Page 50 of A Convenient Secret (Merged #3)

Declan

“ L iliana Spinelli became the interim CEO of Spinelli Holdings today.” I raise my glass of vodka, talking to my empty home office.

I hate vodka, but whiskey doesn’t taste good anymore. Not if I don’t share it with Seagull.

Seven days, four hours, and—I check my watch—twenty-two minutes of misery.

I didn’t stop her.

She didn’t stay.

I declared my love. I married her because I wanted her, and it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. Just like with Kendra.

“Fuck.” I smash the glass against the door.

The audience in the sitcom on the screen laughs.

“It’s not funny,” I yell at the screen, because in my drowning loneliness I talk to the empty room, or my TV.

Why couldn’t she see I lied to be with her, not to manipulate her? I don’t fucking know why I did it. Or why I didn’t tell her sooner. After the security camera discovery, it didn’t seem like a good time.

To be honest, the coward in me was hoping it wouldn’t ever come up. I fucked up, and before I could fix it, she had to leave.

Would everything be different if she wasn’t on the other side of the ocean? Or does the geographical distance bear no weight here?

Why did she have to fucking leave?

Even half-drunk most days, I still know that this time, I won’t recover. After Kendra, I bounced into action.

This time is different. This time, the world shattered around me, and I just don’t see how to pick up its pieces.

Not while I’m filled with regret, grief, anger, and such a fucking bleeding gap in my heart that I don’t know how to breathe.

She’s gone. And today’s announcement about her stepping in to cover for her father confirms that she’s not coming back.

I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes and lifting my legs to my desk. I haven’t slept in my bedroom since she left.

The door opens, and footsteps crush the shards of the vodka glass. I told the housekeeper not to let anyone come in here.

“Jesus.” My brother’s voice snaps my eyes open.

A mistake, because now I see he’s not alone. Caleb, Xander, and Roxy follow him in. I’m firing my housekeeper.

“What are they doing here?” I ask Corm.

“Protecting our investment.” Xander smirks.

“Fuck off.” I drop my legs. “What do you want?”

“Where are your kids?” Caleb frowns.

“The Hamptons with my mother.”

Corm hits the button and the shutters roll up, streaming daylight into my cave. I blink, the brightness upsetting my stomach.

“Why would you do that?” I complain like an idiot. Fuck, I hate this version of myself. I hate any version of myself that doesn’t involve Lily. “What the hell do you want?”

Xander throws a folder on my desk. “We need you to sign the offer.”

I frown, flipping the folder open. It’s the job offer for the London job addressed to Vivienne Drake. “I see we went with the female candidate. ”

“Look, his observation skills are sharp,” Caleb drawls.

“You could have signed and extended the offer without this unsolicited visit.” I scribble the signature on the line.

“And miss this excursion to the life of the most pathetic man?” Xander snickers.

“Fuck you,” I snarl, pushing the folder back toward him.

“Declan, you haven’t shown up at work for a week,” Corm says. “You’re not answering your phone. I know you’re alive only because Mom confirmed you call your kids once a day.”

“You let your kids see you like that?” Caleb sounds scandalized.

“It’s not a video call.”

Yeah, I sunk so low that I ship my kids away so I can wallow. Only I didn’t expect my heart wound would continue to fester for a week with no chance of improvement.

“It’s time to take a shower,” Roxy says.

“And grovel.” Corm leans against the bookshelf. “Saar and Cora came back from London, and they are really pissed at you.”

“They were in London?” They saw her; they talked to her. Fuck, I hate them.

“They left with Lily a week ago. ”

Jealousy coils up my spine, but I’m also happy she didn’t need to face her former—and current—world alone.

“When was the last time you left this room?” Caleb swipes the glass shards by the door with the edge of his shoe.

“Why do you care?” I snarl.

“This conversation is really productive.” Roxy sighs. “Declan, you either go get your woman, or you stop feeling sorry for yourself and return to society.”

“In either case, please start with a shower.” Xander picks up a photo from my research pile across the room.

“Don’t touch anything.” I stand up. The room swirls, so I lean against the desk. I fucking hate vodka.

“Look, man, I don’t know what happened, but if this is the result, just go and talk to her,” Corm says.

“After I hired her, you were the one telling me to stay away,” I argue. “And now you think I should chase her?”

