Sophia swore they wouldn’t be here. So why no warning?
Is this her twisted version of tough love? Deep down, I know she never took what Charlie and I had seriously. To her, it was just a fling—some fleeting, foolish thing.
My eyes drift across the lawn, catching on the old groundskeeper’s shed lurking in the twilight. That shed. The very place where I lost my virginity—and, in hindsight, every ounce of common sense I ever had.
Looking back, the rosy glow’s peeled off, and Charlie’s slick little lines hit me for what they really were. “Let’s keep it quiet for now,” he’d say. “You know how Mother can be . . .”
Translation: I’m ashamed of you, but I’d like to keep fucking you in secret, cheers.
That shed should’ve been my first red flag. What kind of man takes someone he loves to a musty shed that smells like fertilizer?
A man who’s ashamed of you, that’s who.
I was so naive it hurts to think about.
Even now, just a glimpse of him—or some old photo—yanks me straight back to that night in the grand ballroom. The night he gutted me in front of his whole clan, right where we stood tonight. Sure, it was years ago, but no one’s ever cut me that deep before.
He’d rolled in from uni, new girlfriend on his arm, no heads-up that we were done. There we all were—family, staff, the whole lot—lined up outside for a big surprise welcome. And he just struts up withher, like I was invisible. The worst part? It wasn’t even the humiliation that stung deepest—it was how nobody noticed how much it broke me. Like my hurt didn’t register. LikeIdidn’t.
I let out a sigh, staring at the absurdity of the Cavendish menagerie sprawled out before me. Three peacocks strut by the fountain like they’re auditioning for a nature documentary, while an honest-to-god ostrich prances around.
Like I’ve told Lizzie, posh people might as well be from another planet.
I lean against the cool stone balustrade (a fancy term I only picked up from growing up here), trying to steady my racing pulse.
Sophia despises drama, and me bolting from her engagement party is pretty much the definition of it.
Well done, Daisy. Bravo.
A throat clears behind me.
My shoulders tense. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
With a resigned exhale, I spin on my heel. “If you’re here to lecture me for storming out of Sophia’s engagement party, don’t bother. Trust me, I already feel like shit about it.”
“I wasn’t planning on lecturing you,” he says with that familiar coolness. “Actually, I came to return something of yours.”
I blink, thrown, as he pulls a thin silver chain from his wallet. My silver chain. The one I thought had disappeared into the black hole that is my bedroom.
“This was in my bedroom. I assume it’s yours.”
My mouth, as usual, leaps ahead of my brain. “What, you get so little action that you assume any random jewelry must be mine? That’s not exactly a glowing endorsement of your love life, Edward. Especially considering we didn’t even sleep together.”
He grimaces, his tall frame casting a shadow I have to tilt my head back to meet. “It’s either yours or my nephew’s. Unless, of course, some other random couple used my bed without permission. Perhaps I should install CCTV.”
I bite my lip, smothering a snort. “Trust me, you don’t want that recorded.”
After what Spencer pulled, I’ve no problem throwing him under the bus.
Edward groans, dragging a hand down his face. “For god’s sake.”
“Sorry,” I mutter.
The silence that settles between us is heavy and awkward, punctuated only by a far-off owl hoot and the rustling leaves in the breeze.
I clear my throat and reach for the chain, desperate to end this train wreck of a moment. My fingers graze his, and—oh hell—a jolt zips through me, all the way down my spine.
“Thanks,” I squeak, snatching the necklace back like it’s on fire. “It’s just some cheap thing from Claire’s Accessories anyway.”
