Page 46 of Declan

I raise my brows as her words sink in, white-hot jealousy sweeping over me as I glare at her. “Is that right?”

She nods, her stance now mirroring mine with her arms crossed over her chest, though she appears to be doing so defensively instead of in an attempt to keep her hands from lashing out.

I step into her, my arms falling to my sides, and I grab my phone off the table as I lean down so my face is level with hers. “Well, I’ll leave you to your mourning, then.”

I don’t give her time to respond, immediately turning on my heel and stalking from the room. I’m not sure if she’ll follow me or not, but I don’t bother waiting to find out. I head directly to my bedroom, stripping my clothes off as I make my way across the room into the bathroom. I turn on the taps, stepping under the frigid spray, leaving the water as cold as possible as I work on gaining control of myself.

I’ve been under the water for a while, still no closer to calming down when the shower door clicks behind me, and she whispers, “What the fuck, Declan?”

I’m confused for a moment, unsure what the fuck she could be asking me now, but then I realize what she must be referring to.

My back. Or rather, the array of tattoos on my back that’s basically a timeline of our history together. Obviously, this isn’t at all how I wanted to reveal my tribute to her, but it’s too fucking late now.

I shut the water off and turn to face her, water still streaming down my naked body as she scans me from head to toe and back up again. Her eyes are wide as she meets my unwavering gaze, and I give her a humorless smile as I walk toward her.

She moves back, allowing me to exit the shower and grab a towel, quickly drying myself as she continues to watch me. I wrap the towel around my waist, moving to the sink where I get out my shaving kit, intent on ignoring her as I go about preparing for my upcoming show.

She steps up behind me, her hands touching each tattoo, but she says nothing for a few moments. Then, her fingers touch the tattoo at the very top of my spine, and she whispers, “When was this?”

I close my eyes, wanting to tell her how long I’ve been hers while also wanting to hide my secrets for the preservation of our budding relationship. But I answer with the truth. “About three months ago. The awards show where they put us at the same table.”

I open my eyes, meeting her gaze in the mirror, and she frowns, “But how’d you get that image?”

“I took it while you were talking to Jessica.”

Her frown deepens, and she returns her focus to my back, her hand moving to the next image, this one of her pleading gaze when she asked me to leave Bobby’s obvious mistreatment of her alone. “After Kylie’s show. When the blowhard was being extra douchey.”

She slowly moves her hand from one image to the next and I explain without provocation basically every instance where I was able to sneak a photo of my own or pay someone to sneak it for me.

She takes the information in, allowing me to speak without interruption, and then she watches me finish shaving, something she has done countless times since our wedding. She frowns again, and I see the wheels in her head whirring as she digests this newfound side of me she most likely was not ready for.

“Are you insane?” she asks breathlessly.

I laugh almost bitterly. “For you?” I reply quietly. “Yes. Certifiably. Irrevocably. Without remorse.”

“Why would you hide this?” she asks incredulously.

I give her a bland look in the mirror then bend down and wash the shaving cream off my face. She’s still staring at me in the mirror when I straighten, and I pat the towel on my face before answering. “Because you weren’t ready to know.”

She glares at me and scoffs, “Don’t tell me what I’m ready for, Declan. You don’t know the first thing about me.”

I turn on her then, and the laugh that falls from my lips borders on maniacal as I spit out, “I know everything about you, doll face. Every fucking thing. You think I went to all this trouble based on a whim and a prayer?”

She says nothing, the expression on her face turning uncertain, so I continue, “There is no way a girl as exceptional as yourself falls for a man of my questionable moral character without some kind of manipulation. You wouldn’t have given me the time of day, and you know it.”

“But why?” she exclaims, her hands coming up to emphasize the feeling behind her question. “You could have practically any woman in the entire world, Declan!”

“I don’t want any woman in the entire world. I wantyou,” I reply clearly.

Her brow furrows, and she steps back as if slapped, whispering, “What did you say?”

“You heard me, Issa. I wantyouand onlyyou.”

Her eyes are glassy, and I can’t tell if this is good or bad, so I press on, not seeing any point in holding back now. I step into her, stooping so I’m looking her right in the eyes as I say, “I meant it when I said I’d do anything for you, short of leaving you alone. That statement still stands. Regardless of whether you want me now or want me in the future, or never want me at all, you’ll never be rid of me. But I will spend every minute of the rest of my life working to win you over.”

“But I don’t even know you,” she whispers, her eyes confused, her expression pained. “How can I truly want you if you haven’t shared the real you with me? If every moment we’ve had has been based on a lie?”

I flinch, annoyed by the validity of her words and angry that she can’t just state she wants me now and be done with it. So, I growl, “You want to meet the real me, doll face? You want me to shed my amiable Declan Hughes persona and show you exactly the type of man I am?”

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