“Back then, I was talking about a sex-and-forget kind of a situation, you idiot. And yes, you let her go, so now, you chase her.” Corm shakes his head.

“I didn’t let her go. She fucking left.” The words—or rather their volume—scratch my throat.

“The male brain is the biggest mystery to me,” Roxy says. “But answer me one question, is she the one?”

“Does it matter? She left, and just took a job with Spinelli Holdings.”

“Your point?” Corm scoffs. “She didn’t marry her job, you idiot. She’s still your wife. However that came about.”

“She didn’t want to stay.” I stumble around. Where did I put the bottle? I need to numb this pain.

“Did you ask her to stay?” Caleb asks. Not helpful.

“I don’t know anymore. She has to stay there. It’s her family legacy.”

“And in front of all of your sexist asses, I would like to say she is one of the youngest ever CEOs. Girl power!” Roxy cheers.

“Roxy, that’s not why we’re here,” Xander groans.

“It warranted the mention though.” She shrugs.

“Can you all leave finally? I don’t want to talk about Lily.”

“Listen, fucker, she’s your wife.” Corm pushes me back to my seat and swirls it, leaning on the armrests. “Two weeks ago, you were buying her a ring. You wouldn’t buy her a ring if she wasn’t special.”

“I can’t make her choose me.” I push him away.

“I’m far from a relationship expert here,” Xander says, and everyone else murmurs their agreement. “But didn’t she choose you already? She married you. ”

“And then moved to London.” My gaze finally lands on the bottle. The only problem: Roxy is holding it. She doesn’t look like she’d want to give it back.

“Not to point out the obvious, but we’re about to open offices in London,” Xander deadpans.

“Don’t fucking try to take advantage of my situation.” I push to stand up, but my legs are not following my brain, so I stumble back into my chair. “You know I can’t—”

I don’t finish the sentence. What’s the point?

“Just start with a shower. We will wait downstairs.” Corm pats my shoulder.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” I growl, completely lying. I’m way past taking care of myself.

Or caring in general. Maybe sending the twins to the Hamptons wasn’t the best idea. They would have kept me focused on moving forward.

“I beg to differ.” Roxy smirks.

They loiter around until I exit the office and enter my master bedroom. What’s next? They will get into the shower with me?

I hate having people around. Other than her.

I should have never let her go.

“Daddy,” Zoya shouts and runs to me .

Zach and Mom exit the elevator behind her.

“We had such a great time,” Mom chirps, ruffling Zach’s hair. When her gaze collides with mine, she flinches. “Zach, Zoya, why don’t you go wash your hands so I can talk to your dad?”

“I missed you, Daddy.” Zoya gives me a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

“I missed you, too, sweetheart.” I hold her for a moment longer, hoping to feel stronger for them.

I’m not, but I will pretend the shit out of it. These two don’t need yet another absent parent.

“Why do you have a beawd?” She pulls at it.

“I didn’t have time to shave.”

She scrunches her nose. “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.” My mother scrutinizes me, not even hiding her judgment.

“How is your wrist, Zach?” I turn to him before they leave.

“Itchy, but good. We had a good time with Grandma.” He nods and follows his sister upstairs.

“What happened to you?” Mom asks the minute they are out of sight.

“Nothing, just a rough day.” I don’t think I’ve ever blatantly lied to my mother.

“Okay, if that’s the story you want to feed me.” She purses her lips, looking hurt.

“Look, Mom, I just— ”

“Is it about Lily?”

Fucking mothers and their sixth sense.

“Why would you say that?”

“You punched a man at my event, and then dragged her from there like a caveman. The romantic in me couldn’t be prouder of you, but I had some damage control to do, so I’m not going to praise you.”

“Sorry about that.” I sigh and shuffle to the kitchen. “Do you want a coffee?”

“Cortado, please.” She leans against the kitchen counter. “You know who the man you punched is?” Her tone suggests she knows who he is.

“Yes.”

“Why is Lily in London and you’re here?”

“Mom, just drop it.” I push the cup to her.

“The way you look, I’m not sure I want to leave the twins with you at the moment. This is the first time I’ve seen you not being fit to parent them, and you went through a lot before.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing. “I have things under control.” Wow, the lies keep piling up.

