15. Oh, Sweetheart
15
OH, SWEETHEART
CHARLES
A week later, I’m dressed in a tux, standing under a wooden arch covered with white daisies and silky satin, my cousins behind me. My hands itch to tug on the white bow tie that suffocates the hell out of me, but I’m enduring it only because of the smiling faces of my family sitting in the first row.
All the women, including Daisy’s three best friends and bridesmaids, are dressed in pastel pink. GG is rocking a matching feather cap and can’t stop beaming. Even Grandma Irene’s smile seems to be wider today. It’s for them that I’m tolerating the crowd.
The guest list for today’s party is longer than Mt. Everest. Everyone who’s someone in this town is invited. Jimmy has even handpicked a few reporters who will get the inside scoop on the event. So, yeah, I have to act like the best fucking doting husband who is head over heels for his bride. This is a wedding for show, after all.
I’m stunned, a grimace on my lips when the music changes.
The white curtain lifts, and instantly, I feel a zip in my chest as Daisy walks in holding her father’s hand. She’s dressed in an ivory princess-style wedding gown. The off-shoulder frills rest on her breasts. It’s modest for the most part, but the hint of her cleavage teases me today. The embroidered top fits her perfectly before flaring at her waist in a tulle skirt.
I’ve always been very careful with my thoughts when it comes to my assistant, because I worry how far and how fast that sequence will spiral. But once Daisy signed those papers, it was like my mind got a free ticket—or maybe a signed ticket—to think about her.
And God, do I think about her.
I thought of her running away from Cherrywood in a horse-drawn carriage, wearing a bridal dress with more features than a swan.
I thought of her saying I don’t instead of I do in front of all the guests.
The human mind works in strange ways, and I guess in stranger ways when we’re stressed.
But my mind and imagination were wrong about everything, including her running away and her dress.
She is the most beautiful bride to ever walk down the aisle, and I’m the luckiest man who gets to go home with her.
Her cheeks are flushed as she inches closer, which I can see thanks to the absence of a veil. My sister forced Daisy to swap it for a tiara with diamonds that match her engagement ring.
The same ring she chose as a reminder of what this wedding means, a time-bound transaction, has gained lots of attention from everyone—the media and our families. Mom and Chloe can’t stop gushing about it and the fact that none of them knew I was such a romantic at heart.
Jason has told me more than a few times how Daisy’s mom would have loved me for caring about her every small happiness. How the man, on the verge of losing his memory, keeps bringing his dead wife up in every conversation is beyond me.
A noose of guilt tightens around my neck when Daisy and her father stop a few steps away from me. Jason kisses his daughter’s cheeks before placing her hand in mine. I’ve touched my assistant’s hands several times in the past, but I’ve never felt the weight of it in my chest like today. The minister continues in a calm voice while my heartbeat skyrockets. I only hope Daisy remains unaware of the betraying organ.
The minister starts but his words are like the buzzing sound of a bee in my ears. I’m too distracted to focus on anything or anyone except Daisy. Until Ray, standing behind me along with my cousins as my best men taps my shoulder.
“The man asked you something, Charlie,” Ray whispers in an overly polite tone.
Fuck, my cousins won’t let this moment go.
“Do you, Charles Hawthorne, take Daisy Price as your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.”
My bride lifts her gaze, and her hand trembles in mine as I hold it tightly in my grasp.
Focus, Charles. This is like any other business transaction you’ve been a part of.
She got what she wanted—or what she needed —and you’re getting what you need.
But when she tries to place her father’s ring on my finger, the feeling that hits my chest isn’t the usual excitement of winning a deal. Her hands tremble and I fear she’ll drop the golden band.
“Here, sweetheart.” The endearment rolls from my lips as I hold the ring and help her.
Her kohl-lined eyes are wide as they meet mine before drifting to the minister. Those brown orbs return to me as if confirming she understands that everything happening this evening is fake.
I hate that once again I’m a clown in the hands of the public.
“You may kiss the bride.”
It’s not like I haven’t thought of this moment in the last few days, but what I never imagined was the subtle hint of her familiar floral perfume as I leaned in, or the way her chest would rise and fall. Everything is a reminder that in this huge gathering at Hawthorne gardens, there’s still one truth, and that’s my bride.
Her love for her dad and her being worried about me enough to marry me.
And I can’t fucking tarnish that.
My lips stop before they can make contact with her trembling ones. Eyes closed, Daisy looks like a sacrificial virgin.
