Page 8 of A Convenient Secret (Merged #3)

It was easy to fantasize about him when he was just the voice. Even after I met him and realized he was the voice, he still felt like a fantasy.

But now? Now he’s real. Within twelve hours today, he looked at me, spoke to me, I spent a day in his house, I played with his children, and we had a moment.

I don’t even know if it was a moment, but I had an impact on him. This is going to be an endless week.

I unlock the apartment, exhausted and heavy with all that happened today.

“Here you are,” Mrs. Whitaker, in her typical pink robe, accosts me the minute I enter. “I thought you would make me starve.”

Shit. I forgot about the dinner. She scans me with narrowed eyes, searching for the takeout bag.

“I’m sorry. It was one of those days—”

“You’re just so selfish.” She sniffles and almost produces actual tears of hurt.

“Look, Mrs. Whitaker, I’m sorry—”

“You know, Lily, I think I need to find another roommate. Someone more considerate.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I will have to ask you to move out by Friday.”

I blink. “Our contract obliges you to give me a month’s notice.”

“Not if you break the tenant code of conduct.” She purses her lips, the small line around her mouth wrinkling more.

“What code of conduct? ”

“You broke clause seven…” She names several made-up accusations while I tune her out.

She’s making everything up, but knowing her “sincere” personality, I don’t think I will get too far pointing out her lies.

“You’re really throwing me out because I forgot to get us takeout?” I try to appeal to her twisted common sense.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the code of conduct.” She maintains her ridiculous ploy. She really wants to taste that new restaurant.

“What if I went to get us that takeout?” I say, not because I want to eat or spend my evening in her company, but because I can’t be homeless. How would I even find a new place within days? On my budget, no less?

“I might consider it.” She lifts her chin.

I turn and march out.

What a day.

It takes me almost forty-five minutes before I trudge my feet back to my current home.

By the time I arrive, I’m so tired I don’t want to eat or talk. Not even shower anymore, even though I’m grossly sweaty.

“Ooh, what did you get us?” Mrs. Whitaker coos and pulls out two plates.

“Enjoy your dinner. I’m going to sleep. ”

“Lily?” my landlady calls after me, but I’m already closing the door to my room. And I lock it.

My alarm goes off at five-thirty, and I spring out of bed. Mrs. Whitaker likes to sleep in, so if I’m lucky I’ll be able to shower and leave without running into her.

I take a quick shower and brush my teeth. Not bothering with my hair, I just towel-dry it. It’s hot outside, and it will be dry by the time I arrive in Manhattan. It’s not like I can shape it into any style at this point.

I put on a short, flowery summer dress with long, voluminous sleeves that gather at my wrists. The dress is way above my knees, but it’s been so hot. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I’m definitely not wearing it for Declan.

I almost make it out of the door undetected. Almost.

“Lily, I think I’m going to insist you clear the room by Friday.”

Her words startle me, and a gasp escapes me when I turn. Mrs. Whitaker stands at the end of the short corridor in shadow. A cone of light from the kitchen is splitting her face.

Something snaps inside me. My life here is meant to be a fresh start, a step toward independence. This woman’s demands push me to betray that. To betray myself. I’m done with her.

I leave without a word, my heart hammering.

My housing situation is concerning, but I can’t be late. I might be an under-qualified nanny, but those kids don’t need another stressful morning. And neither does Declan.

My consideration for him seems misplaced as soon as I arrive at his house.

“Lily!” Zoya shouts when I round the partition wall to enter the kitchen.

The family is sitting around the kitchen counter. Sweet vanilla and a hint of cinnamon permeate the air.

“Good morning.” I smile at the kids. “Wow, pancakes on a school day.”

They look delicious, but that’s not what makes me pause. Declan is at my side, at the stove, flipping the golden batter. It’s such a normal, human thing that I consider he may have a twin.

Equally gorgeous, but without a stick up his ass. When a handsome man makes pancakes for his kids, it’s just plain attractive.

