CHAPTER 45
Edward
The door swings open to the dressing room, and my mother’s sharp gaze meets mine, a flicker of scrutiny passing over her features before she arranges them into something softer.
“Darling,” she says smoothly, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh my! How handsome you look.”
I nod in acknowledgement, stepping inside with my heart lodged firmly in my throat.
I know I can’t discuss things between Daisy and me in front of the bridal party, but I’ll try to take her to the side. Either way, she cannot ignore me today.
My eyes sweep the room.
She isn’t here.
Instead, my gaze lands on Sophia, standing in the center of the room, radiant in white lace and silk.
I stop, caught off guard by the sudden wave of emotion tightening in my chest. The little girl who used to tug at my sleeve in the dead of night, whispering that the house was full of ghosts , now stands before me, a bride.
“Sophia, you look stunning. Giles is a very fortunate man indeed.”
She offers me a smile in return, but it’s all wrong—strained and trembling at the edges, more of a grimace than the radiant joy a bride should wear.
I may not be well-versed in the intricacies of bridal parties, but even I can sense the odd tension permeating the room. A nervous energy clings to the bridesmaids, who flit around Sophia, smoothing her dress, whispering reassurances, shushing her trembling breaths.
And Daisy’s conspicuous absence only adds to my unease.
Without warning, Sophia dissolves into tears.
Imogen and Bernice freeze, their eyes wide with shock and concern.
I stride toward my sister. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head furiously, words breaking apart between ragged breaths. “I’m fine. Just nerves.”
Imogen, her face drawn tight with barely masked alarm, glances at me.
“Where’s Daisy?” I ask.
Sophia lifts her tear-streaked face. “Daisy isn’t coming.”
I stare at her, my pulse suddenly thundering in my ears, that cold thing in my chest turning to ice. “What?”
Sophia inhales shakily, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I-I told her it was best if she wasn’t maid of honor, but I never—I never meant—” Her voice breaks, another violent sob racking her body. “I didn’t mean for her to not come at all.”
I blink, the gravity of her words taking a moment to register. “You told her she wasn’t maid of honor anymore?”
My mother lets out a sharp sigh and has the audacity to say, “Darling, it’s for the best.”
I turn to face her, my stomach tightening. The rage that sent Charlie into the fountain threatens to surface again.
“For the best?” I repeat. “Are you serious?”
She meets my gaze without flinching, every inch the Cavendish matriarch. “Daisy is a nice enough girl, but really, hardly the most suitable choice for Sophia’s maid of honor.”
“What in god’s name are you talking about?” I snap.
Mother rears back as if I’ve physically struck her, her eyes wide with shock at my outburst.
I turn my attention back to Sophia, seeing past the white lace and perfect curls to the little girl who used to have more backbone than this. The sister who once punched Tom McIntosh for calling Daisy common in year nine. Who would have never let anyone—not even our mother—dictate her friendships.
I know her well enough to understand that she will come to regret this decision deeply if she does not make amends with Daisy. Just as I’ve come to regret every moment of my own distance.
“Daisy was present at every fitting and every single event. She bent over backward to support you, Sophia. Just as she has always done.” My voice hardens. “And tell me, what have you done for her in return recently?”
Sophia stares at me, stunned, her lips parted.
“Edward,” she breathes, voice thick with hurt. “This is my wedding day.”
“I am well aware of that fact. And I apologize for my timing, but you need to hear some hard truths. It’s better that you hear them now so that you resolve this situation.” I take a step closer, my voice quieter now but no less intense. “Daisy is a very important person in your life and perhaps you need to consider whether you have taken her for granted. Did you know she fainted on live television two weeks ago?”
She blinks, her mouth dropping open. “What?”
“She fainted. On air. And you weren’t even aware of it, were you?” I exhale sharply, shaking my head in disappointment. “We have all let her down. Every single one of us.”
She makes a strangled noise in her throat, like she wants to argue but has nothing to say.
“Edward, you’re upsetting Sophia!” Mum says.
“She’s clearly already upset by the situation,” I say. “Tell me where Daisy is.”
Sophia’s eyes widen in disbelief. “I-I don’t know.”
“I’m guessing she’s at her mother’s,” Imogen says. She shifts awkwardly. “I was going to wait until after the ceremony, but . . . Daisy was here this morning.” She hesitates, glancing between us. “She gave me this to pass to you, Sophia. A card. She wanted me to tell you that—” She exhales. “That she has no hard feelings and wishes you well.”
“She was with her mother,” Imogen continues, voice careful now. “And she had a suitcase like she was going somewhere.”
My stomach turns to stone.
My god. What if Lizzie wasn’t lying? What if she really is about to disappear off to Mongolia with some damn Spanish Michelin-star-chef-racing-car-driver-model?
I rake both hands through my hair, tugging at the roots as a low, suffering groan escapes me.
I look at my sister.
She looks back, blotchy with tears.
Then, without a word, she slips a bracelet from her wrist.
I recognize it instantly. The woven friendship bracelet Daisy made for her when they were kids. The one she’s never taken off. The one she said would be her “something borrowed” today. The one I remember Daisy crafting with meticulous care, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration, determined to get every loop and knot just right.
Sophia presses the bracelet into my palm.
“Go find her,” she says. “Tell her . . . tell her that I’m an idiot. And I’m sorry.”
I clench my jaw. “I can’t go. I’m walking you down the aisle in an hour.”
She shakes her head, shoving the bracelet at me with more force. “You’ll be back with Daisy. Maybe. I at least want you to try. And if you’re not . . .” She smiles softly. “I’m a grown woman. I can walk myself down the aisle.”
I stare at her.
Then at the bracelet.
Then I move.
No more hesitation.
No more bloody Cavendish propriety.
I burst out of the room, my feet pounding against the polished floors as I race through the hallway. I take the manor steps two, three at a time, my heart hammering in my chest with a sense of desperate urgency I haven’t felt in a very long time.
I must get to Daisy. I have to fix this. For Sophia. For myself. For Daisy, who has spent far too many years giving and giving, pouring her entire heart into people who have never deserved it—least of all me.
I hit the gravel driveway at a full sprint—only to slam to a sudden, infuriating stop.
And what greets me is nothing short of a goddamn disaster.
“Bloody fucking hell!” I roar, my voice echoing across the estate grounds, scattering a flock of birds.
The driveway is a maze of vehicles. Family members, guests, florists, caterers, chauffeurs—every single one of these inconsiderate pricks has parked their fucking car here, using the estate as their own personal wedding parking lot.
And my Land Rover is trapped six cars deep. Might as well be in Scotland for all the good it does me.
Valet staff dart between cars, overwhelmed and hopelessly outmatched. It’ll take at least twenty minutes to clear a path.
Twenty minutes I do not fucking have.
I need to get to Daisy now.
I need a solution. Now.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see it.