Possessiveness roars inside my chest, and my usual instinct to find immediate safety extends to her. I want to protect her and keep her away from all the eyes that have been judging her for the past few weeks and will continue to do so after today, and even years later when we split up.
I tip her chin up and turn to the side. The back of my head covers us from prying eyes as I place a kiss on her cheek, right at the corner of her lips. Her eyes open, and instead of nerves, they now shine with confusion.
Of course she’s confused, you fool!
It’s not that I’ve given her many reasons to trust me.
But I’m not prepared for the blazing emotions that swirl in her gaze the next instant, as if she’d rather see me in a casket right now than next to her at the altar.
My cousins continue to hoot as I navigate my new bride along the dance floor. My palm grazes over the crystals on her dress, which shine as if stars have come down to earth tonight. When I tug her closer, she’s stiffer than a washboard. Thinking she doesn’t like the contact, I move away.
“You can touch me. I’m not that contagious.” Her teeth grit.
That’s the first and last thing Daisy says to me throughout the ceremony. She continues to smile for our families, the cameras, and even the creepy reporters, but it’s me she has difficulty looking in the eye.
Is she realizing that this deal doesn’t work for her?
Too bad. She’s already Mrs. Charles Hawthorne.
When we’re finally alone in the car and I have my chance to ask Daisy what’s up with her mood, my sister slides in.
“Don’t make such a sad face, Charlie. It’s not like you don’t see Daisy every day in the office.” Chloe wrinkles her nose playfully, giving me a mock-serious look.
My sister has had me wrapped around her little finger since the day she was born, and I’m more than happy to oblige to her demands, even if I don’t always show it.
“Are you here because you expect me to thank you for coming home in a rush and possibly losing a hell of a lot of money for canceling contracts last minute?” I tip my head to the side.
There might be almost a decade age gap between us, but my little sister is an icon in the fashion world. What started as a hobby when she used to help my dad’s sister, Aunt Clementine, at her work, transformed into a career.
Chloe Hawthorne isn’t just one of the leading fashion designers in the world, but also one of the top models.
“I could go bankrupt, but I’d never miss my brother’s wedding.” She grins and even Daisy snorts at her.
“You are the last person who could go bankrupt, Chloe.” My wife’s smile is still in place, maybe because she hasn’t looked at me, her happiness buster, since the car started. “I can’t believe you made my wedding gown and bridesmaid dresses in such a short time.”
“Don’t worry. I had some excellent help. Plus, I don’t plan to do anything except eat and sleep for the next week.”
“And in which city will you be doing all this sleeping and eating?” I ask just before the car halts at the security gate of my property.
“Cherrywood.”
Chloe’s gaze drops, and Daisy finally looks at me, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Since she moved out, my sister has avoided Cherrywood and anything that relates to it with a burning passion. I’m shocked that she came home the moment I told her I was getting married.
“Does that mean you’re moving back permanently?” I keep my voice calm, burying the hope and confusion away.
“Let’s say for the foreseeable time.”
“What changed?” I ask carefully, the simplest and safest question I can think of.
“Maybe I did.” Chloe gives me a conspiratorial smile that doesn’t fully reach her eyes before stepping out of the car.
I help Daisy with the train of her wedding dress even when she’s gone back to ignoring me. We walk along the pavement and I realize my safest place won’t be just mine anymore.
I’m about to use my key card to open the door when Chloe shoves my hand away and shakes her head in resignation.
“I knew you would be this stupid, Charlie. That’s why I’m here.”
Now I’ve upset both my sister and my wife without having any fucking clue how.
“Please tell me my brother is a little more romantic.”
Daisy snorts, and the two girls give me an irritated look before grinning at each other in total cahoots.
“I can be romantic if I want to be.”
“Then can you summon that Romeo alter ego right now? Because I want you to cross the threshold holding Daisy in your arms,” my sister quips.
“What?”
The single word leaves Daisy’s and my mouth at the same time. At last, we’re on the same page about something today.
“I want you to have the best married life, Charlie. If there’s a zero point one percent chance that a marriage tradition is going to bring good luck, I’m not letting you ignore it.”
Now, how could someone say no to that?
I take Daisy’s silence as a yes and place my arm over her bare shoulder. Her skin is cold, and I don’t know if it’s because of the chill of the weather or if the goose bumps come to attention in response to my touch.
I bend to hold her in my arms. She’s light and fits perfectly, even with the weight of her dress, as if she was meant to be here. Her gaze is fixed on my sister, and her expression hasn’t changed.
How is she acting like being so close to me is completely normal for her, while my heart is pounding so hard I might have a heart attack?
