“She’s never been skydiving,” I say, crossing my arms. “She’s scared of heights. And she absolutely owes at least three different branches of Greggs money.”
Daisy clutches her chest in mock betrayal. “Spoilsport. You ruined it.”
“So . . . you actually stole Edward’s car?” Hugo looks delighted.
“Yes, she did,” I confirm, the memory still fresh enough to make my eye twitch. “She stole my brand-new Aston Martin. At fifteen. With Sophia as her equally criminal accomplice.”
“Borrowed,” Daisy says. “We were going to bring it back.”
“After you drove it through a hedge?”
“That was all Sophia’s fault! She kept checking her hair in the mirror instead of looking at the road—”
“Me?” Sophia giggles. “You’re the one who was slouched like some wannabe gangster!”
“Quite the criminal masterminds,” I say dryly. “Two teenagers sharing a driver’s seat, thinking no one would notice my car was missing. Needless to say, they didn’t get very far.”
Daisy sighs, looking wistful. “The end of the lane.”
Sophia snickers into her wine. “God, I’ve never seen him so angry.”
“Rightfully so.” I shake my head. “I was bloody furious. And also rather concerned about the welfare of my baby sister, her reckless friend, and yes, my expensive car.”
Daisy pouts. “I just wanted to learn how to drive, and no one would teach me.”
“Because you were fifteen. Though if you recall, I did give you a lesson at eighteen.”
“You made me cry. You were very mean.”
“I was teaching you proper driving techniques. If you insist on not following basic traffic laws and treating my gear shift like a lever in an arcade game—”
“I wasnervous,” Daisy cuts in, rolling her eyes. “You kept saying words like ‘clutch control’ and ‘mirror positioning,’ and I didn’t even know what those meant.”
“Well, you would’ve if you’d been listening.”
“I’m sorry, but can we rewind to the donut thing?” Bernice interjects, her face a picture of confusion. “Why were you stealing pastries?”
“For the thrill,” Daisy replies matter-of-factly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not that person anymore, though. I’ve repented.”
“How, exactly, have you repented?” I ask, unable to suppress my amusement.
“I’m very polite to the Greggs staff now,” she says, solemn as a saint. “And Ialwayspay for the meal deal.”
“From pastry thief to paying customer. A touching redemption arc. I assume they’ve taken down your wanted poster from behind the counter.”
She smirks, sticking out her tongue in response. “They actually gave me a loyalty card. I’m a big veggie sausage roll consumer.”
“How generous of them to reward your decision to finally stop pilfering their inventory.”
“You two, stop bickering!” Sophia giggles. “Daisy was like an extension of our family, as you can clearly see. Edward’s other little sister.”
Daisy and I exchange a glance that carries the weight of everything Sophia will never understand. Her fingers curl around her beer bottle, her usual bravado momentarily dimming.
If only my dear, oblivious sister knew how off the mark she was.
Daisy Wilson, an extension of the family? Hardly. My mother barely tolerated her at the best of times—she was little more than the housekeeper’s daughter, a convenient playmate for Sophia when we were children to keep Sophia out of her way.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I say curtly, taking a slow sip of beer.
