EPILOGUE
Edward
Dancing has never been my forte. It falls somewhere between polite conversation with strangers at charity galas and sitting through hospital board meetings—things one must endure from time to time but never truly enjoy.
And yet, here I am, at my sister’s wedding, arms wrapped around the woman responsible for me launching a carriage into a lake, and for the first time in longer than I care to admit, I feel . . . content.
More than that. Happy. A word I don’t use lightly. A word that, until her, hasn’t felt within reach since Millie died.
Somewhere—beyond the weight of this moment, beyond my general skepticism about fate, or destiny, or anything remotely spiritual—I know Millie is watching. And I know she’s smiling. Approving of the life I want to build with Daisy.
And for the first time in my life, I know, without a doubt, that I’ve got it right.
The ceremony, miraculously, went off without a hitch, all things considered. We were “fashionably late”—an understatement of considerable magnitude, and entirely my responsibility.
Fortunately, I have an endless supply of black tuxedos. And, luckily, Sophia had the foresight to have extra wedding shirts on hand. Though, if I’m honest, I would have walked her down the aisle in soaking wet clothes, mud-streaked shoes, and dripping hair—as long as it meant Daisy knew how much I loved her.
Sophia, to her immense credit, found humor in the whole ordeal. I think she’d been so wound up about everything being perfect that my incompetence actually helped. By the reception, she’d already worked it into a charming anecdote, as if her older brother making a spectacle of himself in front of the entire Cavendish extended circle was nothing more than a footnote in the day’s events.
The bridesmaids—Daisy included—ended up arriving in a hastily arranged fleet of cars, and the wedding proceeded as if the heir to the Cavendish estate hadn’t just enacted a scene from a Victorian melodrama.
And now, here we are. The first dance of the bridal party, my beautiful Daisy pressed close to me, the rest of the room fading into a blur. Every pair of eyes in this damn place is glued to us, but I don’t care. All I can think about is tonight—when it’s just me and her, tangled up in each other with no one watching. I’m going to take my time with her. I’m going to worship her, the way she deserves.
I lean down, my lips brushing her forehead. “You’re beautiful.”
Her deep hazel eyes are sparkling, her tousled hair a little wild. Inside and out, she’s the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.
She tilts her head up, those bright eyes locking onto mine, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Considering I had ten minutes to throw myself together, I’d say I pulled off a minor miracle.”
“You did,” I murmur, my hand tightening at her waist as I pull her in closer, guiding her through the turn.
Her gaze flickers across the room. “Do you feel everyone staring at us?”
“I’m not paying attention to anyone else.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” she mutters. “Edward, they’re all looking. And talking. This is . . . intense.”
I glance around, barely interested. “They’re looking because this is the bridal party dance. They’re supposed to be watching.”
“You know that’s not it. Your mother looks like she wants to rip my heart out with her bare hands.”
I glance at my mother. She’s perched at her table, lips pursed into that thin, disapproving line I know so well.
Yes, she is devastated. Yes, I have brought shame upon the family name. I’ve scandalized her today, and she’s making no effort to hide it.
“She always looks like that,” I say. “That’s just her face.”
Daisy bites back a laugh. “It’s so much worse now. Before, I was just a bad influence on Sophia. Now I’m a bad influence on her beloved firstborn son.”
“Yes, you are rather, aren’t you? Making me drive into lakes.”
“That was nothing to do with me!”
I smirk. “It was everything to do with you.”
She exhales, shaking her head, but there’s a smile playing at her lips.
“Darling, let my mother stare. Let the whole world stare. In this moment, it’s just you and me. Besides, she’s upset with me, not you. I made a fool of myself this morning.”
I pause. “Charlie has already informed me that the prevailing rumor is that I’ve gone mad with grief, couldn’t handle attending another wedding, and attempted to end things in a rather dramatic fashion.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh my god.”
“It’s fine,” I say, and find that I mean it. “They can think I’ve gone mad. That’s vastly preferable to not being with you.”
