Edward defended me. Sophia said she had fun. But my skin prickles with unease, like maybe I misread the whole thing.
Giles raises his glass. “Cheers, everyone. Thank you for joining us this evening.”
The table follows suit, murmuring our cheers as glasses clink together.
I give Edward a soft smile, but my nerves are fucking shot, so I take averylarge gulp of wine.
If I feel like this—as Sophia’s childhood best friend, as her maid of honor—then how the hell would I feel sitting at this table as the despised, gold-digging girlfriend of the eldest Cavendish?
“Are you bringing anyone to the wedding, Edward?” Imogen asks. She’s been waiting to ask this. I can tell.
We haven’t even discussed this. But he’s not taking someone else. Right?
Edward doesn’t so much as glance my way. “No, I’m not.”
Before I can exhale in relief, Mrs. C swoops in. “I honestly don’t know why you haven’t asked Lucia. Such a lovely lady. And she clearly thinks very dearly of you. You’d make such awonderfulcouple.”
My entire body goes rigid. Fantastic. Not only am I the wrong sort of girlfriend, there’s apparently a pre-approved replacement waiting in the wings.
Edward stiffens across from me, his jaw tightening. “Lucia is a friend.”
“A friend?” Mrs. C scoffs. “A woman like Lucia wouldn’t stay single for long.”
“Let’s drop this,” he says curtly.
“I’m only saying, it’s not too late. A plus-one wouldn’t be amiss at the wedding. It’s time you started looking for a new partner in life. Millie would have wanted that.”
“I’m not looking to replace Millie,” he says sharply.
I glance at him, searching his face for something. Some small flicker of reassurance. A tiny indication ofdon’t take that the wrong way, Daisy.
But his face is unreadable, his posture tense, like he’s been forced into this conversation rather than choosing to be in it.
“Stop ribbing him, Mum.” Charlie chuckles, swirling his whiskey. “He’s having a midlife crisis. Rumor at the hospital is that he’s seeing some young lass.”
I freeze, wineglass halfway to my mouth.
Edward’s hand goes to his neck—his tell when he’s agitated—and shoots his brother a look.
The room suddenly feels too warm.
“I’m not seeing anyone,” he says, his voice clipped. “Nothing that needs announcing.”
My fingers twitch.
I take another sip of wine.
I don’t taste it. I’m too busy trying to murder Edward with my eyes.
The more I drink, the more everything starts twisting in my head.
The glamping trip. Charlie’s smug little dig about his brother’s midlife crisis—ha, hilarious, you prick—and Edward just brushing us off like we’re nothing.Nothing that needs announcing.
Did he mean it? Did hefucking mean it?
Okay,fine, we agreed not to tell people yet, but he didn’t need to fucking say that, did he?
I wasn’t expecting him to stand up, bang his fist on the table, and announce to the entire Cavendish bloodline that he’s madly in love with me. But he could’ve softened the blow. A simpleYeah, I’m seeing someonewould’ve been enough. It would’ve primed his family for something more down the road, for the moment we actually decided to tell people.
