21. Ready to Beg?
21
READY TO BEG?
DAISY
“Did my family scare you too much?” Charles asks as we both settle in the back seat of the limo.
“I’m not someone who gets scared easily, Mr. Hawthorne.” I turn my head toward him with a smirk.
Reality? I might not have been scared, but God was I nervous when we got out of the car this evening. Yet the moment I stepped inside Charles’ grandparents’ home, it was like visiting old friends.
“Yes, you certainly aren’t.” After a moment’s pause, he asks, “So, any questions about anyone or anything you found interesting tonight?”
“Charles Hawthorne! Are you a secret gossip connoisseur?”
“Hey, you dropped the A in my name.”
“You don’t behave like one anymore.” I grin. “But I do have questions. Several, to be honest.”
What’s the deal with Alex and Chloe?
Even though I tried to keep my small-town gossip-mongering instincts down, there was no missing the sizzling tension between them.
Why was everyone so protective over Rory? It took me a while to put together that Rory is the mysterious Aurora Teager, Zander and Rose’s daughter. There has never been a picture of her in the news, just her name.
But despite all those curiosities, I chose the one question that was making me crazy. “Promise you won’t be upset.”
“Out with it, wife.”
“Who’s going to take over the Hawthorne business after you?” I ask carefully, and the grin on Charles’ lips drops faster than a popped balloon, as I expected.
“Already looking forward to my demise.” Even though his words are light, there’s no humor in his voice.
“After your outburst before the doctor last night and the way you behaved today when your grandmother mentioned kids, it’s clear that you’re not exactly eager to become a dad.” It takes everything in me to keep that smile on my lips.
“No, thank fuck. I’m not.”
My heart sinks like a pebble in a lake.
Stop it, Daisy. This is about him and not the time for your feelings.
“Since you’re so committed to the Hawthorne name, I’m sure you have a plan in place for future.”
Charles’ lips twist, clear that he doesn’t like my impromptu interrogation session.
“There’s nothing to plan. Chloe and her future kids have the same rights as me to our family property and business.”
I don’t need to tell him that it’ll never be so simple in this traditional town.
“But what if Chloe doesn’t want kids either?”
This time the grin on Charles’ lips is sincere. “Chloe loves kids. I’d be shocked if she doesn’t produce a wailing, thrashing baby within the first year of marriage. She’ll love that little devil despite the pain, vomit, and poop.”
“You’re definitely not competing for the favorite uncle trophy.” An irritating knot of tension settles in my stomach, twisting uncomfortably.
“There’re enough people who will give them love. I better do the things I’m good at, and love is definitely not my strength.”
“You don’t say.” I bite the inside of my cheek.
Why the heck is my agitation rising with Charles’ every word.
He’s just being honest.
“Daisy—” Whatever Charles is about to say gets interrupted by the ringing of his phone. His gaze stays on me for a second longer before he tends to the call.
My head turns toward the window, staring at the moving traffic and streetlights. I hate the feeling of jealousy that creeps up in my chest as I imagine Chloe with her kids. They’d enjoy slumber parties and movie nights in Sophia and Ashcroft’s home. Everyone would love them, and I know without a doubt that Charles would protect his sister’s family and her dreams more fiercely than his own heartbeat.
If this isn’t luck, what is?
Lost in my thoughts, I spot a streak of light in the sky and my eyelids fall closed, a wish taking shape in my heart.
If not in this life, please, Mother Nature, I want to have love of every kind in my next life.
But with my horrible luck at relationships, there’s a massive chance that it isn’t a shooting star and just the flashing headlights of a vehicle on the windy streets of the mountains.
When my eyes open, I find Charles’ reflection staring at me in the mirror, the phone still tucked to his ear.
Standing in front of the mirror, I apply my night cream and stare at my reflection.
This is silly and borderline crazy, Daisy.
Why the heck are you upset that Charles doesn’t want kids or a family?
