Page 23 of Declan

Apparently, the paparazzi haven't caught on yet. I take note of the only cameras being the ones I hired, and it's a relief to know that the big shindig we’ve been planning for months from now is still working as a cover.

The music begins, and I crane my head, listening intently to music I definitely didn’t choose for myself. It’s an instrumental version ofLeather and Lace.

I frown, forcing myself to wait until the appropriate moment to start my slow walk down the aisle, I’m about halfway to the altar when I realize something is exceedingly off.

My side has all the usual faces I invited, but a glance at the people seated on Bobby’s side shows a few faces I don’t recognize mixed in with two familiar faces that do not belong there.

Antoinette and Carolina are smiling wickedly, and I almost miss a step as Antoinette raises a hand and waggles her fingers at me.

I manage to continue my unhurried walk up the aisle, which is now almost a crawl, and when I look up at the altar, I realize Bobby isn’t there. Jessica is waiting for me as planned, but the man who should be standing with Bobby is also not there, and I frown in confusion at the man standing in his place.

The man who looks suspiciously related to a bastard rock star I know.

Having no choice, I continue to walk until I reach the altar. I squint at the man for a moment, and then I turn to Jessica and whisper, “Where is he?”

She shakes her head and shrugs. “I couldn't find him.”

I roll my eyes, a bark of laughter escaping because, of course, that dumb motherfucker would wait until the last possible moment to embarrass me. I grab Jessica’s hand and turn it so I can look at the face of her watch and roll my eyes again. “Well, fuck it.”

I turn to face the small crowd, but then there’s a bit of commotion from behind the man standing near me, and I turn that way just in time to see a man rushing behind him, leaping up onto the altar and coming to a stop in front of me.

I freeze, staring in shock at the smug face of Declan fucking Hughes.

I turn back to Jessica with wide eyes, but she shrugs and shakes her head. I turn my gaze back to who appears to be Declan’s groomsman, and his expression is amused and self-satisfied but gives away nothing.

My frown deepens, my hands coming up to my waist as I whisper quite pissily, “Declan Hughes, what the fuck are you doing?”

He closes the short distance between us, smiling broadly, his eyes sparkling as his hands encircle my wrists, and he tugs my hands free and pulls me into him. I go willingly because I don't have much of a choice right now, and he leans down, whispering, “Saving the day, doll face.”

“You're not saving anything,” I whisper back. “Get the fuck out of here and leave me to my semi-public humiliation.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” he replies mildly. “Why should you be humiliated when you can flip this in your favor so easily?”

I pull back to look at him; the expression on his face is almost hopeful, which I find incredibly confusing. “What are you talking about?”

“You really wanna piss off Bobby?” he asks, waiting for me to nod before continuing, “Put on a show with me right here, right now. Marry me in front of these people and then flip the script to the press on how Bobby was just your beard this whole time, that we've been having a sordid love affair, and it was only after our little moment on Kylie’s show that we finally said fuck it, we're gonna do it for real.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“Probably. But it'll be fun.”

He turns to face the people waiting in the pews and says, “My apologies for my tardiness. That's gonna be my only get-out-of-jail-free card for the next fifty years."

The crowd laughs, all confusion on my side of the aisle forgotten after one tiny joke from Declan Hughes. The other side of the aisle looks tickled; Antoinette and Carolina appearing obviously happy to be here.

Declan steps back and turns to face me again, extending his hand as he loudly asks, “You ready to do this, doll face?”

I stand there, gaping at him, my eyebrows likely up in my hairline. I look back at Jessica, and she gives me a nod and mouths, “Do it.” I cannot believe this is happening right now.

I turn my attention back to the guests, and then a commotion draws my gaze to the back of the church. I hear it before I see it, the distinct whirring and clicking of photography, and I know it’s too late. The paparazzi is upon us.

I look back to Declan, who’s still holding his hand out, waiting for me to decide. I hesitate, unsure what to do because as much as I didn’t want to marry Bobby, marrying someone else who’s likely only helping out of pity feels even worse.

He meets my gaze, his hazel-brown eyes steady and unblinking. I swallow the giant lump in my throat, and then, as if I’m in a trance, I find myself extending my hand and placing it in his.

We get into position in front of the minister, and he takes my other hand in his, and this time when I look up at him, the expression on his face is more smug than enraptured, and I frown at him, squeezing his hands in annoyance.

But he’s not bothered at all by my less-than-happy expression or my attempt to cause him physical pain. All he does is give me a wink before he turns his attention to the minister.

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