“You did it,” she says. “You’re ready for the auction.”
I look around, at the men, the girls, the water, and the sunlight streaming through the glass.
For the first time since waking up, I feel light-hearted and confident.
I feel like I can do this.
I sit on the edge of the pool, feet in the water, and let myself be happy.
Because if this is what it’s like to be Daisy, maybe I never want to remember who I was before.
The club’sgarden is a time machine—one minute you’re in a modern building, and the next you’re drifting through an Italiangiardinawhere every bush is sculpted, every flower optimizedfor the color “perfection.” It’s late afternoon and the sky is pink, cottony, and the air hums with the sounds of trickling fountains and ice clinking in crystal. If you listen close, you can hear a violin sighing over the speakers, as if the plants require Vivaldi to reach their maximum potential.
I’m early to meet Hunter, but the second I step onto the flagstones, I see him. He’s already waiting, all in dark blue, leaning against a marble column like he’s auditioning for a cologne commercial. He’s watching me. I feel it in the hot, shivery way my back tingles.
I force myself to slow down, not to run, even though every part of me wants to collapse into his arms and demand an explanation for all the things he does to my head. Instead, I take the path around the big reflecting pool, past the rose garden, past a group of men chatting with cigars in their hands. I pretend not to see the girls parading in heels and nothing else, their big breasts bobbling. I try to look casual and nonchalant, but when I pass a window, I realize my cheeks are red and my chest is rising fast.
I reach Hunter. He looks at me and for a second the whole world falls away. He smiles—crooked, perfect, showing off the dimple in his cheek. I almost melt from his nearness.
“Hey, Daisy,” he says, voice low enough to be a secret. “Have a seat,” he invites, gesturing to a nearby table.
“Hey yourself,” I say, and slide into the chair at the table as he sits as well.
A server floats by, leaving a tray of pastries and a pot of tea. I notice that Hunter’s hands are bronzed and capable, and unbidden, I wonder what it would be like for him to feed me. Tocaress me when I’m in the bath. To stroke my pregnant tummy when it’s filled with his child.
His child? What am I thinking? As a result, I clamp my mouth shut and just smile, heart racing.
We sit in silence, thank goodness. It’s not awkward, just weighted, like we’re both waiting for the other to make the first move. The sun is in my eyes, so I squint at him. “You look good,” I say in a dulcet tone.
He laughs. “Thanks. You look different.”
“Is that bad?”
He shakes his head. “Not even a little. You look incredible, Daisy.”
I flush, suddenly shy. I fidget with the napkin in my lap.
After a beat, he says, “How was the pool?”
I stifle a smile, remembering the high of showing off my curves with a dozen eyes on me. “Pretty fun, actually. Sophia says I’m a quick learner.”
He nods, then looks at me, really looks. “Yes, Sophia’s one of our best tutors, or so I’ve heard. Are you nervous about the auction?”
I bite my lip, trying to put the feeling into words. “Not really. I mean, I should be, but mostly I’m just excited.”
Hunter watches me, something hungry and dangerous simmering behind the blue. I feel it everywhere.
I pour us both tea. He takes a sip, then says, “You don’t have to do it, you know. If you’re scared, I can pull you out. One call, and you’re on a plane to anywhere you want.”
My breath hitches. “Is that what you want? For me to run?”
The alpha male doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he breaks a scone in half, smearing it with orange marmalade. “You remember anything yet?” he asks, casual but not casual at all.
I think of the flashes from the suite—the coffee shop, the blue sapphire, the voice I can’t place.
“No. Sometimes I think I do, but it never sticks. Does that make me crazy?”
Hunter’s eyes darken. “Not at all.”
