CHAPTER 38
Edward
For the past two years, this day has been a shadow hanging over me, a quiet, solemn ritual that plays out the same way: Millie’s birthday. I visit her grave. I bring fresh flowers, the same ones she carried on our wedding day. I sit with her mother. We don’t talk much anymore. Instead, we sit side by side, two people who lost the same woman in different ways. And then I go home.
I drown myself in work. I let the hours slip through my fingers, burying myself in tasks, in reports, in anything that numbs the weight pressing down on me. And when the evening comes, I sit alone in my house, staring at nothing, lost in thoughts I refuse to voice.
This morning was no different.
The flowers. The quiet conversation with her mother. The familiar ache in my chest that never truly fades.
But now—
Now, I am striding up a hill in Hampstead Heath, and the sight before me is so bloody breathtaking that I nearly falter.
The sun is beating down, catching on Daisy.
She’s there, in a flowing hazel dress that—even from this distance—I know matches those wide, expressive eyes. And because she’s Daisy, she’s found a patch of wild daisies, little white petals poking through the grass like they bloomed just for her.
She’s kneeling on a picnic blanket, fussing with food, lost in her own world, oblivious to how she’s yanking the whole damn universe into her gravitational pull—the light, the air, me .
My heart clenches.
She turns, sees me, and her smile—
God, that smile.
It’s blinding, the kind of smile that could bring a man to his knees.
The past few weeks have been easy. We moved past the fight regarding the nightclub, past the tension, past my own self-imposed hesitation.
After she showed up at my house, crying, apologizing, being so damn vulnerable, something inside me melted.
Daisy’s been bending over backward to respect my schedule, tiptoeing round it like it’s sacred.
But I don’t want her walking on eggshells. If she wants to go to nightclubs, I want her to go. I want her to live loudly, to dance and laugh and drink bad cocktails and be every bit the whirlwind she is.
I find myself seeking her out after the most grueling shifts. And every single time, she is the highlight of my day. She’s fun. She’s light. She makes it so damn easy to breathe that I almost forget what it feels like to be consumed by exhaustion.
We are slipping into something steady. A rhythm that neither of us questions but both of us are learning to rely on, it seems.
We’re learning what the other needs.
And today, Daisy knew I needed something—even if she didn’t know exactly why.
Her expression shifts the moment she sees me, her bright, carefree energy dimming in an instant, her feet already carrying her toward me before I can say a word. “Edward, what’s wrong?”
I blink, and—bloody hell—there’s a tear leaking down my face. I don’t cry—not since those months after Millie went. I swipe it away quick, chuckling to cover the heat creeping up my neck. “Sorry. Caught me off guard.”
She slides her arms around my waist, her brows knitting together, worry pooling in her eyes.
“It’s Millie’s birthday today,” I say. “I suppose I’m a little more susceptible to being caught in the chest with emotions.”
Her hand flies to her mouth, stifling a gasp. “What? Why didn’t you say? Oh god.” She flaps a hand at the spread behind her—champagne glinting in the sun, cheese and olives piled on a blanket with dips and snacks. “I’m so sorry, this doesn’t seem appropriate now.”
“Hey.” I stop her before she can spiral further, cupping her face, thumbs smoothing out the worry lines. “It’s not that. And I don’t even know why I’m—” I shake my head, huffing out something vaguely resembling a laugh. “Millie would be bloody delighted that I’m not holed up alone, brooding over a whiskey like some tragic bastard.”
That earns me a small, hesitant smile.
“Okay,” she murmurs, nodding. “That’s good. Because I know how hard you work, and this”—she gestures at the undeniable effort she’s put into our picnic—“this is my version of a prescription for Dr. Cavendish. A mandatory Daisy-date, designed specifically to force you to relax.” Her lips twitch, playful now. “And you have to do exactly as I say today, no arguments, because I’m the boss.”
I arch a brow. “Sounds suspiciously like coercion. What exactly does your expertly crafted relaxation plan entail, Miss Wilson? I’m assuming I can no longer call you Daisy, seeing as you’re the boss now.”
She smirks, tugging me toward the blanket. “Boss Lady is fine for now.”
Against all odds, my body has already started to loosen. I let her pull me down beside her.
“Rule number one,” she says. “Shoes off.”
I glance down, noticing for the first time that she’s barefoot.
“I’m not doing some barefoot spiritual grounding nonsense, if that’s what you’re leading up to.”
“God no, you’re not ready for that. Baby steps. Rule number two is simple, forget you’re a surgeon for a little while. You are a mere mortal man. One with a very nice penis.”
She shifts onto her knees and takes off my shoes and socks, looking pleased with herself.