Her indifference and not knowing the reason behind it frustrates the hell out of me.
I walk inside and place Daisy down in the living room amidst my sister’s claps and the huge smiles of the waiting house staff. Daisy has already met my housekeeper, but today she meets everyone.
God, I didn’t know we’d have this welcome committee. My sister must have arranged this, because there’s no other reason why Mrs. Kowalski wouldn’t run this by me first.
The staff welcomes Daisy and hands her a bouquet, a genuine smile on their faces, and for the first time today, I don’t hate being the center of attention.
“My work here is done.” Chloe hugs Daisy first, whispering something in her ear that makes my new wife smile genuinely.
When she reaches me, my sister throws her arms around my neck. “I’m so happy for you, Charlie. I wish you the best married life forever.”
Guilt settles on me like a heavy weight. I’ll rot in hell for lying to my little sister, who wipes away the tears from the corner of her eyes, oblivious to my reality.
After Chloe sprints away, I guide Daisy to my bedroom with a hand against her back.
Our bedroom.
There’s nothing in this house that’s going to be just yours any longer.
She’s stiffer than a board under my touch, but I get some relief as she looks closely at her new surroundings. The hallway leading to the bedroom is lined with decor items, though not handpicked by me, but it speaks of my taste.
“You and I will sleep here. I can’t risk the staff knowing the truth about us.” I nod toward the room as the door closes behind us.
“Of course you can’t.”
Her clipped words finally snap the tiny latch that’s been locking down my anxiety for the past week.
“Is there a problem, Daisy?” I tip my head to the side and cross my arms over my chest.
“Not at all.” Her irritated gaze drifts from the king-sized bed to me, and she plasters on a fake smile.
I’m still struggling with the right words to say when Daisy turns around, about to march in the direction of her bags, which were brought in earlier.
“I’m tired. If you would just let me know where I sleep, I’ll stop being a nuisance to you.”
I snag her elbow, stopping her movement. “Nuisance? Where the hell is this coming from?”
“Oh, so you mean I misread your grimace when you saw me walking down the aisle? Or was it the fact that my husband couldn’t kiss me because he’s so much better than the rest of the world?”
Daisy doesn’t stop for me to respond. Her free arm flails while the other still remains in my grip.
“I know this marriage is for show,” she continues, “and you possibly hated everything about today, the crowd, the noise, but this was my first freaking wedding. A day that was supposed to be the most beautiful prelude to all my dreams coming true. Would it have killed you to pretend just for a few hours? Would it have killed you to kiss me and not pretend that I was—”
My lips land on hers before she can compare herself to anything less than perfection. I kiss her like I’d wanted when I saw her walking toward me.
Daisy grabs the lapels of my tux, and my hand on her waist pulls her closer to me. I don’t stop until my arm around her middle is tight as a steel band.
She wants the real me? She’ll get the real me.
I tug her hair back and she loses her balance, but I’m here—to hold her, to kiss her, to tell her without words that she can be a lot of things in my life, but a nuisance is certainly not one of them.
My palm wraps around the back of her neck and I kiss her senseless. We move to a rhythm. Her lips are soft, smooth like her skin, which rasps against my stubble.
For so long, I’ve seen her from afar, kept my brain from imagining anything that could really get me in trouble with labor laws, but right now, all that pent-up imagination has found an acting reprieve.
The world comes to a standstill as I kiss her in the middle of my room, a place that has always been my safest sanctuary. But tonight, I see her, feel her, taste her in every air molecule in here, and I like it.
Daisy’s grip on my jacket tightens, moving to my shirt before her hands flatten over my chest. I hate that it’s not my bare skin getting her touch.
“Charles,” she breathes against my lips when we take a break for air.
But I’m not ready for this to end.
My mind, my body, hasn’t gotten its fill. Will it ever when it comes to Daisy?
I don’t speak a word but tug her hair harder, and once again my lips are on hers. Kissing, nipping, sucking, and bottling her inside me.
She stands on the toes of her high heels, and my grip around her middle tightens as Daisy’s hand loops around my neck. She rakes her fingers through my hair, and I feel a pulse run throughout my entire body.
Next time when we break, my mouth is on her neck, breathing in that familiar flower scent. She makes a sound that is somewhere between a whine and a groan, and I know if we stay like this for any longer, I won’t be able to hold back anymore.
My knuckles stroke her cheek, and I don’t recognize my own growling voice in her ear.
“We’ve played enough for the camera. I thought you’d agree. Does any of this look like I don’t want to kiss you or that you’re a nuisance to me?”
