Terms and Conditions (Dreamland Billionaires #2) by Lauren Asher

“We’re leaving.” He tugs my coat out of my mother’s grasp. “Thank you for an interesting meal. I would say it was a pleasure, but I can’t feel half of my tongue.”

Nana cackles while Mom rocks back on her heels with a smile. She practically swoons as Declan helps me into my jacket before tugging my hair out from underneath the collar.

I nearly topple over in disbelief as Declan takes his time fixing each button for me. The smell of his cologne permeates my lungs, embedding itself into my memory. A strange temptation to lean in and take another sniff consumes me.

He’s doing such a good job convincing everyone around us that he cares, even I believe it for a second. He steps away, and the warmth of his body is replaced by a cold reality.

I liked him taking care of me.

The spices from the chicken must have destroyed part of my frontal lobe because there’s no way I could like that.

Right?





“So, was it as bad as you thought it would be?” It takes me a whole five minutes since we entered his car to muster up the courage to break the silence.

“The food was awful.”

I look out the window to avoid showing him my smile. “And?”

“And the company wasn’t too terrible. Although I could have done without being ambushed near the bathroom.”

I bite down on my cheek. “What did Nana say to you in private?” She all but bolted from the table once Declan got up to use the restroom.

“She threatened me.”

“No.” I muffle my laugh with my hand.

“In graphic detail.”

“What did you say?”

“What exactly is an appropriate reply for being told my intestines would make a nice winter scarf?”

“She’s been on a mafia kick lately.”

“That explains how she knew a lot about sulfuric acid and the different ways to dispose of a body.”

“I did try to warn you about my family. They’re a bit…”

“Overbearing?”

I nod. “They worry about me.”

“They have a good reason to.”

“Why?”

“You got engaged out of the blue to someone who isn’t exactly known to be the nicest man in Chicago.”

“Now, now. At least you’re not the worst.”

“I’m sure that really helps them sleep at night.”

The self-deprecating way he speaks of himself makes me sad.

“Does the great Declan Kane care about my family’s opinion of him?”

His eyes roll. “No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Maybe just a little bit?” I hold my two fingers up to his face, leaving a small gap of space.

He swats my hand away. “I stopped caring about people’s opinions of me a long time ago.”

I want to ask him why. Heck, I want to ask him a hundred questions after tonight, starting with what made him stop caring about what other people think of him in the first place. But asking personal questions seems like I’m giving him unspoken permission to do the same to me.

I hold back my tongue and stay silent for the rest of the ride. Being curious about Declan would only complicate things, so I’m better off keeping some distance. Living with each other is one thing, but sharing intimate details about one another is a completely different animal. Not that he wants me to know him on a personal level anyway. He has made his stance pretty clear on the matter, and I would be stupid to think this marriage was anything but a convenience for him.





10





DECLAN





If my grandfather’s sole reason for making me get married was to drive me toward the brink of insanity, he achieved his goal. I’ve officially reached my breaking point, and it only took Iris planning a rehearsal dinner to get me there. Well, her sitting beside me in a body-hugging white gown and the crowd of people waiting inside Chicago’s best steakhouse.

“It’s not too late for me to tell Harrison to turn the car around.” I make one last-ditch effort to convince Iris against tonight’s dinner. If it were up to me, we would have gotten married in a courthouse and bypassed all of these requirements.

She picks at her pristine manicure. “It’s not like I want to go in there either.”

“Is this your attempt at making me feel better?” A thoughtful yet pointless effort.

“They say misery loves company.” She laughs, and the sound draws me toward her like a siren’s call.

My eyes drop to her mouth as I soak in her smile. Her good mood is dashed away by the parting of her lips, and I look up to see what changed. Our eyes connect, making me feel like I was struck in the chest with a lightning bolt. It must zap all my common sense too because nothing else explains me reaching out and holding onto her hand.

She sucks in a breath. “You ready?”

Whatever burst of energy I felt from our eye contact dies at her confusion. I release her hand, and she clasps hers together on her lap.

“As ready as one can be for an event like this.”

“Just remember in two days you will never have to think about throwing a party ever again.”

“A lot can happen in forty-eight hours.”

“Getting cold feet?” Her eyes light up.

“Frostbite set in about three days ago, but I’ll crawl down the aisle if I need to.”