“You lunatic.”
“For you,” he simply says.
Then he washes and dries his hands and reaches for mine, maddeningly warm and sure.
“Come on,la signoraAgassi,” he says. “Let’s go play happy couple.”
When we step out of the bathroom, Chelsea’s already made herself at home, casually inspecting the office like she’s on a tour. She pauses by a shelf, scans the walls, and cocks her head.
“Funny,” she says with a little grin, “no picturesof you two anywhere.”
I keep my tone light but firm. “Chelsea, we’ve been over this. We’re keeping things quiet—for now.”
She snaps her fingers like she’s just remembered. “Ah, right! Where is my head these days?” She pats her stomach with a proud smile. “Pregnancy brain.”
“I see,” I reply, smiling despite myself. There’s something charming about how eager she is to share the news, like we’re all part of some big secret together.
She flips to a fresh page on her notepad. “So, tell me—how’s married life? Any surprises since the wedding?”
I let out a dry laugh. “Well, aside from the minor detail that my husband turned out to be the team’s new midfielder and now I have to manage him while trying to earn the respect of a staff, who still thinks I got here by nepotism? Or were you hoping for something a little more romantic?”
Chelsea just hums and scribbles notes, completely unfazed.
Okay. Maybe that came out a little harsh.
“I think what my wife left out,” Declan cuts in smoothly, flashing that diplomatic smile. “Is how I’ve made it my mission to make her life easier, even from a distance.”
Chelsea lifts her brows, intrigued, and of course, he leans into it like he’s reading straight from a romance novel.
“She has a demanding job, so I’ve been sending over her favorite pastries on mornings I know she has long meetings. Flowers on her desk every Friday. And not just roses, I actually pay attention. Lilies, gardenias, once even wild sunflowers because she mentioned them in passing. I take notes,” he says proudly.
At least the asshole is a good liar.
I blink, caught somewhere between baffled and furious that he’s spinning fiction this well. Chelsea looks seconds away from swooning.
“She refuses to let me do her laundry,” he adds with a chuckle, “but I’ve been stocking her fridge. I leave little notes on the oat milk and eggs. And yes,” he says, slipping his hand around my waist with that same infuriating charm, “that’s why we’ve decided to move in together. It’s just… easier to take care of her properly that way.”
Chelsea melts. I want to combust.
“Oh,” she says, pressing a hand to her heart. “You two are just—wow. Ilovelove.”
Declan squeezes my hip. “So do I,” he says.
“You’d better sleep with one eye open,” I whisper under my breath.
When the interview ends and Chelsea’s heels finally click out of range, Declan turns to me.
“And you’re moving in with me.”
I blink. “Okay, first of all—we’re going to have to actuallydiscussthat. And second, why the hell would you just assume I’d move in with you?”
“Because your father lives in your building. And he can’t be anywhere near the sounds I’m going to pull out of you.”
He presses a soft kiss to my cheek. I am completely speechless with that comment and my traitorous body immediately reminds me of the feelings those sounds bring.
“Can’t wait to welcome you home, wife.”
Chapter thirty