“Stripped of my medical degree and reduced to mere genital appreciation. Wonderful.” I chuckle. “But I’ll try.”
“Good. We’re going to have a simple day. We’ll start with the picnic, then a nice long walk around Hampstead Heath, hit every viewpoint so we earn our meal, and then . . .” She grins. “Then we’re going to a pub. A proper pub. No pretentious wine bars. Just a cozy spot that doesn’t care if you show up with half the heath caked on your shoes.”
I let out a slow breath, something loosening in my ribcage. “That sounds good to me.”
She beams, and I don’t think she realizes how much that does to me.
I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her close, pressing my lips against her hair. “Thank you, darling.”
She tilts her chin, eyes shining. “All I did was put together a picnic.”
I shake my head, letting myself smile as I kiss her properly this time, pulling her into my arms. “You do more than that for me.”
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes searching mine. “Edward . . . I’ve really missed you.”
It’s been a week since I last saw her, but I get it. I feel it too.
“I’ve really missed you too,” I murmur, the words slipping out without hesitation.
She sighs, tucking herself into me. “I wish we had more time during the week.”
“I wish so too.”
“Sometimes I wish you were a binman so I could see you more often.”
I huff out a laugh, thinking about the Cavendish fortune—2.9 billion. “You’re the first woman who’s ever said that to me.”
Her giggle is muffled against my shoulder.
“I know you’re trying,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Respecting my schedule. The nights you have off, you’re in bed by ten because of me. I’d understand if you wanted to—” I exhale, searching for the words. “I don’t know, go out more. Nightclubs. Late nights. Have fun .”
She pulls back just enough to look at me properly. “I do have fun with you.” A small shake of her head. “I rarely want to go to nightclubs. That night . . . that was just an emotional response to dinner.”
I nod. “Okay. I hope I don’t cause that kind of emotional response again.”
She gives me a look—part amused, part exasperated. “Edward, emotional responses happen. We’re human.” Her palm flattens against my chest, warm, grounding. “Speaking of which . . . this is a really rough day for you.”
She watches me for a moment, then glances away, exhaling slowly. “Do you think Millie would approve of me? I mean, I know she met me, but back then I was just Sophia’s dumbass mate. Do you think she’d still think that?”
“Millie never thought that about you. She saw the good in everyone. And you . . .” I pause, looking at her. “You’ve got me having a picnic on the grass, Daisy. I think Millie would give her blessing.”
She exhales, letting her eyes close for a brief moment. “That means a lot to me.”
Before I can respond, the quiet between us is interrupted by the sharp crunch of footsteps storming up the hill, the sound abrupt enough to pull both our gazes toward the source. A man storms into view, his shoulders squared, fists clenched like he’s itching to swing at something. Behind him, a woman hurries to keep up, her face pinched with exasperation.
Next to me, Daisy stiffens, her breath catching before a shaky laugh spills out. “Jesus, I thought that was Charlie for a second.”
I squint at the guy—his stiff posture, the sharp lines of his suit, that dark mop of hair that, if you don’t look too hard, could pass for my brother’s.
“It does look like him,” I admit, a familiar frustration coiling tight in my chest—the same one that lingers every time I think about what happened between them. What was allowed to happen.
I turn to her. “Daisy,” I say, my voice low as I reach for her hand. “I need you to know that I’m sorry.” I sweep my thumb across her knuckles. “For how he treated you. It was unacceptable, and you deserved better than that.” I exhale, my grip firming slightly around hers. “I had words with him, but he didn’t listen. The damage was already done.”
“It’s not on you,” she says softly.
“No, but I should have exerted more influence over him.”
“Edward, you have old brother syndrome. You are not responsible for everything your siblings do.”
I arch a brow. “Old brother syndrome? Funny, I don’t remember covering that in medical school. And what’s the prescribed treatment for this condition?”
“Fuck the younger brother’s ex.”
I groan, tipping my head back as she dissolves into laughter. “Christ, Daisy.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, clearly not sorry at all.
She pauses. “What would you do if it was him?”
I hesitate, my mind turning over the question. “I don’t know,” I admit. “It wouldn’t be good for him to know right now. I’m not concerned about Charlie, but Sophia . . .”
“I think she’d be fine. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“I don’t believe she would take it well.”
She looks momentarily offended, like she wants to argue, but I know my sister. When it comes to things like this, she clings to what she thinks is right, and even if I don’t agree with her, I understand her enough to know she won’t see it that way.
“Hey,” I say softly, “I’m sick of talking about other people. Charlie, Sophia . . . let’s just focus on you and me.”