I lean down, pressing a slow kiss to her lips, right in the middle of the dance floor, right in full view of the scandalized British upper class.
It’s not like me—not in public, not with this many eyes on us. But I can’t find it in me to care.
Let them talk and judge. Let them clutch their pearls and whisper about how Edward Cavendish has well and truly lost it.
Because they’d be right.
I have.
And I don’t regret a damn thing.
When we part, her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with love, and it hits me right in the chest.
“Your mother’s going to have a stroke,” she whispers, though she’s smiling.
“She’ll survive.”
“You know . . .” She leans closer, her breath warm against my neck. “I didn’t have time to find knickers to put on under this dress.”
That’s just unfair. A low groan escapes me. “Are you trying to test my patience?”
She grins, wicked and lovely. “Always.”
I exhale sharply, grip tightening at her waist. “You’re a menace.” Knowing she’s bare beneath this flimsy dress . . . it’s maddening. “I can barely keep my hands respectable now. All I can think about is getting you alone, slipping away into some shadowed corner where no one can see us.”
She tilts her head up, looking far too pleased with herself. “I think you should remember you need to be a gentleman here. You’ve caused enough chaos for one day.”
The music shifts, the floor filling with other couples. I catch sight of Sophia and Giles, wrapped in their own world. My sister meets my eye and, to my surprise, smiles. A full, genuine smile, the kind I haven’t seen from her since before the Heroes ball incident.
I glance at Daisy, nodding toward them. “Are you two okay?”
She follows my gaze, watching Sophia for a long moment before exhaling softly. “I think we will be. She seems more relaxed now. I think she’ll be happy when this is over and she can go back to normal life.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “She’s just relieved the attention has shifted to me. She can’t possibly mess anything up now. I’ve already outdone her spectacularly. Sophia could strip down and do the splits right here on the dance floor and it still wouldn’t be as catastrophic as what I managed this morning—at least, according to our mother.”
Daisy giggles, shaking her head, but then her expression shifts into something softer.
“Edward,” she says.
“Yes?”
She hesitates. “Thank you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “For what, specifically?”
“For choosing me. I wasn’t the easy option. I know that.”
I stop moving, halting us both in the middle of the dance floor.
“Daisy,” I start. “I didn’t have a choice. Not really. Not when it came to you. I just thank god you feel the same.” I pause. “But just so you know, at our wedding, I’m arriving in a Range Rover. No exceptions.”
Her eyes widen. “Do not make jokes like that to me about marriage! It’s not fair.”
“It’s not a joke. Walking down the aisle with you made me realize I’m not doing it again unless it’s with you.”
Her breath catches. “Edward, are you proposing?”
I chuckle. “Not quite. I might be out of practice with dating, but even I know that’s a bit much, considering we only got back together this morning. Baby steps. But it will happen. Eventually.”
She tries—fails—not to beam. “You’re insufferably arrogant. You don’t even know that I’ll say yes.”
I brush my lips over her knuckles, locking eyes with her. “I’ll make damn sure you do.”
Her breath hitches.
“I’ll love you so completely, so relentlessly, that you won’t have a choice ,” I murmur. “And I’ll tell you, every single day, until you believe it. I’ll do everything in my power to worship you so that you never even notice another man.”
Because the truth is, I would drive a hundred carriages into a hundred lakes for her.
Daisy
Six months later
If I thought being Edward Cavendish’s girlfriend meant living the glamorous billionaire life—Dom Pérignon bath, private jets to St. Barts, lounging in infinity pools in Iceland, and . . . well, basically, whatever the hell Imogen does on her holidays—I could not have been more wrong.
Because right now I am bouncing on top of a particularly smelly horse, clinging for dear life. The horse, I’ve been informed, is named something that translates to “Wild Horse” in Mongolian, which feels redundant, considering every single horse here looks one mood swing away from sprinting off into the abyss and leaving me for dead.
