After Being Accused as a Mistress, I Married My Ex's Uncle novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Terms

In Declan's empty penthouse Cora hears his five rules for a one-year marriage and asks why he stood by the door; he tells her the Kirkbrides will all be in the second pew.

Declan's penthouse had a view of the whole lake and almost nothing else.

There was a long table, a leather couch nobody had sat on, and a kitchen so clean it looked like a photograph.

Romy had refused to let me go alone.

She stood next to me in the doorway with her arms crossed and her chef's knife roll under one arm, in case anybody needed convincing.

"She's with me," Romy told him. "I'm staying."

"Of course," Declan said.

He didn't smile, but his eyes moved over the knife roll with something that might have been respect.

Then he nodded toward the table.

My coat was lying across it, folded neatly.

My keys sat on top, and next to them was the lemon tart box from the bar.

I looked at him.

"I went back for them," he said. "After you left."

He opened the lid.

One slice was gone.

"I ate a piece," Declan said. "I wasn't going to let it go to waste in that room. It's very good."

Romy made a small noise that I knew meant she liked him against her will.

I closed the lid and sat down.

"Hayden told me his uncle lived overseas," I said.

"London. Nine years. I came back eight days ago for the anniversary." He took the chair across from me. "My brother and I don't speak."

"Which brother?"

"There's only one."

"Why would you do this?" I asked. "Marry a woman you've never met?"

"Because I own forty percent of Kirkbride Hotels," he said. "My father left it to me, and nobody in my family has forgiven him for it. Hayden thinks he is inheriting the company. He has never once thought about who he'd have to be nice to first."

That was a real answer, and I could tell it wasn't the whole one.

I let it sit.

"You said I could change what my name is attached to," I said.

"Yes."

"Say how."

"On Saturday you walk into a church and become Mrs. Declan Kirkbride," he said. "After that, every dinner, every board meeting, every funeral the family goes to, you're seated at their table. Stanley will have to introduce you. Hayden will have to call you Aunt Cora."

Romy coughed into her fist.

It sounded a lot like laughing.

"It isn't love," I said. "It's a fight."

"It's a year," Declan said. "Five rules. You can say no to any of them."

He held up a hand and counted them off.

"One. Twelve months, then either of us ends it by saying so."

"Fine."

"Two. We have separate bedrooms. You'll have the one with the lake."

I felt my face go warm.

Romy stared very hard at the ceiling.

"Fine," I said again.

"Three. In public I'll touch you when it helps, and nowhere else. You do the same."

"What's helps?"

"When someone is watching, and needs to see that you aren't alone."

I thought about two hundred phones in a ballroom.

"Fine."

"Four. You keep your name, your money and your work. I pay for nothing of yours."

"I don't have a job anymore," I said.

"Then you'll find one."

"Who pays for the wedding?"

"My family," he said. "Without knowing it."

"Five. We don't lie to each other. Ever. I'd rather be hated for the truth than thanked for a story."

It was the only rule he said slowly.

I looked at his hands.

They were folded on the table, big and perfectly steady.

"Can I ask one thing?" I said.

"Yes."

"Why did you stay by the door?"

For a moment he looked at me without any expression at all.

Then he said, "Because I wasn't sure who you were yet."

It was an answer.

It didn't feel like the one he had.

I let it go for now, because I needed the ring more than I needed the truth.

"Is it true the company is his in three months?" I said instead.

Declan's face didn't change.

But his hand closed slowly on the edge of the table.

"Did he tell you that?"

"Right before I poured the coffee on him."

Romy laughed out loud.

Declan's mouth moved at one corner, and then it was gone.

"Then he's wrong about the three months," he said.

I stood up and put out my hand.

He looked at it for a second, and then he took it.

His palm was warm and dry and his grip was exactly as firm as it needed to be.

"Saturday," I said.

"Saturday. Ten o'clock at Saint Anselm's on Astor Street." He let go. "The Kirkbrides will be in the second pew."

"Why would they come?"

"They won't miss it." Declan picked up the lemon tart box and slid it toward me. "Everyone who put a hand on you will be in that church. I sent the invitations myself."

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