He isn’t your real husband. This is a contract marriage with an end date.
Plus, we haven’t even had sex. I haven’t even seen his dick for real. Maybe he doesn’t know how to use it to make babies.
Yeah, now that’s a whole other level of bullshit.
If he wanted to, Charles Hawthorne could get a woman pregnant with his statement scowling glare alone.
Like the previous nights, I’m not wearing a bra, and my nipples poke through the thin cotton of my panda T-shirt just at the thought of my husband.
My brain continues to be on a seesaw with this man—one second, angry and upset, and in the next, remembering how he’s started to act around me.
I’m still staring in the mirror when the doorknob turns and Charles walks in, dressed in low-hanging track pants and his chest bare in all its glory.
“Hey, you cannot walk in like that.” All the butterflies in my stomach go crazy wild at his sly grin.
“Then you should have locked the door.”
Good point.
But for someone who’s used to living alone in my apartment, I’m still getting used to the idea of a roommate.
“What if I wasn’t dressed or in the shower?”
“Then we would be having a very different kind of conversation,” Charles drawls.
It’s so easy to fall under the spell of this man, who’s completely different from the one outside these four walls of his bedroom. Even though this version of Charles smiles and makes stupid jokes, he’s still a pole apart from me.
Different needs. Different dreams.
“What do you want, Charles?” I ask.
“I wanted to offer something in return of a truce,” he says patiently.
“I didn’t know we were at war.” I take a step toward the door, but Charles blocks me from leaving the en-suite bathroom.
“Okay, Daisy, then I would like to be where we were this morning. You trapped, at my mercy, and me free to do whatever I want.”
“Whatever you want?” My eyebrows rise, heat crawling up my cheeks.
He probably could have done whatever he wanted and I probably wouldn’t have complained.
There’s no probably about it. It’s all definitely.
“I have something to cheer you up. But you need to close your eyes.”
“Are you going to take advantage of me?”
Would I mind? Not really.
I would like to get out of this depressive mood that has suddenly set upon me like a dark cloud.
“I told you already, when we have sex, you’ll be begging me for it, my dear wife.” Charles grins.
When and not if. Oh my!
“Uh-huh. Your overconfidence has always been scary, boss.”
“Are you done being difficult, or will you just close your eyes?” He shakes his head.
Am I curious to know what Charles’ definition of a truce is?
Of course, yes.
Do I close my eyes at his command?
Unfortunately, also yes.
But in the next second, Charles has thrown me over his shoulder and is walking out of the bathroom.
“Charles! Put me down.”
“Shh, and remember, eyes closed.”
“I’m not going to be shushed.”
For some reason, I want to experience his surprise to its greatest extent, hence I keep my eyes closed, but that doesn’t stop me from smacking his behind.
God, this man has a tight ass. He could even put Captain America to shame.
“Can you please not share everything you think?” Charles chuckles before placing me down next to the tall windows in the bedroom.
“I’m not going to apologize for admiring your ass. You should be happy.”
“Thank you so much for objectifying a part of my body I don’t even spend a minute thinking about.”
“Don’t worry, there are plenty of girls who spend an unhealthy amount of time thinking about it, so it’s not getting left out.”
“Does that mean my favorite girl thinks about it too?” He grins.
His favorite girl.
Oh. My. God.
I’m going to die from all of this swooning.
There’s a ringing of his cellphone, but instead of reaching for it, Charles opens the window latch, and we walk to the patio.
“Ready?” he asks, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.
“For what?” I’m unable to hold back my own smile.
He points his finger toward the sky, where fireworks go off one after another, resembling shooting stars.
My heart is beating so loud and fast right now I think I might just die of a heart attack.
“Make a wish fast, wife.”
I wish there could be a world where this suffocating man standing beside me could want the same things as I do, and for whom my wishes and dreams, however silly they may be, mean the same to him as they do for me.
When the last firework goes up, I turn around and throw myself in Charles’ arms.
