“You’re right,” she says finally, nodding slowly, tears glistening as she blinks them back. “Clearly I’ve missed what’s been right in front of me. Thank you for your honesty.”
She dabs at her eyes before gaining control of herself. Like a classic Cavendish.
“I’ve asked too much of you. Send me your hours, your costs—I’ll make sure you’re not out of pocket. Then we can drop the act and get on with our lives.”
“I don’t want your money,” I say, completely stunned. “Don’t be ridiculous—I just wanted you to care a bit more. I wanted you to be more mindful.”
“I can’t do this,” she mutters, brushing past me, her shoulder clipping mine as she strides toward the venue, back to Giles.
It feels like she’s just reached into my chest and ripped my heart out with her bare hands.
“What, seriously?” I call after her. “You’re giving me, what? An early retirement? A payout for being sacked? After everything I’ve done, I make one mistake, albeit a big one, now I’m getting thrown out of your wedding? I tried, Sophia. You can’t say I didn’t try.”
I can already see Imogen’s smug face in my head, thattold-you-soglint in her eyes as she steps into my shoes—probably cackling while I’m left here, Edward’s discarded fling, Sophia’s unpaid errand girl who’s just been sacked from her life.
Something red and burning swells up in me “Keep your money and your two-faced friendship,” I shout, my voice cracking like it’s about to give up. “And I hope it rains on your wedding day.”
It’s spiteful and childish, and I know it.
I have plummeted to depths I didn’t even know existed for me, and Ihatemyself for it.
Sophia gasps. “Daisy, I wasn’t kicking you out of the wedding—I was trying to say . . .”
“What?” I snap. “What, Sophia? That I’m not good enough for your brother? That’s what this is all really about, isn’t it?”
She freezes. Just for a second. And then—there it is. The signature Cavendish transformation. Spine straight. Chin up. Emotions buried.
“Actually, you’re right,” she says, voice terrifyingly calm. “I don’tfancystanding at the altar with a maid of honor who thinks I’m a selfish cow. Goodbye, Daisy.”
Just like that, a second Cavendish turns their back on me and walks away.
CHAPTER 42
Edward
I shove through thevenue doors, ignoring the startled glances of the hotel staff as I stride past.
London’s evening air hits me, slicing through the heat pouring off my skin. My breath scrapes out, chest squeezing tight. Sweat drenches my shirt, sticking it to me, dark patches blooming under the arms, down my back. My own fury leaching out, staining everything.
The city carries on with spectacular indifference. A hen party lurches by, drunk twenty-somethings hooting and whistling as they stumble past. Couples cling together, lost in each other like the night’s theirs to waste.
I claw at this chokehold of a bow tie—useless scrap—and yank it loose, let it dangle.
Right now, I need my empty house, a whiskey stiff enough to bury this night, and the silence I’ve damn well earned.
I am tormented by the vision of her in that dress, sheer, wet, champagne spilled through, another man’s arm wrapped around her in front of cameras, the cruelty in her eyes as she took pleasure in my humiliation.
Just thinking about it makes me want to punch a hole through the bloody wall.
And Sophia—Christ, the hurt in her eyes as I barged past her, not even glancing back. I was too wrecked to do anything but get the hell out.
It was as if Daisy had wanted to wound me in the deepest way possible. As if she’d relished the prospect of my humiliation in front of my professional peers.
And for what bloody justification? Because I had the audacity to attend a work event that I was obligated to be at? Because I upheld my professional responsibilities instead of parading her around in an evening gown?
The betrayal burns like acid in my chest, corroding every tender feeling, every fragile hope I’d permitted myself to nurture between us.
The damn irony.