I am sweating in places no self-respecting woman should sweat. I’m going to be walking like a bow-legged cowboy for the foreseeable future. My delicate bits have gone completely numb. There is dirt in crevices where dirt simply does not belong.
Up ahead, Edward glides on his horse like some sort of posh equestrian prince, nodding knowingly at our guide. The very man responsible for this little “surprise” holiday.
And to be fair, it was a good surprise.
Just . . . a Mongolia kind of surprise.
When he said “I’ve planned a holiday” I was picturing Paris. Maybe Rome. Somewhere with chairs and wine and places to sit. Somewhere I could wear linen and sunglasses and pretend to be the kind of sophisticated woman who dates posh surgeons.
Instead, I am halfway up a mountain, surrounded by untamed wilderness, the only contact with civilization—besides my handsome boyfriend—being my stern-faced guide who has made it very clear that if I fall off this horse, that is entirely my problem.
That being said . . .
It is breathtaking.
The steppe stretches on forever, endless and empty in a way that makes London feel like it’s on another planet. This enormous carpet of green and gold, with mountains rising in the distance. The sky—god, the sky —I don’t think I’ve ever seen blue like this.
No roads. No buildings. No Wi-Fi. Just the occasional yurt, which I assume houses people far braver than me. The air is crisp and cool, thick with the scent of grass, earth, and an overwhelming amount of horse.
Edward looks so fucking pleased with himself.
When he first told me that he had booked us a horse-riding trip in Mongolia, he looked at me expectantly. Waiting. Waiting for me to squeal in delight, I think?
And what could I do?
I screamed. With joy.
Because we were going away! Together! Our first proper holiday. And if Edward—who spends his life buried in work, who rarely ever takes time off—wanted to spend it galloping across Mongolia, then I was going to bloody well gallop across Mongolia . Even if it killed me, which it might.
“I’ve planned somewhere special for us,” he’d said, grinning.
“Ooh, where to?” I’d asked, already mentally packing bikinis and sundresses.
“Mongolia,” he announced, proud as anything.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him I thought Mongolia was one of those vaguely mythical places parents use to threaten misbehaving children. Like Eat your broccoli or we’re shipping you off to Mongolia.
Because I love him.
And because I was too stunned to argue.
It’s an odd choice. A baffling choice, really. He mentioned something about Lizzie giving him “all the info he needed,” which, in hindsight, should have been a red flag because Lizzie is often drunk.
And because I cannot recall a single time in my life where I have given anyone the impression that I wanted to come to Mongolia. Maybe he misheard me say “mojito”?
I had to sneakily check a map just to confirm that yes, Mongolia is indeed where I thought it was.
Outer Mongolia, to be precise. As in, the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere.
And now here I am—bouncing ungracefully on the back of a horse that would prefer I wasn’t, my thighs on fire, my dignity lost somewhere back at the last yurt, and, most tragically, miles away from the nearest cocktail.
But that’s fine because the handsome man on the horse in front of me is here. And I love him.
Life is good right now.
Last night, lying outside our ger (which is what they call those round tent things, and which are surprisingly cozy), he pointed out constellations while I nodded along, pretending to follow but mostly just watching his face and wondering how the hell he made astronomy sexy.
I cannot wait to finally shag Edward properly again. In a real bed. A big bed. A bed with walls, ideally thicker than yak wool. Because let’s be honest—Batu our guide can hear everything.
I smirk to myself as I watch him ahead—broad shoulders taut, biceps flexing with every subtle pull of the reins, his body moving in perfect sync with the horse. Strong, controlled, completely at ease. It’s like watching a damn cowboy fantasy come to life. If he weren’t already my boyfriend, I’d be in serious danger of falling in love with him right now.
He took riding lessons as a child. While I, on the other hand, was learning how to jump off a moving swing at the exact right moment to avoid a concussion. Different life skills, same level of risk.
It’s fine, though. Because next week, I will be sipping a cocktail with an umbrella in it, poolside, at a five-star resort in Goa.