She tilts her head, considering, then smiles.
“Us,” she corrects simply.
“Us,” I echo, thinking it doesn’t sound bad at all.
Daisy
We’re sprawled in Edward’s clawfoot tub, steam curling up from the water and fogging the air with lavender-soap smell that’s gone straight to my head. This is leagues better than the BritShop mock bathroom set.
I’m wrapped around a gorgeous man. Life is pretty fucking fantastic right now.
I’m so deliriously happy after our lovely, relaxing day that I managed to coax him into having a soak. Might as well get some use out of his ostentatious tub.
My legs are snugly wrapped around his hips, skin sliding deliciously against skin, while my toes playfully brush against the coarse hair on his thighs.
He’s reclined against me, back pressed to my chest, head tipped back just enough for his damp hair to tickle my collarbone. Droplets trail down his neck, collecting where our bodies meet.
He’s currently worshipping my ankles, kneading with those manly fingers and untangling knots I didn’t even know were there.
One of my hands is buried in his wet, messy mop of hair, tugging just enough to make him shift against me. The other is sprawled across his chest, fingers tracing firm muscle under soft skin.
Edward has the best nipples. They’re just begging to be licked. And don’t even get me started on his abs.
But the real prize is that huge cock just hanging there.
It was already impressive before, but now? With the water making everything bigger? It’s like a fucking sea monster.
I am never— never —leaving this bath. If I could hire someone to just stand here and periodically let the water out, then refill it with hot water, I would. I’d happily prune into an old woman.
I close my eyes, exhale the most contented sigh of my entire existence, and let a lovesick smile take over my face. This might just be the best day of my entire fucking life.
We can make this work. I’m so sure of it. Everything will be fine when it comes out in the open. No drama, no unexpected chaos.
Because everything is going so well, I’ve started properly thinking about the Heroes in White & Blue ball coming up.
And by thinking, I mean obsessing over it.
Because I want to go with Edward.
We’ve been at this for a few months now, cozy dates and sneaky nights in, just the two of us. But surely we can be seen out in public now? It’s not like I’m asking for us to go together to Sophia’s wedding. I’m not demanding a public declaration of love.
I just want one night where we don’t have to pretend we’re just passing acquaintances.
And the Heroes in White & Blue ball feels . . . right.
Edward’s obviously invited—I mean, it’s a big-deal event, and he’s the kind of big-shot surgeon who belongs at things like that. But I don’t just want to see him across the room.
I want to be the one on his arm.
The thing is, I’m nervous as hell about asking him. We’ve had such a great time together, just the two of us. What if he doesn’t want to change that? What if he likes keeping me a secret?
I push that thought aside, shoving it deep down where all my unhelpful insecurities live. Edward’s not like that. If he didn’t want something real, he’d have told me by now, right?
“Do you have any plans for next Saturday evening?” I ask, still tracing lazy circles across his chest.
“Hmm?” He hums, voice thick and drowsy.
“Next Saturday night,” I nudge, twirling a strand between my fingers. “You free?”
“Next Sat . . .” He shifts slightly in the bath, water sloshing gently against the edges. His back flexes against me. “Yeah, I’m tied up with a work thing. Why? You got something in mind?”
“At the hospital?”
“Oh no, somewhere else. Just a work thing I can’t get out of. Nothing important.”
A tiny, sharp alarm pings in my head, uninvited.
If he’s headed to the ball, that’s not “nothing important”—that’s black-tie, champagne, and most importantly, dates.
My chest tightens, the words asking to be said lodging themselves in my throat.
I should just ask—rip the plaster off. Hey, Edward, you going to that ball? Actually I can get tickets too. Isn’t that fun, something we’ll be at together?
Simple. Direct. Grown-up.
Instead, I’m marinating in my own paranoia.
Is he going and saying this is unimportant so that he doesn’t have to ask me?
I should be mature and confront my fears.
I should ask if the relationship is actually going anywhere or if he really does have an issue with being seen with me.
“Daisy?” His voice pulls me back. He turns his head slightly, brows creasing. “Is there something you want to do?”
“Nope,” I lie, quick and bright. “Just want to check out a new sushi place. We can do it anytime.”
His shoulders relax. He smiles, closing his eyes again.
I do the same.
Except . . . I don’t feel relaxed.
Because my brain won’t let it go.
This is stupid. I know it’s stupid.
But why is he being so vague?
Why does it feel like he doesn’t want to tell me where he’s actually going?
I take a deep breath, watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the water beside his shoulder.
Later, I’ll text Mike and tell him I’d love to go to the ball with him.
If Edward won’t go with me, then I’ll go myself.