Page 64 of Arranged Addiction
I hear voices downstairs. I hear footsteps on the stairs. I can’t really make sense of anything until the door opens and he comes into the room.
Declan stares at me, standing a few feet away. Sheila’s not around.
My husband’s eyes are sunken and his shoulders are slumped.
I should be angry. Rage should fill me like a storm.
Instead, I just feel empty.
“That’s why you hired me, isn’t it?” I stare at him, aware I should probably start somewhere else. But I keep coming back to that.
Tension radiates from his body. He only nods. “I wanted to keep you close.”
“Right. Sure. Since you claimed me.”
“I neverclaimedyou, Casey.” His voice is rough and raw. Like he’s been shouting for the past hour. I notice his eyes are bloodshot and his clothes are rumpled. I’ve never seen him looking so broken before. “You were never mine.”
“But my parents promised me to you, right? They made some deal with your family.”
His face twists at that wordfamily. “It was a long time ago.”
“You took it seriously.”
“Nobody else did.” He comes to me. I shrink back, afraid he’ll touch me, but he only slumps down onto the edge of the bed.
His back is tense and rounded as he leans his elbows on his knees.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t relevant. It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“You could’ve given me the choice.”
“I already did. Senesi forced my hand. I planned on doing this differently, but…”
“But a box of dildos and lingerie ended up on your desk and you just had to fuck me that night.”
He lets out a long breath. “Yes, Casey. I had to fuck you.” The pain mixed with pure desire in his voice is like a hammer to my chest.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
He leans forward, his face in his hands. “Everything happened.”
“Declan?” I move toward him. He’s breathing deeply and slowly. “What’s wrong?”
“My father.” He sighs, lifting his face up, and looks at me. His stare is bleak and shattered. “He’s dead.”
Silence fills the space. I open my mouth in shock. I knew it was coming—we all knew it was happening soon—but there’s a difference between before and after. We were living in themaybeand theprobably, but now we’re firmly in thedefinite.
“I’m so sorry.” I hesitate. I’m still angry with him. There’s still so much I want to know.
But this is bigger than me and him. Now that his father’s dead, a whole new level of responsibility was just dumped onto his shoulders.
There’s still the way he looks at me, with pure devotion and desire.Yes, Casey. I had to fuck you. Like he tried so hard to control himself, but finally broke down despite everything.
I put a hand on his shoulder. He leans toward me. I move closer and take some of his weight. He’s not crying—I don’t think a man like him could cry even if he wanted to—but he seems so broken and drained.
I doubt he’s ever been so vulnerable before. And I doubt he’d ever let this pain show around anyone else.
