Page 187 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

We’re at the post-wedding lunch being held in a tent that the Sterlings set up in the bottom of their garden.

A long table runs down the center with our friends seated on either side.

Abby and I are at the head and Sinclair and Summer are at the other end.

Sinclair’s whippet Max sits on his haunches between Sinclair and Summer’s chairs.

His head is snuggled into Sinclair’s lap.

The cutthroat billionaire, glances at his wife with an adoring look, then he rubs his dog behind his ears and his expression changes to one of contentment.

Even a month ago, I’d have made a snide remark about him having lost his balls; now I know how he feels.

Now, I know there’s strength in accepting the love that overwhelms me whenever I look at Abby.

Now, I’m sure that reveling in that state of happiness is more satisfying that winning the world cup or bagging a billion dollar sponsorship.

The staff pour wine into everyone’s glass but then place this mug filled with something that’s definitely not wine in front of me.

I glance up to find Sinclair smirking at me, as is JJ. Michael’s glaring at me with a look on his face that indicates I’m about to dig my own grave.

"You liked chamomile tea so much the last time, I thought you would enjoy a cuppa," Abby offers sweetly.

I glance at her and find her features wear a sincere expression. Only her eyes gleam with suppressed mirth.

"Umm, it’s not that I like chamomile that much—"

"Oh, you mean you lied to me?" Her features crumple.

My heart seizes. My blood pressure shoots up. Sweat pools under my armpits, and I snatch up the mug.

"No, no, babe. Nothing like that. See? I do like it."

I manage not to breathe as I take a sip, and my stomach heaves. Fucking hell. Death by chamomile tea, and at my own wedding. That would give the tabloids something to write about. I take another sip; this time bile boils up my throat.

I hear a chuckle, then another, then the entire table bursts into laughter.

I look at Abby to find she’s giggling. Declan’s collapsed against his chair, holding his sides as he guffaws.

Sinclair’s smirk is now a full-blown smile. JJ holds up his fingers over his forehead in the universal sign that indicates loser. Even the usually inscrutable Michael has his lips curled up in a sardonic smile.

I’m so disoriented that I take another sip of the demonic witch’s brew.

My entire body seems to seize up, and my throat closes.

But I manage to swallow down the vile liquid.

The expression on my face, no doubt, mirrors the agony I’m putting myself through, for Declan laughs even harder.

Motherfucker. I glare at him, then raise the mug to my lips again, when Abby wraps her much smaller fingers around my wrist. "It’s okay, baby, you don’t have to drink the rest. We were having fun at your expense, is all. "

"It’s not that I hate it—" I draw in a breath. "Truth?" I turn to her. "I hate the infernal infusion. It tastes like horse’s piss, though admittedly, that’s not something I’ve drunk, but it’s exactly how I’d imagine it."

"It’s okay. I know. I promise, I’ll never make you drink it again."

I lower the mug to the table, then take her hand in mine. "If you ask me to drink poison, I’d gladly do so, baby. Fucking chamomile, ain’t got nothin’ on that."

"Aww," the women around the table sigh.

Declan snorts.

I narrow my gaze on him. "Your turn is coming, fucker, and I’ll be the first in line to buy popcorn and watch the mess that is your life become even messier."

"Champagne, I need more champagne." Solene jumps up and glances up and down the long table. "Where is the champagne, anyway?" she asks.

"Uh, we wanted to avoid any incidents, so the champagne is on that table.” Summer points at the table at the far end of the tent.

"Accidents?" Declan asks.

Solene pushes away from the table and heads toward the bubbles.

Isla, who’s seated next to Declan, holds onto Tiny’s leash. The Great Dane lumbers to his feet, his ears prick, and he tracks Solene’s progress across the floor. Max, on the other hand, hasn’t stirred from his position.

"Everything okay with Tiny?" Abby asks.

"It better be." Isla narrows her gaze on her dog. "Tiny, sit!"

Tiny lets out a bark.

"Tiny, don’t you dare make a scene," Isla snaps.

Next to her, Liam glances up, then comes around her chair. Together, they try to restrain the dog, who lets out another delighted woof. His big tongue lolls out of the side of his mouth, and a quiver runs down his spine.

"Fucking hell, that dog sure is excited about something," I murmur.

"It’s the champagne," Isla huffs.

Declan follows the line of sight of the dog to where Solene reaches for the bottle of champagne.

She raises it and begins to pour into a glass.

That’s when Tiny tugs at his leash with such force, he bumps into the table.

Various pieces of cutlery fall off. A plate crashes to the ground, and one of the women lets out a tiny yelp.

"Tiny!" Isla yells.

"Tiny, NO," Liam growls.

Tiny only woofs louder. He shoves himself under the table, taking the tablecloth with him.

"Dog coming through. Dog coming through," Penny sings out.

On the opposite side of the table, JJ jumps to his feet, then grabs the chair with Lena in it and swings them out of the way just as Tiny tunnels his way through to the other side, and with a big happy woof, lumbers to his feet.

He shakes himself, and before anyone can say another word, he takes off like a shot.

"Tiny!" Isla hollers.

"Solene!" Declan vaults over the table, shoving more glasses and a vase of flowers to the ground. He races across the grass, with me and Sinclair in pursuit, just as Tiny takes a flying leap. He snatches the bottle of champagne from Solene’s hand and turns it upside down with the head of the bottle somewhere down his jaw.

The impact shoves Solene and she loses her footing, but before she can fall, Declan is there. He catches her in his arms, the momentum taking them both to the ground. He hits the ground first, and she crashes into his chest. The two lay there, winded.

The next moment, she jumps up and stabs a finger at him. "Get the hell away from me, you asshole. I don’t need any of your false concern."

"Wait, what?" Declan shakes his head as if to clear it. "It’s not false."

"Tell that to your girlfriend, you piece of shit," Solene spits out.

"Girlfriend?" He staggers to his feet. "You’re my girlfriend, baby."

"So, who’s the woman I walked in on with you in your house?"

Want to find out what happens next? Turn the page to read Declan and Solene’s story in The Rebound