I just need to survive Mongolia first.
“Daisy,” he calls over his shoulder, his voice carried by the wind. “Are you okay, darling?”
“Yeah, great!” I nudge Wild Horse forward, which he interprets as a gentle suggestion rather than a firm command.
The three of us—Edward, me, and a silent Batu—continue our ascent up the mountain, each step making me slide further back on my steed. I’m painfully aware of how my delicate bits are going to smell after this. If Edward thinks he’s getting any hot tent action tonight, he’s got another think coming. I’m going to need industrial-strength soap, possibly an exorcism for these knickers, and maybe one of those power washers they use to clean the sides of buildings.
I mentally list all the things I’m going to do in Goa next week. Take a long, civilized , soap-heavy bath. Shag Edward senseless, including allowing him the privilege of going down on my gloriously clean lady parts. And then—oh sweet heaven—reunite with my phone for the marathon scrolling session of my dreams.
Because I have not had phone signal for three days. Three days.
Edward’s been banging on about how “liberating” it is to be disconnected from technology, how it’s “good for us” to be present in the moment. Easy for him to say—his idea of entertainment is reading medical journals.
Hang on—maybe there’s coverage up here? Is that how it works? The higher you go, the better signal you get?
I discreetly slide my phone out, making sure Edward can’t see. He’s been so smug about this whole “digital detox” thing.
No signal. Not even a flicker. And I’m dying to know what’s happening on Married at First Sight . Have Jess and Matt consummated their marriage yet? Has Dave revealed his secret child?
As we climb higher, I sneak glances at my screen. Edward turns and smiles at me, and I whip the phone away so fast I nearly dislocate my shoulder. I don’t want him to know I’m being superficial up a mountain surrounded by all this majestic whatnot.
Wait—is that—
One bar!
I have coverage!
My fingers fumble across the screen, checking emails with the desperate fervor of someone who’s been told civilization collapsed while they were offline. And there it is—an email from the network about the interview!
“OH MY GOD!”
“Daisy, sweetheart?” Edward twists around in his saddle, concern creasing his handsome face. He spots my phone clutched in my white-knuckled grip.
Cue the frown. That deep, disapproving furrow of his brow that tells me he’s about to launch into another lecture on the virtues of digital detoxing.
But I don’t give him the chance. “I got the interview! The celeb interview show!”
In my excitement, I accidentally kick Wild Horse in the sides. He gives me a look that says I’ve just violated our unspoken agreement and does a little buck that nearly sends me flying.
Edward grins at me from his horse. “Darling, that is amazing. I’m so happy for you.”
Eek! I’ve been waiting to hear if I’ve been selected.
If I make it out of Mongolia alive, I have an interview with a proper TV show. One where I get to do what I do best—charm, flirt, and sass my way through conversations with reality TV stars. I was made for this.
And even if I don’t get it? Well, at least I know there are options . I am a woman with a bright future ahead of her, even if that future currently involves chafed thighs and the lingering scent of yak.
Batu doesn’t seem impressed by my career news. Neither does Wild Horse. Fair enough.
But Edward is looking at me like he knows exactly how much this means to me. Like he’s genuinely, wholeheartedly proud.
I beam back at him, still bouncing uncomfortably in the saddle, my heart doing something warm and ridiculous in my chest. I’m in a good place. A really good place. And for once, I actually believe it might last.
Even Sophia and I are good. We even double-date sometimes with Giles and Edward.
We had a proper heart-to-heart after the wedding. Lots of tears and apologies and promises to do better on both sides.
The thing is, as you get older, you change—your friendships can’t stay frozen in time like you’re still building dens in the garden together. You grow apart, but then you have to decide if it’s worth the effort to grow back together in a new way.
And we decided our friendship was worth it.
Edward and I are officially moving in together next month. He’s downsizing, because he wants a fresh start with me. Which, in billionaire terms, means swapping a four-story townhouse in Primrose Hill for a three-story townhouse in Primrose Hill. How will we cope?