He catches me immediately.
“How the hell did you do that? You are this broody, scowling man for the entire evening, and then you…you arrange fireworks like shooting stars for me. Do you suffer from multiple personality disorder?”
“Can I not be a simple man with a brilliant idea to make his wife smile?” He grins, looking me in the eye.
“You’re anything but simple, Charles Hawthorne.” My hands find their way to his hair.
I get to see Charles’ killer smile for only one more second before his lips slam against mine. There’s a buzzing electricity that sparks from my lips and travels throughout my body, leaving goose bumps in its wake. With me still in his arms, Charles takes a few steps forward until he has my back flat against the wall.
His chest presses against mine. His hard erection pokes at my center through our clothes, and slowly, his hand goes from my waist to the back of my neck. I have no clue how he’s doing it, but Charles’ touch is equally possessive and tender.
My arms lock around his neck like a lifeline. I’m completely lost in him, sensations drowning me in his spell.
We pull apart for oxygen only for a second before Charles’ lips are back on me. This time, his forehead touches mine, and my heart catapults out of my body.
“Are you ready to beg, my dear wife?” His voice is hoarse, a tone I’ve never heard.
A part of me is about to scream yes, but my brain, which thankfully still has some cells working, is telling a different story.
My body has started to react around Charles in a way that is unacceptable. If I want to have any chance at keeping my heart safe from this man, I shouldn’t forget the reality of this marriage.
I slowly shake my head.
Instead of being disappointed, a sly grin takes over Charles’ face. “Then I’ll be waiting for the moment you are.”
It’s been a few days since Charles surprised me with the fireworks. During this time, we’ve touched the flame of passion, but every time he asks, “Ready to beg, my dear wife?” I shake my head.
As much as my body is screaming at me to drop to my knees and pray at his pedestal, I know this would be the craziest thing I’ve ever done.
For the past thirty minutes, I’ve been doing nothing but staring at my computer screen as if it holds the answers to my questions.
How long will I be able to resist if Charles continues to tempt me this way?
I jerk in my seat at the sound of an incoming text.
Charles?
Hopeful nerves shake my hand, but it’s not him.
Willow: Can you take some time off for lunch and last-minute holiday shopping? We three are headed to the mall.
Me: Yes.
Maybe this is what I need. A girlfriend therapy session.
I drop a text to Charles, who’s currently in a meeting on the other side of town.
Me: I’m going to have lunch with my friends.
I grab my bag, swapping my furry slippers for heels, and march toward the elevator.
What I didn’t expect was for him to text me back.
Husband aka Charles Adorable Hawthorne: Dave is waiting for you.
Me: How are you texting me in the middle of a meeting?
Husband aka Charles Adorable Hawthorne: With my hands. :)
He sent me an emoji!
The elevator car arrives and the doors open, but my feet remain stuck to the landing.
Me: Didn’t you once say emojis are juvenile?
Husband aka Charles Adorable Hawthorne: I plead momentary insanity, my dear wife. Now, let your husband do some honest work.
I’m not even going to try lying.
I love everything about his text.
Husband aka Charles Adorable Hawthorne: And, Daisy, stay safe.
Elodie groans as we all settle in at the corner table in the food court. “God, it feels like we haven’t been here in centuries.”
If I can ignore the rings on my finger and a few curious glances from shoppers as they recognize me, everything feels the same as when I was just Daisy Price and Charles was my asshole boss.
Before I can hang on to that feeling for a little longer, Violet plucks a cheesy fry from my plate. “One of my journalist friends told me that the firework show everyone believed was practice for New Year’s was actually a rich dude’s surprise for his girl.”
“Really!” Willow squeals while the delicious burger becomes hard to swallow in my mouth. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know.” Violet’s teasing gaze fixes on me. “But whenever someone says rich , whose name comes to your mind?”
“Holy crap! You mean it was Charles?” Willow turns to me in her seat.
