I thought about Declan’s answer all night. Not because it was romantic. It wasn’t.
Not because it gave him any right over me. It didn’t.
I thought about it because for the first time he had separated wanting control from having authority. The distinction should have reassured me. Instead it made him more dangerous.
A man who believed jealousy gave him rights was easy to reject.
A man who knew it didn’t and wanted anyway was harder. By breakfast, I had a solution.
Declan came into the kitchen at six forty wearing training pants and a long-sleeved shirt, hair still wet from the shower. He stopped when he saw me sitting at the island with a notebook open.
“You’re up early.”
“So are you.”
“I have practice.”
“I have legislation.”
He looked at the notebook.
“That sounds worse.”
“It’s