I cannot wait to make it our own—though I’ll have to show some restraint with the sheer volume of spiritual cleansing paraphernalia I smuggle into the house.
Of course, his mother still isn’t happy. She never will be. But funnily enough, Edward told me that she wasn’t even happy with Millie and that makes me feel a little better. I am civil to her, very polite, but we will never see eye to eye. And that’s okay. I’m not dating her, am I?
Eventually, after some back-and-forth negotiation with Wild Horse, we reach the ridge where Edward is waiting, looking out at the gorgeous sunset.
Edward dismounts his horse gracefully. And yeah, loving that cowboy look on him. He’s even wearing the hat.
I, on the other hand, slide off mine like in a very unladylike manner, hitting the ground with a squelch.
Just as I’m regaining my balance, Wild Horse lets out a guttural noise—a sound that seems to come from the depths of hell itself—and then, right beside me, in an act of pure hostility . . . it shits.
A colossal, steaming, unapologetic pile.
As if to really drive the point home, it turns its head, bares its enormous teeth, and gives me a look that says Yeah, that was personal.
Edward stretches his arms, breathes in the crisp air, and sighs.
“Look at this,” he says, gazing out at the endless rolling hills. “Isn’t it breathtaking?”
I look at the heap of horse shit alarmingly close to my boot.
“Yep. Stunning.”
Edward laughs, turning to me, his eyes soft. He takes my hand, fingers warm against mine. “Do you trust me?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say, smiling up at him. Although no more surprise holidays without consulting me first, please and thank you.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs. “I want to take you to the most breathtaking view in Mongolia.”
“Up the mountain?” I ask nervously, eyeing the steep, rocky incline.
“Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.” He squeezes my hand reassuringly.
And because I do trust him, despite the horse shit and the sore thighs and the fact that I’m pretty sure I smell like a barnyard, and because I am still too dazzled by his whole rugged cowboy fantasy aesthetic to argue, I say, “Okay.”
If it were any other man, I might be concerned that leading me up a remote mountain in Outer Mongolia and telling me to close my eyes was a setup for murder.
Hand in hand, he guides me up, steadying me when I stumble, warning me of loose rocks and dips in the path.
After a few minutes, he stops. Turns me gently to face . . . something. I can feel the warmth of the sun on my face.
“Now open them,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.
I blink, and the breath leaves my lungs.
Rolling emerald-green hills stretch endlessly into the horizon, tinged gold by the last light of the day. The sky is streaked with deep pink and indigo, a masterpiece painted just for us. And in the middle of it all, right there —a perfect little picnic, laid out on a blanket, complete with fruit, bread, and . . .
Dom Pérignon. The good stuff.
I whirl around to face Edward, grinning like a fool. “How the hell did you—”
But my words die in my throat.
Because Edward isn’t standing behind me, looking pleased with himself for arranging this surprise.
He’s kneeling.
One knee in the soft grass, his eyes locked onto mine, his hands steady as he holds out a small, velvet box. And in that box, catching the last rays of the sunset, is a diamond ring. A bloody big diamond ring.
Oh my god. Oh my god.
I slap my hands over my mouth, heart stuttering, breath catching in my throat.
He frowns up at me, clearing his throat awkwardly.
“Daisy. You make every day a moment of joy. And I would very much like to spend the rest of my life having adventures with you.”
He pauses, swallowing hard, as he holds out the ring. “What I’m trying to say is . . . Will you marry me?”
This man, this brilliant, successful, handsome man who could have literally anyone in the world, is nervous. Nervous about asking me , Daisy Wilson, to marry him.
It’s the most endearing, most absurd, most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire chaotic life.
I feel a smile spread across my face, so wide it almost hurts.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. “Yes, Edward. Of course I’ll marry you.”
THE END
Thank you so much for taking the time to read DARE TO LOVE ME . It would mean the world if you could leave a review. Reviews are like tips for authors, and every single one counts.
Rosa x