“I don’t know. If it was Charles, I’m freakishly happy for Daze, but if it was someone else, I can’t wait to find out about Cherrywood’s new rich Romeo.” Violet crosses her arms over her chest, with her grin intact and her gaze never leaving me. “So was it Charles?”
I keep my face straight.
Should I tell them? There’s definitely no NDA around that. Plus, with Violet’s penchant for gossip, how long can it be kept hidden anyway?
“It was. But it’s no big deal.”
“Uh-huh.” My friends make a collective sound, clearly stating without words that they’re not buying it a bit.
“I was upset about something, and he wanted to make me feel better.”
“And all the florists and chocolate shops were closed?” Violet raises a brow.
“I’m with Vi on this one. Fireworks are a bit…” Willow trails off, but Violet finishes for her.
“Over the top? Unless he asked for a blow job or something kinky in return.”
“Are you crazy, Vi? No!” He was just expecting me to beg.
“What happened after the fireworks?”
I groan. “Not you too, Elodie.”
“Do you blame me for being shocked? Charles, aka the asshole boss whose actions you said are grimmer than thriller movies, is suddenly behaving like a lovesick Romeo.”
“No one is behaving like anything.” I feel the butterflies in my stomach taking flight once again.
“Why don’t you leave the interpretation part to us? Just say what happened after the fireworks.”
Before I can succumb to Violet’s incessant journalistic probing, my phone vibrates on the table.
Dave: All okay there, Daisy? FYI, I’m still on the ground floor, and the gentleman in the store has shown me things I didn’t even know existed. How long can I look at the different shades of blue ties that actually all look the same to me?
My lips curl into a smile. After Charles made it clear he’d appoint Dave as my personal bodyguard, I agreed on one condition—Dave can shadow me, but he can’t do that in plain sight.
“Hi.”
The phone slips from my hands when I feel someone right behind me.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, Mrs. Hawthorne,” says the woman who looks around my age. “That man”—she looks behind her shoulder, but there’s no one—“he was right here. But never mind, he gave me this. It’s for you.” She slides an envelope on the table, and a grin appears on her face while my heart thuds seeing my name written in Charles’ flowing handwriting.
Daisy Hawthorne.
“Um, th-thank you,” I stutter, without realizing that she’s already gone. My hands and heart tremble as I open the envelope and pull out the card.
Dear wife,
I have a surprise for you. Meet me at Madison Blue, Room 215.
Your husband.
“Wow! And you guys didn’t trust my jerk-boyfriend purging ritual!” Violet grins. “We asked the Supreme Goddess to send you a prince and now Charles Hawthorne is visiting malls in the middle of the day. Didn’t you use to call him workaholic supremo ? But I guess we can safely call him Daisy-aholic now.”
“I…”
“You don’t have to say anything. Now, let’s go.” Willow rises, and Violet and Elodie follow suit while I’m still stuck in my chair.
“Wait! I…I’m not done eating.”
Plus, I haven’t even wrapped my head around this version of Charles. Texting emojis and now this?
“Daze, what’s more important?” Willow leans forward, forcing me to look up at her. “Your husband, who stopped his day’s work and must have planned something romantic—”
“And filled with tons and tons of sex,” Violet adds, escalating my heartbeat some more.
Is it possible Charles finally lost patience?
Haven’t you?
“Thanks, Vi.” Willow grins at our crazy friend before turning back to me. “And filled with tons and tons of sex. Or this mediocre burger?”
“Hey! I love the burgers here,” I say.
“Daisy!” Willow holds my shoulder. “Why the heck are you still talking and not running to the hotel?”
“Because I’m nervous,” I whisper, and they stare at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language. “Charles has never done anything like this before,” I add.
“Shouldn’t you be happy instead of nervous?” Willow asks slowly.
My heart lurches in my throat, and I wait for it all to sink in.
“What’s it gonna be, Daze? You staying or leaving?”
