Shopping for a Billionaire 3 by Julia Kent Page A

hisses.
    “You better help it. It’s icky.”
    “You’re right! You’re right.” She appears to take me seriously. “It is icky. I’ll stop right now.” She gives me a look that’s genuinely contrite.
    “Well,” Mom says loudly as Declan turns and faces us, “even if Shannon didn’t invite you, I’m inviting you.”
    His eyes travel slowly from my face to Mom’s. “When is Easter?” he finally asks.
    “This Sunday!” she sputters. “In three days.” With a frown, she says, “But I’m sure you have plans with your family.”
    “We haven’t celebrated Easter in more than ten years,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.
    “How awful!” Mom exclaims, grabbing his arm. Her eyes almost glisten with tears, and she’s truly shocked. She pauses. “Are you Jewish? Is that why?”
    “No.”
    The lack of additional information unsettles both me and Mom. Declan has this way of being shut off. He’s not cold, exactly. It’s more like talking with a lawyer who isn’t going to give one single additional bit of information than is necessary in court.
    Except we’re not in the middle of a legal proceeding. We’re in my mother’s yoga studio, talking about a holiday where the Easter bunny and a giant ham prevail. What’s up with him?
    “ Mom, if he were Jewish he wouldn’t have celebrated before. He just said it’s been more than ten years since…” I turn to him. “Since your mom died?”  
    He nods. But nothing more. He’s so…wound, suddenly.
    “Will you be there?” Mom asks, her smile so sweet and warm. “We have a loud, crazy family and I’m the q ueen of it all. And I make a killer ham.”
    “You buy it from the ham place down the street,” I say. “The kind with the crust ed sugar on the edge, all spiral sliced, and then she makes the sweet potatoes with little marshmallows…” My stomach growls.
    He thaws. “Who can pass that up ?” Eyes that were green tundra seconds ago warm up, and his body loosens. “Thank you, Marie. What time?”
    “Two for dinner, and at three we do the E aster egg hunt.” Mom looks happier than Martha Stewart being told that Gordon Ramsay’s coming for dinner.
    “What can I bring?”
    “Your helicopter.” She is practically jumping out of her skin with excitement.  
    “Um, I was thinking more like a bottle of wine, Marie.” Declan wraps his arm around my waist and presses an absent-minded kiss against my temple. He smells like sweat and comfort, spices and safety.  
    “Okay, fine. The helicopter would be one hell of an entrance.” She just doesn’t know when to stop.  
    “Where would he land it, Mom? In Dad’s garden?”
    “Why not? He hasn’t planted anything in there this season yet.”
    “ How about I arrive in my own SUV, wearing something other than a suit, and I bring suitable Easter egg hunt items and a bottle of wine?”  
    “And your Batman costume,” I add with a smirk at Mom.
    “Leave our sex life out of this,” he stage whispers.
    Mom turns pink and stammers. “I—I’m so glad you’ll be there!” She skitters off to the office.
    I hit Declan in the pec. My fingers crack. “Why did you say that?”
    “Because I like to beat her at her own game.” His smile is so impish I stand on tiptoe s and give him a grateful kiss.
    “You’ll never win,” I say, sighing.
    “Never say never.”
     
    * * *
     
    “ You need to pee,” Tyler says as Declan walks in the front door of my parents’ house on Easter afternoon. It’s two o’clock and my boyfriend (that still gives me shivers to say it) is punctual. And, as promised, he drove his SUV, is wearing a long-sleeved, blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and jeans that fit him achingly well, and holds a lovely bottle of wine.  
    Declan bends down to be at eye level with my four-year-old nephew, who has his standard, serious look on his face. Little bow-tie lips, short brown hair, and brown eyes fringed by eyelashes so long they reach the ce i