Page 234 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

A month later

Solene

“Champagne, I need more champagne.” I glance up and down the long table. "Where is the champagne, anyway?"

We’re at my friend Abby’s wedding to Cade Kingston, captain of the English cricket team, and while I’m happy for her, I can’t wait to put this event behind me and focus on figuring out how to revive my singing career.

A career headed for a huge collapse, the likes of which only a pop star with a number one chart hit can face when the fans decide they don’t like your music anymore.

"Uh, we wanted to avoid any accidents, so the champagne is on that table.” My friend, Summer, points at the table at the far end of the room.

"Accidents?" Declan scowls at her, then turns to me.

I hold his gaze for a second, long enough for those blue eyes as unfathomable as the depths of the sea to widen.

A-n-d there is the other reason I want to be as far away from this table as possible—my boyfriend.

I haven’t seen him face-to-face in a month, and I’ve been evading him since arriving at this wedding.

I jump up and head toward the bubbles. I reach for the bottle of champagne and begin to pour it into a glass.

Thud-thud-thud. Why is my heart pounding so fast?

Thud-thud-thud. That's not my heart. I turn to see why everyone at the table is yelling, but before I can fully turn, something goes sailing through the air, blocking my view. Not something, but someone, or rather, someone’s dog.

Isla’s Great Dane Tiny snatches the bottle of champagne from my hand and turns it upside down with the head of the bottle somewhere down his jaw.

Whoa, that’s some acrobatics. And whoever heard of a dog drinking champagne, or rather, a champagne-drinking dog?

I'm so amused by him, I don't even realize I've lost my balance. The world tilts, and that’s when I realize the result of the dog’s bottle stealing tactic is that I’m falling, falling. I brace for impact, which comes.

Only, I don’t hit the ground. I slam into something which feels even harder yet moves with me to soften the blow.

Something which feels like a muscled chest. And when his arms come around me, and that familiar dark chocolate and coffee scent of his swirls around me, I allow myself to sink back against that tank-like expanse for a few seconds.

During which time, the beating of his heart thuds against my back, his thick forearm is banded about my waist, and my hips are nestled against his pelvis, the thick column in his crotch stabbing into the valley between my butt cheeks.

My thighs tremble, and a waterfall seeps out from between my lower lips.

Oh, god, it feels so good to be in his arms. With his length supporting me, and his breath raising the hair on my head.

His chest rises and falls, his breath coming in quick pants.

He tightens his grip around me, and the movement breaks the trance I’ve fallen into.

I push up and off of him, then jump to my feet.

"Get the hell away from me, you stronzo." I stab my finger at him. "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 pezzo di merda," I say in a voice so cold, so hard, that I can’t stop myself from flinching.

He staggers to his feet. "What are you talking about?" He straightens, and keeps straightening, looming over me so I have to tilt my head back, then further back, just to meet those stupid, gorgeous, traitorous eyes of his. Eyes crowded with concern and confusion, and maybe, even… love.

No-no-no. I won’t try to discern what his eyes are saying when he’s never—not once in all the months we’ve been together—ever come right out and told me how he feels.

I'm not going to second-guess him anymore.

If he feels something for me, he'd better come out and say it, and then back up his words with actions.

Otherwise, based on his actions thus far, I'll have to assume he's the self-centered bastard he's shown himself to be.

I shove aside the need to throw myself into his arms and tilt up my chin.

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

" I ask softly. I should be angry and raging. I should be spitting out the words at him. I should be losing my shit, but somehow, all I feel is a sense of calm. At least, I don’t have to pretend.

Like I did over the past month, trying to maintain the facade of a relationship to the media, to him, to myself, when in reality, we’ve been running on parallel tracks for a while now.

He blinks, then the confused expression on his features fades away.

The crystalline blue of his gaze hardens to a dirty grey, so brittle, surely, it’s going to shatter.

Like my heart. He steps back, putting distance between us.

A cool wind rushes in between us and I shiver. Goosebumps pepper my skin.

"You came to our house?" he finally asks.

"Your house."

"And you saw me with her?"

Oh, god. He’s not denying it. He’s not. I glance around to find our friends are following our exchange with interest. They’re not close enough to hear us, thankfully. I take a step back, and it might as well be a thousand paces. That’s how huge the distance between us already seems.

"Who was she?" I manage to force out the words through lips gone numb. My stomach churns, heat flushes my skin, and yet, I’m so cold. I wrap my arms around my waist. "Who was she, Declan?"

He looks away into the distance as if calibrating his response. His jaw ticks, and a vein pops at his temple. His shoulders bunch and I know, whatever he’s going to tell me is going to change my future.

I sense the impending shock and brace myself, so when he opens his mouth and says, "I can’t tell you," I’m almost not surprised. And yet, I am.

What did I expect him to say? That she's his wife? A girlfriend? The real love of his life? The reason he’s been unable to make time for me as we've danced the transatlantic-long-distance-relationship-that’s-been-going-down-the-shitter shuffle?

"You can’t tell me?" I finally push the words out through lips gone numb.

He doesn’t answer.

"You can’t tell me who the woman I saw you talking to was?

The woman whose shoulders you held; the woman who you consoled as she sobbed into your chest. Was she your sister?

A cousin? A relative?" This is his chance to tell me it was all a stupid misunderstanding.

That what I saw was completely innocent.

That there's a perfectly logical explanation for why he was comforting her.

"Declan?" I whisper, hating how desperate I sound in the moment. Hating the fact that, although I thought I’d resigned myself to the fact that our relationship was slowly fading away, faced with evidence of it, I now realize I hadn’t.