There’s no way she missed my hard cock, which could be used in place of a hammer to stick nails into walls, or my pounding heart, which could break an echocardiogram machine right now.
Instead of replying to me, Daisy’s eyes remain closed even when I take a step back. She inhales another deep breath and then finally lets go of my suit and opens her eyes.
“The groom doesn’t have to empty an entire bottle of cologne on his wedding day, Charles.”
I can’t help my chuckle, the buried anxiousness from the day slowly finding a release. “How long were you thinking of that comment?”
“Since you leaned in to help me with the ring, sweetheart . I’m sure you shocked the minister with that endearment.”
This time my laugh is loud, and I throw my head back. “Except for you wanting to kill me, I think the day went well. What do you say?”
Daisy is finally smiling her usual smile, where her cheeks turn rosy and her eyes crinkle. “I say you did exceptionally well, Mr. Hawthorne. Can you continue this stellar performance of being a gentleman and sit with me for a while?”
“And do what?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Talk, like normal people,” Daisy replies as she flops onto the turquoise couch placed under the tall windows. Her gaze wanders to the multiple books about leadership and business on the table and bookshelf.
I didn’t know my private reading nook surrounded by indoor plants would someday become a conversation spot.
But I didn’t know a lot of things.
Including how it’s impossible to look away from Daisy, still in her wedding dress, looking all-so mine, and not remember how her lips felt a few moments back.
“I can only offer to listen.” I take a seat on the opposite side of the couch.
“That will do.”
And then without any preamble, she demands what I didn’t offer, like always—speaking.
“Your parents are so in love. Was it always like that, even when you were a kid?”
“Kristy isn’t my birth mother.” My straight reply causes her smile to vanish in an instant.
“Really? I’m sorry. I didn’t know, Charles.” Daisy’s stricken face makes me realize that as much as I like silencing people in a boardroom, it’s no fun with my new wife .
“That’s because Kristy loves me a lot. And don’t worry, the woman who gave birth to me isn’t dead.”
“She wasn’t at the wedding. You don’t talk to her?” Daisy gnaws at her bottom lip, as if it was her duty to ensure that woman’s presence at the ceremony.
“Daisy, as soon as my dad declared he wasn’t interested in the Hawthorne family money, a lot of people dropped out of our lives. I have no intention of pulling those selfish souls back in.” My fists clench. I’m one second away from getting off the couch and walking away before horrid memories I keep locked away find their release, but then Daisy places her hand over mine.
Just her touch is enough to loosen all my corded muscles.
“I…I’m so sorry.”
“I thought you wanted to talk and not interrogate.” I tip my head to the side.
“Um, yeah. I’m sorry. Now I can’t remember what I wanted to talk about.” Daisy looks at me, her doe-shaped eyes marked with a touch of guilt.
“Maybe about your parents.”
“Oh yeah! But first, thanks for joining me here anyway.”
“You’re welcome. It’s not like I have a multi-billion-dollar business waiting for me outside this room.”
“Charles A. Hawthorne! Did you just make a joke?”
“It wasn’t a joke but sarcasm.” I hide my smile from her twinkling eyes by ducking my head and swiping away an invisible wrinkle on my pant leg. “So what was it about your parents that needs discussing at ten in the night?”
“It’s not the time but the day.” She rolls her eyes and mutters a few expletives as she usually does when I’m being extra difficult. “Do you know my parents celebrated three anniversaries every year?”
“I don’t understand.”
“The day Dad saw Mom the first time—love at first sight. The day he took her out on their first date—finding their soulmate. And the day they finally got married—starting their happily ever after. They did that every year.”
“It’s…something.” And too much work.
Is she expecting this from me too?
The day she nicknamed me Charles Asshole Hawthorne.
The day I made her the proposition of a fake wedding.
The day we fooled our family and friends.
“You can relax that tensed jaw, Charles. I’m just remembering my mom on this day. Another interesting fact—my parents never had any meals without the other.”
“And what if they were in different towns? Don’t tell me that never happened.”
“Of course not, silly. But there’s something called the telephone.”
“And what if one of them was invited to a lunch or dinner individually ?”
Why the hell am I so adamant on proving to her that what her parents did or had isn’t practical for most people?
As if the same question is running through her mind, Daisy raises an eyebrow. “Who knows better than you that invitations can be avoided or adjusted to what one wants?”
I can’t hide my smile this time. “Touché, my dear wife.”
Her eyes widen at the title that rolled off my tongue without a second thought, but when I make no big deal out of it, her smile slowly returns.
