Terms and Conditions (Dreamland Billionaires, #2)(7)

“I figure some congratulations are in order.” Seth smiles at me for the first time ever. The fakeness pouring off him makes me nauseous. “My son is lucky to have you in his life.”

Yeah, right. The man knows nothing about me. Even after three years, he still calls me Irene whenever he needs to get patched through to Declan’s phone line.

“Save your display for the cameras.” Declan wraps his arm around me.

While his gesture comes off robotic, I appreciate his ability to try to make this look legitimate. Try being the key word. He’s stiffer than my nana’s cocktails, and those suckers can get anyone drunk from a single cup.

“Fine advice from someone putting on quite the show right now.”

Declan’s hand grips onto my waist with punishing force. “Just because you’re bitter about love doesn’t mean the rest of us feel the same way.”

He scoffs. “You don’t know the first thing about love.”

“They say you can learn a lot from others’ mistakes, so thanks for that.”

There’s a crack in Seth’s wolfish smile. It’s so brief, I almost miss it, but the pain etched into his eyes throws me off.

Don’t fall for it. It’s not real.

“You know nothing about what your mother and I went through, and I hope you never have to experience something like that during your marriage.” Seth turns on his heel and exits the ballroom without paying mind to anyone around him.

So much for appearing like a united, happy family to the public.

Not many things can get under Seth’s skin, but the mention of his wife always does it. It’s hard not to feel bad for the man who lost his spouse to cancer. But then I remember how much of a dick he was to his sons, and all my pity is wiped away.

Someone new enters our vicinity and calls out Declan’s name.

“Let’s get this over with,” Declan mutters under his breath.

“I never thought I’d see the day when Declan Kane got engaged—” The man completely overlooks me as he slaps Declan on the shoulder and whispers into his ear.

Guest after guest comes up to us to offer their congratulations. Each one overlooks me while kissing up to Declan, which adds to the acid growing in the pit of my stomach. My only source of entertainment tonight is watching Declan fake his way through every encounter, but even that loses its novelty after an hour.

You might as well be invisible.

The DJ announces for everyone to clear the dance floor as a slow melody begins to stream from the speakers. I instantly know I’m in trouble.

Declan must pick up on it too because our eyes connect across the room.

Usually I would laugh at the tiny tic in his jaw, but seeing as I’m a part of this torture, I can barely find it in me to smile. He walks across the room and grabs my hand.

“Do you know how to dance?” I ask low enough for only him to hear.

“Of course I know how to dance.” Although Declan’s face remains blank as a white canvas, the way his hand grasps onto mine in a chokehold reveals exactly how he feels about all this.

He hates the attention as much as you.

My whole body feels as if someone set me on fire. A hundred pairs of eyes pierce my carefully crafted exterior, and my anxiety only grows as Declan tugs me toward his body. One of his hands snakes around my back while the other holds on to my trembling hand with enough force to cut off my circulation.

The tips of his fingers skate across the top of my ass. Sparks shoot off my skin from the contact, and I suck in a breath.

“Stop doing that,” I say through my forced smile.

“Doing what?”

“Touching me like that.”

“You’re my fiancée,” he replies like that explains everything.

His hand retreats, and I release a sigh, only to startle when he yanks me forward so there isn’t an inch of space left between us. Breathing is officially optional at this point.

“What kind of slow dancing is this?”

“The kind that has everyone filming us.”

My entire face feels molten as I look around the room. “Oh God.”

His face nuzzles the top of my head, and I swear I’m practically levitating at this point. For someone who has no interest in being in a relationship, he is doing a great job faking it. It has me questioning everything about us up until this point because where has this man been? And more importantly, why does he keep him hidden?

Why does it matter? This isn’t even real.

The thought sobers me, and my stomach sinks with disappointment. This is nothing but an act for everyone else’s benefit. I might have gotten caught up in it for a moment, but I need to remember why I agreed to this. This isn’t a real relationship. No amount of forehead kisses or intimate touches will change that.

Stick to the program and you won’t get hurt.

I repeat the motto over and over again while Declan moves us around to the song. By the end of our dance, I feel stronger than before and ready to separate fact from fiction.

Bring it on.

It takes me another thirty minutes of silently standing by Declan’s side before I can finally make it to the bathroom.

I cup some of the cold water from the tap and press it against my cheeks.

“You got this, Iris. Don’t let them get to you.”

Easier said than done. While no one spoke to me besides a quick greeting, they were quick to assess me like a lab rat. The number of women checking out what drink I was sipping and whether my bloated stomach was due to pregnancy or pasta was astounding. I’ve never been self-conscious about my figure, but the way they were analyzing me had my skin growing hot under my silk scarf.