CHAPTER 29
Daisy
I’m practically floating aroundVictoria’s Secret, with Lizzie trailing behind me, rolling her eyes.
I can’t help it, though—I haven’t stopped grinning all week, not since my very thorough romp with Edward last weekend. I’m riding the kind of high that only comes from being properly seen to by a man who not only found my clitoris but also knows how to operate it. With a god-given talent.
The kind of high that makes you forget you’ve just spent forty actual British pounds on what is, objectively, three strategically placed triangles of lace.
I mean,really.
This is the exact brand of reckless financial decision-making that got Britain into trouble in the first place.
Do I care? Not in the slightest.
Tonight, he’s cooking for me. At his place. A proper date. Or a date-in, I suppose. Either way, it feels like an event worthy of overpriced lingerie.
It’s impossible not to compare this blissful shopping spree to the actual, waking nightmare that has been every single bridesmaid-related outing with Sophia. Sweet, lovely Sophia, who has now gone full-blown Bridezilla.
She’s taking everything too far. Too fucking far.
Every tiny detail is a crisis of national importance. The wrong napkins? A diplomatic disaster. The shade of pink? You’d think we were selecting a new flag for the United Nations. And the bridal party’s group chat? A disaster zone.
I can’t do anything right with this maid of honor business. Everything I suggest is wrong. Everything I do is wrong.
We’ve been friends since we were four—back when she thought I was exotic because I ate fish fingers and she had no idea what Tesco was. But lately, with all this wedding madness, it’s like she’s forgotten I’m not one of her posh friends who can drop everything for another fucking fitting.
Iwantto be happy for her. Iamhappy for her. But Jesus Christ, something has got to give.
If Sophia finds out I’ve slept with Edward? She’ll lose her mind. Though to be fair, she’s currently losing it over whether the bridesmaids should wear their hair up or down, so perhaps she won’t even notice.
I pluck another lacy number from the rack.
Lizzie eyes my already overflowing basket as I drop it in. “You sure you need that too?”
“Of course I don’t need it. Since when has need factored into buying fancy lingerie?”
I flash her a mischievous grin and—just to drive the point home—toss a pair of crotchless knickers into the basket.
“I don’t like that look in your eyes. It saysI am absolutely getting carried away with this man.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Carried away?Me?Don’t be ridiculous. I’m simply enjoying being courted.” I flutter my eyelashes at her. “Did I tell you he’scourtingme?”
“Only about every three minutes.”
She watches me as I hold up a black lace bodysuit that costs more than my weekly food shop.
“Just . . . be careful, yeah?” Lizzie says, her voice softer now. “You haven’t even heard from him much this week, apart from a few brief messages.”
“Yes, but his messages were very thoughtful. He asked about my dietary requirements for tonight.”
She clutches her chest in mock reverence. “Ohwow.How swoon-worthy.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s asurgeon. He’s busysaving lives. What exactly do I need to be careful about? The man’s got the stamina of a thoroughbred and the manners of Mr. Darcy.”
“And the mother of Satan. Have you thought about what happens when Mrs. C finds out you’re shagging her firstborn?”
My stomach does an uncomfortable flip that has nothing to do with last night’s curry. “He’s a grown man. It’s not like he needs Mummy’s permission to date the shopping channel girl.”