I’d hoped we could set things right. That we could meet and talk things out.

That we’d each apologize for being so focused on our respective careers.

That we could come together and stay strong in the face of all the media scrutiny every time we're spotted together in public.

"Declan, tell me who she was?"

"I can’t."

"What?” I gape. “You can’t tell me who she is?”

He shakes his head slowly.

My heart begins to race. The fine hair on the nape of my neck rises. “Wh-why can’t you?”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Trust me on this. You don’t want me to.”

I swallow, then tip up my chin “I do trust you, Declan. You're the man who saved me from a Mafia wedding. You're the man who gave me a chance to pursue my dreams of being a singer. You gave me a place to stay in LA. You’re the one who introduced me around to those in the business. It’s you who gave me the confidence to release my first single. It’s because of you, I followed my dreams. It’s because of you, I found my voice.

You created this new me. I owe everything I am to you, but I’d trade it all to find out what’s going on. "

He stays silent, our gazes still locked. But he doesn’t say anything. How can he not say anything? Can’t he see I’m dying slowly inside? Why is not saying anything?

He stays there for a few seconds more, then closes the distance between us.

He places his palms on my shoulders, and I let him.

I let him because he was supposed to be my happily ever after.

My one true love. He was supposed to be the one.

I thought, when I found him, I’d walk into the sunset with him.

I thought I’d found my match. Maybe I was wrong.

"Are you in love with her?" My voice seems to come from far away. My throat is so dry I’m barely able to speak. How could I even form those words? Where did I find the courage to blurt that out? How could I not?

"Are you, Declan? Is it someone you met on the road? I know how isolating it is to be shooting for months on end. I know, I’ve been busy pursuing my career, too."

His eyes flicker, "As you should. You’re a talented artiste. You owe it to yourself to share your voice with people."

"I’d rather sing only for you."

"You shouldn’t treat your art with such disrespect." His hold on me tightens. "You’re a star. You need to shine brightly, and nothing and no one should hold you back."

I frown. "What does that mean? Are you implying you’re holding me back?"

His eyebrows knit. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

"That is what you’re implying. Is this because my song hit number one before your movie became the top-grossing box office smash you were expecting? Are you holding it against me that my career took off before yours?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "You’re putting words in my mouth."

"It’s not my fault my song was such a big success. You know that, right?"

"You need to own your triumphs, Solene," he says softly.

"I’d give everything to go back to when it was just you and me, and neither of us had seen the kind of success that would force us to spend so much time apart."

"You can’t change what’s already happened." He begins to lower his hands, and I catch hold of his wrists.

"What are you saying? Why are you being so defeatist?"

"I’m not the one looking back and wishing for the past. I’m not the one who’s so quick to trade my hard-won success for love. But then, I forget how quickly you became successful. You didn’t have to struggle like—"

"Like you? Are you saying because it took longer for you to get to the top of your game, your success is more relevant than mine?"

"That’s not what I meant,” he says through gritted teeth.

"Yes, you did.” I try to pull away, but this time, he’s the one who locks his fingers around my arms and holds me in place.

"It’s your guilt at not being there for our relationship that’s making you see and hear things when there’s nothing there."

“Why should I feel guilty? You weren’t there for me, either.” I pull away, and to my surprise, he releases me and oh, god, he may as well as have slapped me. "Wait a minute. Are you saying I’m delusional?"

His jaw tics. "I’m saying, we need to stop trading insults and act more civilized with each other."

"And what about you refusing to tell me about that woman I saw you with? Is that being civilized?" I say hotly.

"That’s being... Considerate of your feelings."

"If you were being considerate, you’d tell me who she was."

His gaze shutters. A pulse tics at his temple. He massages his temple as if he’s got a headache brewing there. Good, he should feel some of the pain I’m going through right now.

"You know, deep inside, there’s an irreproachable explanation to what you saw,” he says softly, but there’s an underlying intensity, a seriousness that penetrates to my core.

I swallow, "And I want you to say it."

"And I can’t… Not— I just can't."

I curl my fingers into fists at my sides. "Why not, though? Why can’t you tell me who she is? Why can’t you share why she was upset and why you were consoling her?"

"Because it would hurt you."

The breath whooshes out of me. Until now, I held out hope it was nothing.

That really, it was all a misunderstanding.

We got our wires crossed. There’s a perfectly simple explanation for what I saw.

But something in his eyes, something in how he sets his jaw, how those beautiful lips of his thin, how he seems to retreat deeper behind that wall he puts up between himself and the outside world, tells me that, perhaps, it’s too late.

He’d rather not reveal the reasons why he was consoling that woman.

He’d rather risk me being upset with him.

He’d rather risk that secret driving a wedge between us than come out and tell me who she is and what she means to him.

"Why was she crying, can you at least tell me that?"

"That’s not my secret to share."

I gape, "I’m still your girlfriend."

A series of expressions crosses his features, one after the other, too quick for me to understand what it means, and then he schools his face into a polite mask. "Are you?”

I reel back. “Wha—” I swallow around the ball of emotion in my throat. “Are you kidding me?”

He glances over my shoulder, and his gaze widens.

Seriously? “Declan are you listening?” I curl my fingers into fists at my sides. “We’ve been spending so much time apart, I’m not even sure if I know who you are anymore, and—"

He moves so quickly, I blink. The next second, he’s thrown me over his shoulder.

"Hey, what are you—" I gasp. A flashbulb pops. He turns around, storms past our friends who’ve been watching the entire spectacle unfold, and marches inside the house.