to do to make it work.”

I frown. Her words are vague, but the implications are clear. “Are you saying that you’re not making the decisions in your life right now based on your own wants and needs?” She averts her gaze, saying nothing, so I continue, “Is someone forcing you to do things you don’t want to do? Blackmail? Coercion? Fucking tell me, Issa.”

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and she shakes her head, as she pulls open a drawer in the vanity and rummages around until she finds what she wants.

I walk over to her, placing a hand on the back of her chair, the other hand on the vanity as I lean down so I’m only a few inches from her face, and I quietly say, “You don’t have to tell me. I will fucking find out.”

She turns her head, her eyes wide as she forces out the words, “Don’t do anything, Declan. It’s none of your fucking business. I’m not your concern.”

I’m sure the smile I give her is cold and angry because that’s exactly how I feel about her trying to tell me that she’s no concern of mine. “You’re gonna find out real quick, doll face, that I do what I fucking want. You may not like it, but you’re gonna fucking accept it.”

“And what do you want?”

“Your undying happiness.”

“If that’s true, then you’ll leave me alone,” she whispers. “Just stay the fuck away from me.”

“No.”

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