“Give me ten minutes with him in the east wing library, and I’ll fix that,” her friend purrs.
“You absolute minx!”
I’m about to roll my eyes when the vibe shifts. “Excuse me,” Horsey Voice snaps, followed by a tap on my shoulder. “Excuse me,” she says again, sharper this time. “Are you bringing out more duck truffle canapés soon?”
I blink at her. “I don’t work here.”
“Oh!” She squints at me, like she’s sure I’m pulling a fast one. “So sorry, it’s just . . . I could’ve sworn I saw you carrying a serving platter just ten minutes ago.”
“No,” I say curtly. Not that there’s anything wrong with serving food—except when people assume you’re the help at a party you’re desperately trying to blend into.
“You look just like her.” She points, and there’s Mum, weaving through the crowd with a tray of canapés, tossing me a quick wink and a silentlateras she sails past.
I knock back a big gulp of bubbly, hoping it’ll take the edge off—or at least get me buzzed enough to make it through this night.
Then I feel it—a slow, prickling sensation creeping up my spine. I look up, and Edward’s eyes snag mine from across the room.
Heat claws up my neck, scorching my face.
He’s thinking about The Incident.
Iknowhe is.
No doubt in my mind—he’s replaying it, frame by filthy frame.
My fingers tighten around crystal as I drag my gaze away.Just act normal. One sip. Two. Keep it together.
I apparently have zero self-control because I glance back.
Oh, hell. He’s still staring.
This isn’t some casual glance-around-the-room vibe. This is a man who remembers—every last bit of it. Down to the Brazilian wax I got, and maybe even the exact spot of my right labia Spencer found so fascinating.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I chug more champagne.
The bubbles burn all the way down, but it’s fine. Everything isfine.
I need to— I need—
What do I even need?A fire exit? A defibrillator?
Before I can figure it out, a waiter pops up beside me with a silver tray of what looks like bird poop. “Madam, care to try our quail egg and beluga caviar?”
“No, thanks,” I mutter. Definitely not what I need right now.
I spot Sophia beside Edward, radiant in a flowing blue gown that looks like it was stitched onto her. Meanwhile, I’m over here looking like I’m about to top off someone’s duck canapé or hand out extra napkins.
Get it together, Daisy.
I force one foot in front of the other, embarking on the treacherous trek toward Sophia. My stomach flips in ways that have absolutely nothing to do with the champagne andeverythingto do with the fact that Edward’s eyes are tracking me like I’m a fox in his bloody hunt.
Sophia spots me and lights up, letting out a squeal that turns heads.“Darling!” she says. “Does everyone know Daisy?”
I flash a smile and scan the group—some polite nods, a couple of half-interested grins.
Then there’s Edward. Our eyes meet, and his jaw tightens like he’s swallowing something bitter.
Without breaking eye contact, he lifts his champagne flute and takes a slow, deliberate sip, like he needs the alcohol just totoleratemy presence.
