It really was a wonder the two of them had gotten divorced. Grace couldn’t begin to imagine what it was that bothered her so much about Declan, from him declaring her snotty, to his irritatingly smug exterior. Because of course, why wouldn’t she be charmed by him? She’d been the luckiest woman alive, married to a man who seemingly only ever viewed her as a joke when she’d thought of him as nothing short of her entire world.
Of course, if she chose to be honest with herself, she’d remember that his smugness had always resembled something much closer to cheekiness in her eyes, and that his ridiculous taunting had always made her laugh, bringing light to otherwise miserable situations. He was still that very same man, only this version of him didn’t love her anymore. She wondered if he would even be there sat across from her if it had been anybody other than Bee who’d called upon him?
She watched as his face transformed from mock horror to genuine concern and felt another, fresh pang in her chest. Wasn’t he supposed to be here to make her feel better? To help ease whatever panic attack her day had inflicted upon her? The irony of it all was that the mere fact of his presence being a comfort to her was also just another cause for concern in Grace’s eyes. What use was it to be soothed by the love of her life who’d refused to fight for her? She didn’t need to be reminded of all the things about him that she’d loved so, not when those parts of him were lost to her forever.
A wet laugh spilled from her lips as she shook her head, a sob melting away as it made way for laughter instead. God, he was utterly insufferable, making her smile and laugh and feel utterly wrecked all at once. Perhaps if Bee had gotten Morgan instead, she might feel different. The other man was merely a means to an end, just as she imagined she was to him. He didn’t know her deepest darkest secrets, nor how to talk her down from the ledge. Morgan knew how to sing her praises in front of a committee, how to make her dances flourish and, most importantly, how to make her cum. What he didn’t know was that while she rarely drank anything but coffee and red wine, she preferred peppermint tea when under the weather, and that white wine made her horny. He didn’t know that she’d gotten the scar on her knee about six months into dating Declan, after slipping on broken glass and needing a quick trip to the emergency room. Morgan didn’t know that Declan liked to kiss along the scar, relishing in the way that the tickling sensation made Grace squirm and giggle, batting him away before drawing him back in for more. Morgan didn’t know.
“You can joke all you like, Dec. If I offered to suspend Alice from the rafters, I’m about ninety nine percent sure she’d have a miraculous recovery and scale the building of her own accord,” she scoffed, thinking fondly of her ridiculous, vibrant dancer.
Content that the tears had finally stopped flowing, she ceased pathetically dabbing beneath her eyes and discarded her tissue into the wastebin next to her vanity table. She propped her elbows onto her knees, her chin dipping into her palms as she leaned forward, closing some of the distance between them, and peered up at Declan’s obnoxiously beautiful face.
“That’s a shame. The Declan I have on my dartboard back at Teddy’s is much less handsome. I think I like him best,” she quipped, fixing him with a smirk. There was something to be said about the fact that she still couldn’t quite bring herself to refer to Teddy’s apartment as her own, still desperately clinging onto the idea that it was only temporary. “It’s a really flattering still of you from that segment three years when that pigeon took a shit all over you live on air. It’s still getting me through the harder days.”
The corner of Declan’s mouth ticked up when Grace let out a wet-sounding laugh. He knew her pride would hold a grudge against her letting the noise slip, but he was satisfied that he’d made her do something that wasn’t cry for once. Or scream in his face. There had been a lot of screaming in each other’s faces in unfamiliar lawyers’ offices.
As soon as Grace disposed of the tissue and leaned in, Declan unconsciously mirrored her. Could either of them really be blamed for that? One measly divorce couldn’t undo years upon years of muscle memory and natural magnetism. He gripped the back of the chair he was leaning against and rested his chin on his knuckles, raising an eyebrow at Grace. There was that stubborn pride again, doing what it could to belittle Declan in favour of making Grace look like she had the upperhand. There were still faint mascara smudges around her eyes and the tip of her nose was red. If anything, she looked like she needed a win so Declan didn’t counter her little jibe. Well, he did, but with less vigor than usual.
“Still need to see my face on the daily to get you through the day, Gracie?” he teased her, knowing he was asking for a scowl in response.
If she needed someone to be mad at right now though, he’d gone months upon months being on the receiving end of Grace’s ire. It was a different flavour than the usual passion she directed his way, and harder to digest, he had to admit. But he could bear it better than he would with indifference.
Being on her periphery was better than her forgetting about him at all. He supposed he had Bee to thank for keeping his ex-wife in his life one way or another.
“I think you and that pigeon have a lot in common,” he quipped, before leaning back and sitting up straight.
He gave Grace a careful once-over, certain she wasn’t about to burst into tears again. Then he rapped his knuckles on the brass frame of the chair.
“Right, enough tears from you. You’ve had your tantrum, back to business,” he declared.
He swung a leg back over the chair in a casual dismount then began unbuttoning his own blazer, a gift from Bee a few birthdays ago that he knew his daughter wasn’t fashion-savvy enough to have actually picked out for him herself. Bee and her mom were too artsy-fartsy to know what a label like this would mean. It had ‘purchased by Grace’ written all over it, though he supposed she wouldn’t remember that.
Reaching the final button, he let the blazer fall open and shrugged it from his shoulders, catching Grace’s eye.
“Don’t get too excited,” he warned her, knowing she’d hate the implication, coupled with the smug smirk he wore. Before she could grow too irate, he held the blazer out to her.
“It’ll cover the stains on your suit. The white suit you chose to wear. In December. In New York.”