“What I’m trying to say is that I thought my life would turn out like theirs. I might not be the most professionally ambitious person in a room, but I wanted to be formidable in love.”
My heart stops at the shine in her eyes. Her life expectations are completely opposite of mine. I’m downright scared of love, and since fear has no space in my life, I scraped everything away that ignited that feeling.
Once again, it becomes clear that ours is the most imperfect match.
“Thank you for coming to my talk and taking time away from your billion-dollar business.” Daisy finally gets up from the couch, her wedding dress making a rustling sound as she moves.
“If I didn’t have time for my wife on our wedding day, I’m sure I’d top the Worst Husband of the Year list. I’m happy being in third or fourth place.”
“So, there’s somewhere Charles Hawthorne doesn’t like being on top?”
“It appears so, my dear wife.”
I stay on the couch, legs crossed, and enjoy the way her cheeks turn pink, the only indication she gives that the nickname affects her somehow.
“Good to know.” Daisy’s voice shakes before she clears her throat. “Since sleeping in separate rooms isn’t an option, what’s the plan, boss?”
“You take the bed and I’ll take the couch.” I’ve thought about this the whole week, and that’s the easiest solution, even though allowing someone in my personal space is anything but easy. But this is Daisy, a person who has never been just someone .
“You’ll hear no arguments from this obedient assistant.” Flashing another smile, Daisy goes for her bags while I chuckle.
“Half of the closet space is for you.”
Her brows pull together, and she discards the half-opened zipper of her bag and stands tall.
“I asked the staff to leave your bags as they were in case you don’t like others touching your stuff.”
“Of course you would think so.”
Is she making fun of my habits?
What if she is? Why do I care? She knew what she was getting into.
Having no genuine reason to simply stare at my wife any longer, I get up and walk toward the closet.
I remove my gold cufflinks that are embossed with the Hawthorne crest and place them onto the glass tray. After taking off my suit jacket, I’m removing the bow tie when a throat clears behind me. My eyes snap up to Daisy’s reflection in the mirror. It’s impossible to miss the warm tingling sensation that starts from my chest and radiates outward at the sight. Daisy has taken off her heels and she suddenly looks too small, too fragile.
“Is it okay if I use your bathroom? But be warned, I’ll need at least thirty minutes since I have two dozen hairpins secured in my hair right now.”
I leave the loose bow tie hanging around my neck and turn around.
“Daisy, this is your room, your home, too. You don’t have to ask my permission for anything. Take the bathroom for as long as you need to. There are four bathrooms in this house for my use.”
Her furrowed forehead relaxes. “On a scale of one to ten, how high is your panic meter at seeing me encroach upon your private space, Charles?”
I can’t even help my grin. “I think you know the answer to that question, since you know me so well, Miss Price.”
“I’m going by Mrs. Hawthorne these days, boss.” She winks and turns around, escalating my heartbeat with her words.
Fucking hell.
Why the hell was it so hot to hear that title on her lips?
After taking a shower in the guest bathroom and changing into track pants and a T-shirt, I situate myself on the couch, sifting through my unread emails. I try to focus on the work, but my gaze keeps drifting toward the locked bathroom door, especially with Daisy’s muffled voice coming through intermittently as she speaks to herself—which I verified when I heard her say her name a few times as I was near the door by coincidence .
Thirty minutes later, the door of the bathroom opens, and my pulse ricochets against my rib cage. Dressed in a silk white PJ set with colorful butterflies, Daisy saunters inside holding a hanger with her wedding dress. Her face is wiped clean of makeup, and her hair is pulled up in some sort of messy bun.
The thud in my chest intensifies as I watch her looking so beautiful without even trying.
“Charles!” Daisy waves her hands before me, and I realize I’ve completely zoned out.
“What?” I adjust my laptop, which is on the verge of falling, and also to hide the reaction she’s having on me.
“I asked what the sound you made was?”
Fuck, what did I say?
“There was no sound. And if you don’t mind, I’m trying to catch up on some work.”
Her expression remains confused for a beat longer, until she shrugs. “If you say so.”
I breathe freely only when she’s on the bed, tugging the covers over her. Daisy turns off the lights and whispers, “Good night, Charles. I know how much you like your silence. I’ll try to fall asleep quickly and quietly.”
“Don’t worry, Daisy. I’m considering your chatter a white noise to my silence these days.”
I hear her snort and wait for some smartass one-of-a-kind comment, but what really comes forces me to bite my lip so as to not burst out in laughter and wake up my sleeping snoring wife.
Mrs. Hawthorne is a damn snorer.