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“I should go too,” he says to Nora, his voice tight. “I’m sorry, Gran.”
Her eyes are sad as she nods at him. “It’s not your fault, Declan. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”
Declan swallows hard, then turns to me. He offers me his hand, and I take it. I follow him out of the house, ducking my head to avoid everyone’s curious stares.
Outside, Declan marches straight to the car. He gets in, slamming the door behind him with force. I slide into the passenger seat, my heart still hammering in my chest.
Chapter 37
Declan
I grip the steering wheel like a vise, taking some dark satisfaction in the angry sound of the engine as it revs. I lower my foot onto the pedal a few times while it’s still in park, listening to that furious growl.
Once the passenger door has closed behind Sophie, I peel out of my grandmother’s driveway—too fast. Fast enough that the tires squeal on the concrete.
All of that emotion is churning inside me as we hit the road.
How dare he. How fucking dare he.
Coming to my grandmother’s party just to exert control over my life. Just to question my decisions. Decisions that I made without his input, just like every other decision I’ve ever made.
Insinuating that Sophie is a gold-digger, no more than an expensive, complicated hooker. She’s about as far from a prostitute as could be. I’ve known my fair share, and it’s always been easy to get them out of my head and out of my life as soon as the cash was in their hands.
None of my run-ins with call girls have stuck in my head the way Sophie has.
She hasn’t asked me for money. She hasn’t even asked me for anything. In fact, the wealth seems to make her uncertain, uncomfortable. I saw the way she looked at Reed’s princess girlfriend at the party.
My father is an asshole, plain and simple.
And he had the nerve to bring up my mother, while I was already seething—
I drive hard, letting the rage control the car. I know that I’m speeding, but I can’t bring myself to care. Ten over. Twenty over. What’s the worst that could happen? I’ll get pulled over. They’ll test my blood alcohol content, which is definitely almost normal—I had all of one drink. It’s not the alcohol making my blood boil.
I won’t lose sleep over a speeding ticket. I would be in much worse trouble if Cole had let me take a run at my father.
I take a corner about thirty miles faster than the sign by the curb recommends, and in the passenger seat, I hear Sophie’s small, restrained squeak. I glance over to look at her.
She’s white-faced, her hands wrung together in front of her. She looks overwhelmed. Scared. I let out a quiet breath.
I slow down, bringing things back to a normal speed, and she sighs softly. She’s clearly trying to hide how nervous she is, but she’s practically shaking.
When we get back to my place, I make a point of holding the door open for her. Trying to be dignified, despite my outburst. I don’t want her to think of me as some kind of rage-fueled monster, but when it comes to my father, it’s hard to get control of my emotions.
I hold the front door for her too. Once inside my condo, I immediately head to the liquor cabinet to pour myself another drink—just a little something to take the edge off. I stare down at the caramel-colored liquid, pooling around the ice cubes, and take another steadying breath.
I pace across the room and sit down on the couch. Sophie is still standing by the foyer, biting her lip.
She’s quiet for a few seconds. Then she says, “Are you gonna tell me what that was about?”
I hesitate, then relent. She deserves to know. And I know I haven’t exactly been the easiest person to be around for the past half hour or so.
I beckon her over to the couch. She comes over readily, which is a bit of a relief. I was worried she’d be afraid of me after seeing that fight. But she just seems concerned, her eyebrows knit together over those emerald green eyes.
I pull her into my lap, and she leans against me. I let my hand drift over her thigh. Her soft curves are comforting. Her smell is, too—my favorite perfume, the one that smells like chamomile and honey. The perfect combination to relax. Maybe she picked it out this morning to keep her own nerves at bay.
Shit, I think to myself, for the millionth time. She was already so anxious about this party, about meeting everyone. And after what my father said to her…. It’s almost enough to stoke the rage inside me again, but with Sophie in my lap, in the comfort of my home, I manage to hold off the anger.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I say, running my fingers through her silken hair.
