Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

DECLAN

H arper brushes past me on the stairs to jump into her boyfriend’s arms. Her silky, light pink dress hugs her body in an understated yet incredibly sexy way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much of her body. Most of the dresses I’ve seen her in have been very conservative with high collars and long hemlines.

If I were Banks, I’d be taking all sorts of advantage with the open expanse of her back exposed, but his hands stay respectably placed on her waist. The smile they share feels like a knife to my chest. It’s so familiar and warm and everything I’ve craved over the years of watching her from afar. Instead, I watch as she rises on her toes to give him a kiss, but at the last second, he turns his head, her lips pressing against the corner of his mouth.

His eyes meet mine over her shoulder as I walk down the final few steps. At six-foot-three, I rarely have to look up at anyone, but Banks has a solid two inches of height on me. He tucks Harper under his arm, pulling her close to his side and extends a hand to me.

“Banks Armstrong.” He regards me warily.

As he fucking should.

I take his hand. “Declan Ambrose.”

We stare each other down without exchanging any niceties. Harper looks back and forth between us, likely searching for something to break the tense silence. I don’t trust the guy who’s been dating her for years but never seemed to protect her from her father. He doesn’t trust the trust fund nepo baby from Boston. Not many do.

Nor should they.

“I need to get over to the country club to help Mom get ready.” Harper slides between us, giving me her back as she slides her hand up his chest and tugs on his tie.

“I’ll see you soon.” My hand slides into my pocket, instinctively searching for the rosary my mom left me. The beads are worn smooth from years of being handled.

I don’t know what she’d think of what my father’s doing today. They loved each other so deeply; I never once felt the slightest bit of tension between them, and I know if it weren’t for the accident, they’d still be married. I’d probably be at Harvard or MIT instead of Trinity. Dad sure as fuck wouldn’t be so obsessed with trying to keep me from stepping into her place at BluSpace Engineering, her family’s aeronautics company.

Moving to Briarwood Bay was his attempt at running from his grief. He thought by enrolling me in a few cotillion classes and surrounding me in southern culture I’d forget about my dream of becoming a test pilot like Mom. The constant pressure to follow in his footsteps is suffocating.

Harper lets Banks lead her out of the house and down to his car. He looks up at me, our eyes meeting through the glass bordering the front door. I give him my most arrogant smirk, not dropping my gaze until he turns away. I’ve hated him on sight ever since I found out that they were together.

Harper Flynn has been my fixation from that very first encounter. Now that she’s within reach, I’ll eliminate any hurdles between us. Her boyfriend included.

“Declan.”

I head back up the stairs at the sound of my dad’s voice. I find him standing in his closet, working on fastening a cufflink. His light green eyes look me up and down, appraising the identical suit I’m wearing.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“You getting remarried, you mean?” I lean a shoulder against the door jam. “Yeah. Even if it was real, I’d be fine with it. I’m an adult.”

“As far as the law goes, it’s as real as it gets.” He looks into the mirror and adjusts his jacket and tie. “I have some things to take care of in New York this week; Annabelle is coming with me. Can you make sure Harper has everything she needs?”

“Not a problem.”

“Good.” He pats my shoulder as he walks past me. “Let’s go.”

It took a lot of convincing for Annabelle to decide to get married at the Bay Greens Country Club where she used to be a member along with her former husband. It was important for this marriage to make a statement though. A big fuck you to the good reverend.

We walk into the sprawling stone building that serves as the clubhouse and are immediately assaulted with the scent of thousands of light pink flowers. That was the only request Annabelle had, she wanted flowers everywhere, and it looks as though Dad committed.

“It looks like a greenhouse exploded in here.”

I turn at the sound of one of my best friend’s voices. “Cyrus,” I greet him. “I’m glad you made it back from Greece for this.”

“You know I’d take your family over mine any day of the week.” His jet black hair is swept back and tied into a bun at the back of his skull. A new pink scar cuts across his temple and left eyebrow.

I’d ask about it, but I already know he won’t tell me what happened. His body is covered in scars, which are subsequently covered in tattoos. No one really knows much more than he allows us to about his family business, aside from it having to do with the Greek mafia. He grew up as his dad’s favorite punching bag, and it’s made him hard on the outside. But he’s loyal to a fault and will go to the ends of the earth for the people he loves.

“You look nearly respectable with all the tats covered,” I joke. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s no way to speak at a wedding,” I tsk.

“You two need to stop arguing.” Emerson, our other best friend and roommate, joins us. “This is a celebration of love and commitment.” He leans into his slow, southern drawl.

“Love? Not so much. Commitment? Yes, but only to psychological warfare.”

“Speaking of psychological warfare, how was the first family dinner last night?” Cyrus asks.

“Could have gone worse.”

The officiant motions me over, so I leave my friends to entertain themselves while he goes over the ceremony with me. Dad and Annabelle opted out of having a formal rehearsal since there’s no bridal party and the actual wedding should only last ten minutes. Just enough time for vows and a kiss, making sure to get it on camera so Rev. Flynn can be sure to watch.

“May I have this dance?” I hold my hand out to my new stepsister as she sits at a table sipping champagne.

Flecks of gold and bronze swim in the hazel of her eyes as she looks up at me with trepidation. She gives my hand a glance like it might burn her but slides her fingers onto my palm and allows me to help her up anyway.

“I won’t bite, unless you want me to.”

“That’s a bit inappropriate to say to your sister, isn’t it?” she says primly.

“You’re not my sister.”

She follows me onto the dance floor and allows me to pull her close, putting her hand on my shoulder while the other stays in my own. I watched her dance with Banks earlier, surprised that he never once ran his fingers over her smooth, exposed skin. I don’t have it in me to not push the boundary of propriety, so I let my fingertips slip beneath the open edge of the back of her dress, curling into the soft flesh beneath.

She stiffens but doesn’t ask me to remove them. Until she decides to speak up, I’m not planning on moving. Her honeysuckle and vanilla scent surrounds me, testing my will power to not lean down and drag my nose along the elegant line of her neck.

“Mom said she’s going out of town with Cillian tonight. Should I find a different place to sleep?”

“Why would you do that? Is your room not up to your standards, Princess?”

Her eyes flash with anger, but she quells it just as quickly before responding. “No, not at all. I love my room actually. I just didn’t know if I’d be in your way.”

“We’ll have to get used to each other eventually. Might as well start now,” I say with a shrug.

“I’ll stay out of your way.”

I say nothing to that because I already know I won’t be staying out of hers. I plan on popping up everywhere she goes over the next few days. It’ll be a fun little one-sided game to play.