Because my brain won’t let it go.
This isstupid.Iknowit’s stupid.
But why is he being so vague?
Why does it feel like he doesn’t want to tell me where he’s actually going?
I take a deep breath, watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the water beside his shoulder.
Later, I’ll text Mike and tell him I’d love to go to the ball with him.
If Edward won’t go with me, then I’ll go myself.
CHAPTER 39
Daisy
“So, are you gonnatell me why you rejected my invitation then changed your mind at the last minute?” Mike asks, smoothing down the lapels of his tux.
“Oh, you know me,” I say airily. “Just needed an excuse to wear this old thing.”
Absolute, shameless lies. I panic-purchased this dress today for an amount that still makes my heart hurt.
To be fair, it was worth it.
A barely-there shade of nude silk that clings in all the right places, dips scandalously low down my back, and boasts a slit so high it could probably be arrested for indecent exposure. It’s the kind of dress that demands attention—and gets it.
Mike’s gaze flicks over me, his brows lifting appreciatively. “‘This old thing’?” He lets out a low whistle. “Daisy, you’d have to be blind not to notice that every single eye in this room is glued to you right now.”
His words send another wave of butterflies fluttering through my stomach, colliding with the dread already pooled there.
“Flatterer,” I breathe, trying to mask the tension in my voice.
The problem is that tonight, out of all these eyes tracking me, I only care about two.
Two that may or may not be here.
Two that, if they are here, belong to a man who deliberately didn’t tell me he’d be here.
And now I’m stuck in this horrific mental tug-of-war betweenwantinghim to be here—wantinghim to see me like this, looking like a Hollywood starlet, if I do say so myself—and praying he’s not.
Because if he is, it confirms my fears. Edward brushes this off because he doesn’t want to be seen with me in public. And fuck, that hurts.
We snag champagne from a server who’s smiling like she knows I’m a fraud, and the first sip hits me like a fizzy punch to the gut.
This whole night—this ridiculous, self-inflicted test I’ve set up for myself—is going to eat me alive.
It’s ridiculous how much money and emotion I’ve invested in something so trivial and childish.
But I need to know whether my fears are all in my head. I need to know how Edward would react if he sees me at the same public event as him.
I flash Mike a shaky grin as we step into the ballroom.
It’s like a Great Gatsby party—entertainers weaving through the crowd, roulette tables spinning in the corner surrounded by men in tuxes and women dripping in diamonds. Over by the stage, an auction’s underway—dances with the Strictly Come Dancing crew, no less.
If I weren’t on this ridiculous undercover mission of mine, I’d be lapping it up.
I can’t concentrate on anything because my body’s playing a cruel game: every time I spot a tall man in a tux, my heart launches itself into my throat, only to plummet just as fast when I realize it’s not him.
