Page 43 of Make You Mine

I close my eyes, fighting the urge to brush it off again. “I just… I wanted tonight to go right. I wanted to come through for you. I know how much this dinner meant for your work, and I screwed up the greens, and dessert was a disaster, and?—”

He cuts me off with a kiss. “You always come through for me,” he says against my lips. “You do it just by being you.”

I blink at him, caught between relief and guilt.

He reaches for my hand and squeezes. “You were incredible tonight. Don’t let a few silly things twist you up.”

I nod, finally letting myself believe him. As I crawl into bed beside him, I realize I’ve been projecting my stress ontoeveryone around me…especiallyChelsea. And maybe she didn’t mean any harm. Maybe I’ve been too harsh.

Tomorrow, I’ll try again. Tomorrow, I’ll be better.

Chapter 13

Declan

These days, every morning’s a bloody circus at the Keating house.

Between Emmett’s wails for Amerie’s breastmilk, Chelsea gliding through the halls replacing every vase with fresh flowers, and Willow filling the air with fun facts about the solar system, I barely get a minute to think straight, let alone prepare for another day at Halberd.

“That’s downright fascinating, Widget,” I say, humoring her while fastening the buttons on my shirt.

She’s just finished explaining—rather dramatically, as only a five-year-old can—that Pluto used to be a planet but isn’t anymore.

Tragedy of the century, apparently.

“It’s too small, Daddy,” she adds, like she’s presenting at a bloody TED Talk.

Maybe it is. I wouldn’t know. Science was never my thing. I get paid to buy companies and gut them from the inside, not to memorize the galaxy.

“Daddy,” she presses again, tugging on my trouser leg. “Did you know the sun is a star? Daddy?”

“Yes, Widget, I’m listening.”

But I’m not. Not properly. I’m too busy tugging my shirt collar straight and eyeing the clock on the nightstand like it’s taunting me. If I don’t get a move on, I’ll be late. And Cormac might find me amusing and hardworking, but I’m not keen to test just how much he’s willing to forgive.

Still, the other night bought me some credit. The dinner party was a bloody success, even if Amerie swore up and down it was a disaster. She couldn’t stop fretting over the greens or the missing cobbler or how the whole thing wasn’t up to par. Meanwhile, Cormac practically licked his plate clean and spent half the night raving about what a catch I was for Halberd. He’s already asked when we’ll host again.

I’ve told Amerie that. I’ve reassured her she’d done brilliantly, but she’s always her own worst critic. She’s hard enough on herself as it is.

“Willow!” Amerie’s voice calls from the hall, sharp and full of movement. “Time to get dressed for school, baby!”

Willow gasps like it’s a crime to abandon me mid-sentence, but then bolts out of the room, arms flailing like she’s chasing the town bus. I’m finally alone, blessedly so, and reach for my tie.

That’s when I catch it.

A scent—floral and a touch too sweet—clings to my shirt. Not the usual perfume Amerie wears. This one’s unfamiliar. Stronger. Like something you’d get spritzed with in the women’s section at Harrods.

I bring the fabric up to my nose and sniff again. It’s no mistake.

Huh.

Maybe she picked up a new one. She’s got a whole damn tray of fragrances in the bathroom, and most of them smell nearlyidentical to me. I make a mental note to ask her about it later, but I already know I’ll forget. There’s too much on my plate.

As if summoned by my wandering thoughts, Chelsea’s voice pipes up from the hallway.

“Mr. Keating? Your phone’s buzzing. You left it on the kitchen table.” Her head pops around the door a second later, smile as polite as ever. “Just thought you’d like to know.”

I pause, blinking at her for a second longer than necessary. “Uh… yes. I would, actually. Thank you. I’ll be right down.”

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