Page 136 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
Chelsea lets out an airy laugh. “Oh, honey. You really didn’t read anything you signed, did you?”
I thought I did. I thought I combed through every clause, every NDA, every stack of papers they shoved in front of us. But maybe I was too distracted. Too drunk. Too busy trying to convince myself that getting legally married to a man I’d only known through a wall wasn’t the dumbest idea of my life.
“There were cameras everywhere except your honeymoon suite,” Chelsea continues brightly. “And no, to answer your other question, none of your sessions have aired or been teased yet. Declan made sure of that when he called in last week.”
I freeze. “Declan called? Last week?”
“Yes. He didn’t tell you? He said you were stressed at work and he wanted to make sure that none of the footage got leaked that would make your life more difficult.”
I press the phone harder to my ear, trying to process. Declan called them? On his own? To protect me?
My chest squeezes. Damn it. He takes care of me even when I don’t realize it. Even when I don’t ask. Even when I don’t deserve it. I really am falling for this man.
“How about I check in tomorrow morning to see if Declan will be around?” Chelsea’s voice cuts back in, snapping me out of my spiraling. “I’m really not supposed to give you this much heads-up, but like I said, it would be great to see you two together. Authentic. Unscripted.”
I swallow.Authentic. Unscripted.Exactly what I’ve tried to avoid being with him—and exactly what I can’t stop myself from becoming the moment he’s near. Around Declan, every guard I’ve built slips, every mask falls away. With him, I am nothing but myself. Unmasked. Unfiltered. Authentic and unscripted.
“Sure, Chelsea,” I manage. “Check back tomorrow morning.”
We hang up, and I immediately call Declan. He’s out with a few teammates. Boys’ night and I hate to bother him, but we need to strategize.
Two rings. No answer.
I call again. No answer.
Fine. He’s the one who set up location sharing on our phones. I tap the map.
And freeze.
The Supper Club.
“Are you kidding me?! You’re at a fucking sex club?” I yell at no one.
I fire off a group text.
Me:Stand-Ins! Treat as urgent! Assemble! Meet me at The Supper Club!
Tatum replies in two seconds.
Tatum:Sounds all kinds of kinky. Count me in.
Eslin takes a beat.
Eslin:I don’t know what we’re in for, but I could use whatever you’ve got in mind.
I call my driver, pacing the sidewalk while I wait, anger buzzing beneath my skin like static. By the time the car door shuts behind me, I’m practically vibrating.
The whole ride over, I chew myself out in circles. For letting him charm me with that lazy grin and those damned tattoos. For letting my guard down because of his tenderness I didn’t see coming. Because of the way he sayswifelike it means something. LikeImean something.
Clearly, I don’t.
Because I’m sitting in the backseat of a black SUV, heading straight toThe Supper Club.The Supper. Fucking. Club. A place that screams indulgence, secrecy,public sin.If he’s in there, of all places, it’s not just betrayal—it’s humiliating. It’s Declan telling the world what I didn’t want to admit to myself: I let him in far enough to hurt me.
Good thing no one really knows about us. Because if the world knew—if there was even a chance that the world could see me heading to a sex club to hunt down my cheatinghusband—it would certainly end us for real. It feels like it’s ending us now.
Each block the driver carries me closer, each second I sit stewing in the backseat, I can feel something unraveling inside me. Whatever fragile, dangerous thread had been tying me to Declan—his tenderness, his persistence, the illusion of safety he gave me—it’s snapping one coil at a time.
And the worst part? It’s not just anger burning through me. It’s disappointment. It’s heartbreak.
