“Uncle Edward’s a senior gastrosurgeon, not a gastroenterologist,” Spencer mutters, as if this tiny correction might somehow redeem him.
“Oh, thanks for clearing that up,” I fire back.
There’s no fixing this. What am I even supposed to say?Oopsie, our bad, just popped in for a quick oral pick-me-up on your Egyptian cotton sheets?
I mean, really.
“Look,” I start, scraping together what little dignity I’ve got left, “there’s clearly been a massive cock-up here—pardon the pun—and if I’d known this was your house, I’d never have—”
“What?” Edward cuts in. “You wouldn’t have engaged inactivitieswith my nephew inmybed?” His glacier-blue eyes flash. “How terribly considerate of you.”
Heat roars up my face so fierce I’m half convinced I’ll spontaneously combust right here on his hardwood floors and leave a Daisy-shaped scorch mark.
I’m no stranger to his disdain—it’s our factory setting—but this is Edwardangry.
And it’s a whole new level of terrifying.
I grab my shoes and bag, painfully aware of his towering presence blocking my only escape route.
“I’ll walk you out,” Spencer mumbles, fumbling with his jeans.
Next to Edward, he looks exactly like what he is: a dumb kid playing pretend in his uncle’s clothes, all his earlier swagger gone the second Edward walked in.
“You will not,” I snap, jabbing a finger at him. “I should call the fucking police on you. Impersonating a doctor? That has to be illegal. Or at the very least, wildly unethical.”
Spencer’s eyes balloon with panic. “I’m sorry, okay? You’re just so beautiful, and I thought you wouldn’t be interested if I—”
“As riveting as this love story is,” Edward cuts in, his deep, clipped voice slicing through the room. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow—some of us have actual patients to attend to.”
He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose like he physically cannot believe he is dealing with this. “I’ll call Daisy a cab.”
“No need,” I mutter, barely able to look at him. “I’ll handle it. Sorry for . . . everything. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a quiet corner to die of shame.” I thought sobbing over a bidet was my low point. Turns out that was just the opening act.
And then I see my knickers.
Dangling from the fucking bedpost like a flag of defeat.
Union Jack knickers, no less.
Lizzie’s idea of a joke gift. Ofallthe days to be patriotic.
I snatch them down and shove them into my bag, pretending not to notice Edward’s slow blink as he registers this fresh layer of humiliation. He runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, looking like a man desperately trying to erase the last ten minutes from his brain.
“Would you like to . . . freshen up before you go?” he asks, his tone polite but strained.
“I’m fine.” I tug at my dress with whatever pride I can muster—which isn’t much, considering I’m panty-free and my self-respect’s halfway to Australia.
Chin high, I march past him, willing my legs to move down his marble spiral staircase.
Spencer’s voice floats down from the top of the stairs. “The convict brother thing was a joke, right?”
I don’t dignify that with a response. Though I do consider turning around and showing him exactly what GBH looks like.
Before I can make the most undignified exit of my life, Edward appears behind me.
“I’ve called you a cab.”
I press my lips into a tight line. “It’s fine. I’ll handle it.”