When Declan Quinn flips pancakes, it’s slightly weird, like he’s been replaced. But it’s downright sexy.

And then I notice he is wearing his dress shirt. Open. Did he lose all the buttons? It’s just a sliver of skin where the two sides almost meet. I can’t even really see it, but I know it’s there. Oh, my poor ovaries.

Our eyes meet for a beat, but we both look away like the sight could burn. Well, it does. My cheeks are aflame.

He serves more pancakes on the twins’ plates and pivots to drop the pan in the sink. His shirt opens up wider, and I get a glimpse of his defined abs and chest. It’s so quick, I hardly get a chance to ogle, which is probably even worse.

My fantasies used to be limited to his voice. Now that voice has a body, and even a glimpse leaves me aching in every neglected inch of me.

A few minutes into the day here and I’m sweating again.

“I’ll shawe mine with you,” Zoya offers.

“That’s so kind, Zoya, but I already ate.”

At that, because why not, my stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime when the housekeeper fixed me a sandwich.

“You lied?” Zach frowns.

Who knew I could blush more? Thank God for my darker skin, because I would look like a ripe tomato by now. “Maybe I’m extra hungry today after our fight yesterday.”

Zach snorts.

“Okay, monsters, you need to get ready. Finish your breakfast and go get your backpacks.” Declan moves around the kitchen.

I try not to look at him. He didn’t even greet me, so I guess the world is back to normal. I should be relieved. His ignoring me is something I’m used to.

But I’m not relieved. I’m annoyed with him, but there is nothing I can do about it in front of the kids. There is nothing I have the right to do anyway.

Since I have no plate in front of me, and I’m not quite sure what to do with myself, I decide to get a glass of juice.

Only Declan appears from somewhere and opens the fridge the moment I turn to it. While I was lying to Zach and Zoya about having breakfast, Declan buttoned up his shirt. Thankfully.

But even dressed, his closeness sends my fantasies on a wild ride. “Sorry.” I step back.

“No, please, go ahead.” He doesn’t look at me.

I reach for the juice carton and pour myself a glass. He gets milk for his coffee and closes the fridge. The color-coded schedule glares at me from the board. Right. Let’s focus on the job at hand.

Soccer practice for Zach after school, and swimming for both of them afterward. Good, at least there won’t be room for silly ideas like a confetti fight.

“I finished. Thank you, Dad.” Zach slides down from his stool and walks out.

“You’re welcome,” his father says from somewhere behind me. “Zoya, hurry up.”

“I’m done. Can you dwive us, Daddy?” She tilts her head, her eyes pleading. But there is a hint of calculation she can’t hide. She must know what effect she has on people.

“You know I can’t,” Declan says. I guess she doesn’t affect all people.

“But why?” She pouts.

“Zoya, we can’t talk about this every single morning. Lily will drop you off. Go get your things.”

She pouts more, her lip practically covering her whole chin, but she doesn’t argue and leaves.

The minute we’re left alone, the air changes, charged with something. Something I’m surely imagining.

“I better go and get them to school.” I don’t look at him and start leaving.

“Lily,” he says.

I pause. “Yes?” I breathe. I freaking breathe.

Is he going to talk about the confetti mess? About my nanny fuck-up? About his erection? Don’t be silly, Lils. He may want to discuss the kids’ schedule. Something normal. Like my employer. Jesus.

I turn.

“Your juice.”

What? Declan is pointing at my still-full glass. In my nervous awareness of his presence, I filled it to the rim and forgot to drink it.

I don’t want the juice, but I don’t want him to think I’m crazy. I take the glass gingerly, putting it to my lips, and really hoping I won’t embarrass myself by spilling it all over me.

I gulp it down, painfully aware of Declan’s gaze. So now he is staring at me? I turn slightly, and he disappears from my peripheral vision. There is a kitchen island between us, but he feels indecently close.

Can this morning be any more awkward?

Putting the glass down, I try to walk normally to finally get out of the kitchen.

But I learn that the morning can indeed get more awkward when Declan asks, “Is this what you are wearing?”