I bite down on my cheek. “What did Nana say to you in private?” She all but bolted from the table once Declan got up to use the restroom.
“She threatened me.”
“No.” I muffle my laugh with my hand.
“In graphic detail.”
“What did you say?”
“What exactly is an appropriate reply for being told my intestines would make a nice winter scarf?”
“She’s been on a mafia kick lately.”
“That explains how she knew a lot about sulfuric acid and the different ways to dispose of a body.”
“I did try to warn you about my family. They’re a bit…”
“Overbearing?”
I nod. “They worry about me.”
“They have a good reason to.”
“Why?”
“You got engaged out of the blue to someone who isn’t exactly known to be the nicest man in Chicago.”
“Now, now. At least you’re not the worst.”
“I’m sure that really helps them sleep at night.”
The self-deprecating way he speaks of himself makes me sad.
“Does the great Declan Kane care about my family’s opinion of him?”
His eyes roll. “No. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Maybe just a little bit?” I hold my two fingers up to his face, leaving a small gap of space.
He swats my hand away. “I stopped caring about people’s opinions of me a long time ago.”
I want to ask him why. Heck, I want to ask him a hundred questions after tonight, starting with what made him stop caring about what other people think of him in the first place. But asking personal questions seems like I’m giving him unspoken permission to do the same to me.
I hold back my tongue and stay silent for the rest of the ride. Being curious about Declan would only complicate things, so I’m better off keeping some distance. Living with each other is one thing, but sharing intimate details about one another is a completely different animal. Not that he wants me to know him on a personal level anyway. He has made his stance pretty clear on the matter, and I would be stupid to think this marriage was anything but a convenience for him.
10
DECLAN
If my grandfather’s sole reason for making me get married was to drive me toward the brink of insanity, he achieved his goal. I’ve officially reached my breaking point, and it only took Iris planning a rehearsal dinner to get me there. Well, her sitting beside me in a body-hugging white gown and the crowd of people waiting inside Chicago’s best steakhouse.
“It’s not too late for me to tell Harrison to turn the car around.” I make one last-ditch effort to convince Iris against tonight’s dinner. If it were up to me, we would have gotten married in a courthouse and bypassed all of theserequirements.
She picks at her pristine manicure. “It’s not like I want to go in there either.”
“Is this your attempt at making me feel better?” A thoughtful yet pointless effort.
“They say misery loves company.” She laughs, and the sound draws me toward her like a siren’s call.