Page 83 of Between Commitment and Betrayal
Me: You decided against what I specifically told you we were doing every day?
Everly: Declan, the media is going to drag your name through the mud because of my past. Let’s just get through the rest of this year. Sharing a meal every day isn’t necessary. I’m going back to bed.
I stomped over there, unlocked her door, and went to her bedroom.
“Are you kidding me, Declan?” she groaned when I opened the curtains and ripped the comforter off the bed. I had to smile when I saw she was still in my jersey.
Then I threw her over my shoulder.
“Oh my God. Absolutely not.” She pounded my back. “What happened to you feeling bad about manhandling me?”
I’d feel some way about that for the rest of my life, but I couldn’t focus on that now. “I’m still me and you’re still you. What kind of man would I be if I let another man dictate the relationship I have with my wife?”
I felt her body shaking and realized she was laughing at me as I made my way out of the guesthouse and up the stone driveway. “You can’t let anyone rule your world, can you?”
“Why should I when I built it? Now, you’re not following the rules. We had a breakfast and dinner plan for the rest of the marriage, and you went against your commitment.”
She huffed and stopped fighting as I stomped back into my place. I set her down at the white granite countertop and placed the food in front of her.
“Did you make this?” She lifted an eyebrow.
“What? Is it not good enough?” I spun around and grabbed bacon out of the fridge. “We should have protein too.”
She narrowed her eyes, bluer than the blue of my jersey, and then stood. “I can help.”
“Stay on that side of the island or I’ll be eating you for breakfast instead.”
She sat back down with a huff but a small smile played on her lips.
“Good girl.” I winked at her and started cooking.
“Stipulations are a week away, Declan. And the press is—”
“Handled. Let’s enjoy breakfast and the day, huh?”
She didn’t argue. Maybe we were both tired of the bullshit, maybe we were escaping into the bubble that was our gated home. It didn’t matter because I had her there, weaving calm into the flurry of emotions in my head.
“You actually are a decent cook,” she said as she crunched into a piece of crispy bacon I set on her plate. “And you make sure the bacon isn’t floppy.”
“Are you surprised?” I questioned. “My mom is a good cook. She stayed home because nobody was going to give her a job as an immigrant with an accent where I grew up, so she perfected what she did there.”
“I read they both immigrated here. You’re a rags-to-riches story,” she admitted, and I lifted my brow because Everly never went online. It was one thing I respected about her. “Yes, I finally looked you up.”
“And what did you find?”
“You’re about as big as your ego, which is massive. You’ve got the world in a choke hold with everything you do. The HEAT brand does well because of you. I stopped reading when they went into your NFL stats and history.”
I rolled my eyes because she never wanted to know a damn thing about the sport. “You going to watch some of the preseason games with me? They’re starting up next week.”
She chuckled. “Nope.” Then, she studied me. “You know, it’s a bit scary how you can touch something and it’s like Oprah endorsing it. Have you thought about that? I guess you look the part and act it though, so it makes sense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You look like the all-American boy, and you probably acted all macho in the NFL. People like that sort of thing.” She waved me off like everyone in the world loving me was ridiculous.
“What the fuck?” I ground out, annoyed she wasn’t more in awe of me like most of the women before her. And yet, I went to sit down next to her, trying to get as close as possible. “I worked hard to get where I am.”
“You also have a pretty face with a lot of muscles, dark hair, light eyes, good bone structure. People trust men like you. The media eats that up.”