If you follow the note, it’s definitely scary but also exciting, Daisy. If you choose to stay, there’s only regret. You’ll never get to see this side of Charles.
“Leaving.” I rise out of my chair.
A few minutes later, I step out of the elevator on the second floor of Madison Blue, which is located at the east side of the mall.
My stomach is in knots, equally nervous and excited to see what’s waiting for me.
I take a right, following the direction for room 215, and come face-to-face with a man walking back and forth in the lobby, probably searching for someone.
Recognition flashes in his eyes, and after a stunned pause, I give him a polite smile. I’m still getting used to people recognizing me as Charles’ wife. But when the man replies with a grin of his own, I feel like I know him from somewhere.
Stop making excuses, Daisy.
My inner self reprimands me and reminds me of Charles’ words from yesterday instead.
“Is my wife ready to beg?”
If he keeps asking every day, then it won’t be long before I’m saying, “Yes, sir. This girl is all set to get on her knees.”
I’m still grinning like a lunatic while knocking on the door of the room. When there’s no response for several moments, I turn the old-fashioned golden knob and it opens. But the moment I step inside, all the humor evaporates in an instant at the sight of the man before me.
“Jax!” I retreat instead of going forward as the door shuts behind me. “What the heck are you doing here?”
“Hi, Daisy,” my ex says in a fake excited voice. “Or should I say Mrs. Hawthorne.” A sinister grin takes over his face, and my stomach ties into a knot on reflex. “Does Charles Hawthorne really think he can fool this town so easily? He got hitched up to the first available woman.”
Jax takes a step closer, and my surprise finally breaks.
“You sent me that note!” I gasp. “How?”
“How difficult do you think it is to arrange a faux version of Charles Hawthorne’s personal stationery?” Jax tsks, reminding me how often he used to make that annoying sound while criticizing me in the past.
“You’ve always been so careless, Daisy. Your boss’ notes lie around the apartment all the time. And Charles, I don’t even know where to begin with that idiot. For someone so paranoid about his privacy, he always left handwritten notes and instructions for his assistant. Has he not heard of email?”
“That’s called being considerate. He knows I find it easier to read on paper. You would be aware of it, too, if in our five-year relationship, you’d have made a sincere effort to know me.”
After I was diagnosed with a reading disability at a young age, my parents worked hard with me and some amazing therapists, so much that I almost feel no impact of it in my daily life. But reading and writing long notes on a screen still demands time, and I’ve compensated well for that by working overtime. Charles has never once been late because of my issues, and in fact, over time, he has embraced my love for paper.
But after being called out by Jax, it feels like someone just threw water over my years of hard work.
I’m unable to pull my gaze away from this man.
Is he really the one I wasted my time and tears on?
“Is that why you agreed to be his fake wife? Because he let you keep your job despite being dumb?”
“I’m not dumb, asshole. I had difficulty reading. I’m shocked I dated you!”
“And I’m shocked he married you and ruined my career for doing that interview.” Jax’s bloodshot eyes, fueled with rage, force me to take another step back.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jax. But I have no interest in spending a second longer in this room.” I turn to leave, but Jax tugs on my arms and crowds me against a wall.
“Oh, no. You don’t get to leave so soon, Daisy. And if you really don’t know, then let me educate you. Your husband destroyed my IPO. In one night, all my investors pulled out. Everything I’ve worked for since years was snatched right out of my hands.”
Oh my God!
I feel bad for Jax. I really do, despite the cheap trick he played with me. If there’s anything in this world he genuinely cared about, it’s that IPO.
But that sentiment lasts for no more than a second as he looks down at his watch.
“In fifteen minutes from now, the lobby outside this room will be filled with press and media. What do you think they’ll believe when they see you and me together walking out of a hotel room?”
That’s when it hits me.
“The man outside…he’s the one who took your interview?”
“He sure did. It’s about time Charles Hawthorne learns that he’s not a god in this town.”