Which is how it was easy to spot that something wasn’t right when it came to her fiancé. Ex-fiancé.
Because anytime there was any mention of Damien, the light in her eyes diminished. For a while I told myself I was seeing what I wanted to see. That I selfishly came up with a narrative that fed my preposterous and unrequited crush.
But after meeting the guy and seeing the way he treated her as a pawn rather than the gentle soul that she is, I knew that lookin her eye was not something my weak heart had conjured up for the sake of my ego.
I need to stop staring.
He’s here. He’s real. And this should be the final straw to these irrational feelings toward my coworker. My friend? I didn’t think I was capable of having any of those again.
But Daisy is different.
She isn’t a snake. She wouldn’t put me through the hell I just crawled out of.
Although I fear that just her association with me would be enough to taint her pure soul.
Which is why instead of celebrating the end of a successful charity game with the rest of my team, I’m standing in the shadows, watching her with him and convincing myself that this is exactly the way things should be.
Her, with a stuffy but somewhat decent-looking guy. And me alone, with only the company of my demons.
But something is off.
Daisy can light up any room she is in with her sparkling brown eyes.
Instead, I can tell they’re barely holding back tears.
What the fuck is he saying to her?
My fists clench as I force myself to stay put.
Daisy worked tirelessly organizing this event, and I won’t make a scene and ruin it for her. She single-handedly managed to wrangle players from different teams to participate tonight and took care of every detail, even down to the catering. She also roped me into cake testing with her.
As expected, she kept pestering me about which flavors were my favorite. She’s always asking others their preferences and opinions while keeping hers buried.
Little does she know she’s not that hard to read. I saw her going back multiple times to take bites of the dulce de leche cake while she explained the décor for the afterparty.
So as her fiancé not so subtly taps her hips while removing the slice of untouched cake from in front of her and places it on an empty high table as he walks out of the private venue, I overflow with rage.
My body is begging me to follow him out and demand he tell me what he said to her so that I can do my best to scrub whatever hurtful words he used to cause her tears to form.
But my eyes won’t leave Daisy. Haven’t been able to since the moment I first saw her.
Isabella is standing by her side, but she’s still struggling.
She has a good group of friends around her, and for that I’m thankful.
Friends.
The word doesn’t feel right when it comes to Daisy. But nothing has felt right in a long time, so it’s most likely that I’m just broken. After all, that is what everyone says behind my back.
I see one tiny tear escape, and before I’ve given my body permission to leave the shadows I’ve become so accustomed to, I’m on the move.
I don’t break stride when I pick up two slices of dulce de leche cake from the dessert table.
I know it’s her favorite. Which is why I told her it was mine.
I don’t say a word as I place them in front of Daisy.
And I don’t dare look back as I walk out of the room and into the night.
