Page 67 of Sinful Bride

I can hear the underlying words: Unlike the one I’m living in now. With you.

"Do you miss it?" I ask.

"Every day." He lets out a breath. "But I can't go back. That life isn’t mine anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because I made a choice." He reaches for a fry. “And I’m going to stick with it.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t think I have the right to try to get him to. We aren’t close enough for me to try to find out what’s under the hint of pain I hear in his voice. Coming here cost him something, and he’s doing it for a reason, but he clearly doesn’t want to share what that is. And for now, I don’t pry.

“So what did you do as a kid?” I ask instead, lightening my voice. He smiles. I can’t help but think, seeing it, that he’s smiled more since we walked in here than I’ve ever seen before.

“Played pool in the clubhouse, got into fights with the neighborhood kids. Learned to fix motorcycles." Another smile. "Normal kid stuff."

"I wouldn't know what that's like."

He eyes me. "What was your childhood like?"

I draw in a slow breath. “School. Lots of lessons on dancing and household management and how to throw the perfect party. It was all very structured. I was learning how to count calories and ‘ladylike’ exercise routines as soon as I could understand any of it.” I take another bite of burger to avoid elaborating further. "Not much room for playing pool or fixing motorcycles."

"That sounds lonely."

It was. God, it was so lonely, and even more so after my mother died. But I don't say that. I can’t bring myself to admit how isolated I felt, even surrounded by family and staff and all the trappings of wealth.

"It was what it was," I say instead.

Declan doesn't push. He just nods and finishes his burger.

Rosie comes by with another round of beers. "How's the food?"

"Perfect," I tell her with a smile. Declan looks surprised, but I really do mean it.

"Good." She pats my shoulder. "You take care of this one, you hear? He's a good boy."

I glance at Declan, who's looking slightly embarrassed. "I will."

After Rosie leaves, I notice the music has changed. The jukebox is playing something with a faster tempo, and a few people have pushed tables aside near the back, creating a small dance floor. Couples are moving together, laughing and spinning.

I watch them, fascinated. This isn't the formal dancing I'm used to, the carefully choreographed waltzes and foxtrots. This is loose and free and joyful. I’ve never danced like that in my entire life.

I realize, vaguely, that I have a little bit of a buzz. It feels pleasant, but also a little alarming, like I have less self-control than I’m used to.

"You want to dance?" Declan's voice pulls my attention back to him.

I blink. "What?"

"Dance." He nods toward the makeshift dance floor. "You want to?"

I should say no, and remember my composure and dignity. I'm Elena Capetti—Murphy now—and I don't dance in diners with vinyl booths and greasy burgers. But the buzz from the beer feels like it’s intensifying, and suddenly I wonder what it would be like to just have some fun for once.

"Yes," I hear myself say.

Declan's eyebrows rise slightly, like he didn't expect me to agree. But he stands and offers me his hand. I take it.

He leads me to the dance floor, and suddenly I'm very aware of how out of place I am. My gown, my jewelry, my carefully styled hair, all feel ridiculous here. But no one is staring or judging. One woman actually calls out over the music that she loves my dress, and I manage a nervous smile in return.

And then Declan’s hands are on me, pulling me into him, and my heart rate kicks up alarmingly.