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I do know who she is. She’s an actress—and not an up-and-coming one. I’ve seen the pictures. I’ve done the Google searches.
And seeing her lean into Declan’s embrace, her hand on his chest, the fondness in his gaze as he looks down at her…
Well, that makes me want to abandon everything. Hope, especially.
Chapter 29
Sophie
Here’s a small fact about me: I’m not a famous actress.
I think I do okay for myself. Try my best with what I have to offer.
But I’m definitely not even close to the same level as the woman who is currently captivating the man I’m currently having an affair with.
I’m never going to be photographed on his arm—not that it’s something I want. But it’s never even going to be a possibility to mull over, because I’m not Declan Wright’s arm candy.
I would be better classified as Declan Wright’s dirty little secret.
Of course it’s fun for him to be with me. I don’t matter. I’m something he can just sweep under a rug. Something he’s already hiding.
How many other women has he done this to?
I hate this feeling. Hate that, earlier in the evening, he made me feel like I was the only woman at this event—no, the only woman on this planet. That he has shown bits and pieces of himself to me and made me feel this way—beautiful and desired and special.
But I’m not special. Not when he’s willing to put on a show like this with someone the world has seen him with.
Not when he’s willing to hide everything about me away. Out of public view. Never to see the light of day.
Hannah has moved away at some point—if she said anything in her departure, I definitely didn’t hear it—and I have no idea what emotion is painting my twisted face until Declan happens to glance in my direction, his attention drawn at the crash of a glass bottle in the trash can over by the bar behind me.
He freezes, and I realize that my face must be showing everything. Despair. Hurt. Jealousy.
I turn away and flee, but it’s too late. He saw. He knows.
And I know, as I hear the heavy footfalls striding behind me as I jog down an interior hallway, that he’s coming for me.
I still can’t help but yelp when a strong hand seizes my wrist and drags me into a storage closet, the door slamming behind us.
Declan’s tall. And he commands an even larger presence than that height. But he’s bigger still in this small space, and I feel like I’m in danger of suffocating. Like there isn’t enough air.
Part of me is hoping for something. An apology for the way he was acting. An explanation, even, about keeping up appearances.
What takes me by surprise is his seething anger.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands, his voice quiet and full of rage.
I reel away from him, knocking into a clattering broomstick, and his grip on my wrist tightens.
“What the fuck am I doing?” I hiss at him, afraid even now of someone finding us out. Not caring that I’m the one who laid it out there for everyone to see if they only cared enough to look. “Let go of me!”
“No.” He’s in my face. “Not until you explain yourself. What were you thinking? You can’t fucking look at me like that, Spitfire. Goddammit! You’re so obvious. Anyone could’ve seen and known instantly. Just like that.”
“Is that really what you’re so concerned about?” I demand. “What about me? How about you explain yourself? Why were you throwing yourself at her? Why were you acting like that with another woman?”
“That was never our agreement.” Declan bites off each syllable, as cold as I’ve ever seen him. It’s like a steel door has slammed down between us. It’s like he’s reminding me of my place. “I never said we would be exclusive.”
And if I wasn’t feeling shitty before, watching him all but hold that actress in his arms, I certainly am now. He really doesn’t think I’m worth anything—let alone his undivided attention.