She steps closer, pulls my hand away from my face, and cups my cheek.

“My love, you don’t have to try to control everything.

Sometimes, we just need to lean into the crazy, spontaneous and chaotic to feel alive.

You can’t control all the outcomes. You have already proved that you can face any and all challenges.

But darling, you can’t always plan ahead for them. ”

Life is not always predictable. The memory of Lily’s words hurts like hell.

“It’s too late, anyway.” Acid gnaws at my stomach, sharp and relentless.

To my utter shock, and in such contrast to my current emotional turmoil, Mom laughs. “It’s never too late. Didn’t I teach you that?” She pats my cheek and turns to finish her coffee. “I talked to my friend Bernadette.”

“The countess from England?”

“Duchess.”

“Mom, I really don’t feel like chitchatting about your friends.” Especially the ones that are geographically closer to Lily. “I should go and be with the kids.”

“That Spinelli man you punched? He’s back there, weaseling his way in. And he’s not a good man.”

A sour burn rises up my throat as I clench my fists. I turn to the windows, the anger blinding my vision.

“Anyway,” Mom says, “he might be one of those situations you actually want to have under control.” She squeezes my shoulder. “I’m going to say goodbye to the kids.”

“Good night, Zach.” I kiss his forehead.

“Can I still play for a bit?”

“It’s late, buddy.”

“But I can’t play piano with this cast. And I couldn’t swim at Granny’s, so my airplane is all I have left—”

“Okay, okay, Zach, you can play with your airplane.” Jesus, is he becoming as dramatic as his sister? I walk to the door.

“Dad?” He stops me. “Is Lily coming back?”

Fuck. “Her dad is sick, and she needs to run their company while he recovers.”

He nods, luckily not pressing the topic. “I miss her.”

Me too. “Good night, Zach.”

I rush away from there, scared of another question.

Zoya is half-asleep when I enter, so I kiss her forehead, and she mumbles something before turning to her side.

“Good night, sweetheart.”

Let’s hope that, at least, they can have a good night.

I take a shower and shave, but it doesn’t make me feel whole or normal. The hollow feeling keeps spreading, eating into my organs.

Instead of my bed, I go to my office. The housekeeper cleaned and aired it after Corm and the Merged entourage left yesterday .

I turn on the show, the comedy laughter becoming the torturous background of my time in my personal oasis. The armchair in the corner immediately sparks flashes of Lily crossing her legs.

The memory immediately moves my attention to the shelves, and how sweet and hot she was that night.

So much for my personal sanctuary. I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face. My muscles are tight, my head pounding. I should sit down. I should drink something. But if I learned anything this past week, alcohol doesn’t make the gloom go away; it deepens it.

Behind my desk, I first torture myself with some past footage of Lily in my house, and then try to work on the family tree I’ve been ignoring.

He might be one of those situations you actually want to have under control.

Mom’s words redirect my attention, and I start searching and making phone calls. She may no longer be here, but she’s still my wife. Mine to protect.

Two hours later, I have a few leads, and for the first time in days, the fog in my mind lifts slightly. Maybe I should try to sleep. I’m sure Zoya will wake me up at dawn.

I reach to turn off the lamp, and notice a folder peeking out from under the other paperwork. I don’t use pink folders. That’s Roxy’s specialty, to diffuse the amount of testosterone in the office, as she puts it.

I pull it out and immediately recognize it. The idiots left the signed offer here, and the housekeeper must have tidied it under the other paperwork. God, my desk has never been this messy.

I take the folder to bring it downstairs, so I can have it delivered to our office tomorrow.

The city flickers beyond the terrace, and I stop dead halfway on the staircase.

The fairy lights flicker on the terrace. Lily hung them there. I drop to sit on a step. She’s everywhere. But the patio holds many special memories. I can practically see them all, as if the glass wall was a movie screen.

Lily in her purple dress. Me discovering her scars. Her blushing. Her arching her back. Laughing. Sharing a glass of whiskey with me. Looking so serene when she watched the city.

I don’t know how long I sit there, but for the first time, my reminiscence brings more than just pain, regret, and grief. It sparks determination.

I may not be able to control the situation, but am I going to let that prevent me from acting?

The folder in my hands is wrinkled from holding it in a white-knuckled grip. I pull out my phone and take a first step on the uncertain journey.