30. Hearta Jerk-Off
30
HEART OR A JERK-OFF
DAISY
I swipe my key card and stride into Charles’ house, making a beeline for the left wing and the guest bedroom. I don’t stop until I’ve reached the bathroom.
Struggling with the soaked dress, I wrestle with the zipper until it finally gives way, and I peel it off. I’m shivering and my teeth chatter nonstop as I get inside the shower. Even when I hate admitting it, Charles was right about one thing tonight—there’s a high chance I’ll be sick tomorrow. Adjusting the water to a slightly too-hot temperature, I let it cascade over me, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.
Why does my heart ache as though someone has ripped out a part of it?
Since we got married, every time the topic of babies and families came up, Charles made it perfectly clear—both in words and actions—that he wants no part of it.
So why does it hurt so much?
Perhaps because you foolishly hoped these past weeks might change his mind.
My inner voice chooses the worst moment to chime in.
“No, I didn’t.”
My job was never to change Charles, only to ensure he gets the CEO position he deserves. And as always, I’ve done my job.
But isn’t he the same man who gave you that rhinestone daisy hair clip? A piece of jewelry that was the greatest expression of love between your parents?
He never used the word love .
Right now, I feel like a three-headed monster. My two inner voices clamor for attention, each with its own argument, until it all becomes too much and a fresh headache blooms.
“Enough.”
I shut off the water and step out of the shower, only to realize that none of my toiletries are here. For the first time since arriving in this house, I’m not sharing the same space as Charles.
My eyes close, and memories from just a few hours ago flood my mind. While getting ready for the event, Charles and I were in perfect sync. I brushed my teeth while he shaved at the sink. As I applied makeup, he stood behind me, tying his tie and casting smoldering glances my way. He zipped up my dress as I adjusted his pocket square. We looked every bit the perfect couple, ready for an amazing evening and looking forward to a memorable night.
But that was all an illusion.
It’s my mistake that I forgot the reality of our marriage.
I’m here on a job, and hiding out in the guest room isn’t just childish—it’s jeopardizing everything Charles and I have worked for.
I slip on a bathrobe and leave the bathroom, but my legs hesitate to carry me to the door. It’s a dance of one step forward, two steps back, until I finally sink onto the bed.
I’ll worry about the world and Charles tomorrow.
Turning from one side to the other, something feels off. The Egyptian cotton sheets scratch against my skin, as though this is the most uncomfortable bed I’ve ever slept in.
How did everything shift so drastically in such a short time?
Before our marriage, I used to hate thinking about Charles more than necessary, but now when he’s not near me, I miss him like he’s a soldier away on deployment and I’m the wife who hasn’t seen her husband in months.
When I finally fall asleep, I dream about seahorses. In their world, the male seahorse carries the eggs until they hatch. If any father has a right to complain about babies being too much work, it should be a seahorse dad.
The bed dips beside me and I whisper, “Don’t disturb the dad.”
“Hush, go back to sleep,” he whispers, enfolding me in his arms.
My heart flutters with the realization that this isn’t a dream. He’s come to me after an argument. “Charles? What are you doing here?”
In this simple gesture lies the answer to why his words cut me so deep.
Beneath Charles’ unyielding, invincible businessman exterior beats a heart full of worry, care, fear, and love—all human emotions, even when he wants everyone to believe he’s some sort of robot.
“The bed feels too big and too empty without you,” he murmurs against my hair. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Daisy. I’m sorry for everything I said. Fuck, how did I not know about your parents?”
I turn toward him, my face brushing against the curve of his neck. He holds me so tightly, as if afraid I’ll slip away again.
If only he knew how hard these few hours have been for me.
“I don’t often talk about it,” I confess, wanting to share a part of my past with him. “I was Daisy Hazy Price, daughter of Jason and Penny Price. I couldn’t have asked for more loving parents. I may not have been born in their house, but it was always my home.”
Charles strokes my hair, and I lean into his soft touch.
“Within a year of my arrival, Mom and Dad made sure everything around me felt like mine. My drawings hung up on the fridge, clinging to magnets from our various trips. They replaced all the photos of just the two of them with ones including me in every corner. Honestly, most of the time I forget I don’t share the same genetics as my parents. But then moments like these, when I meet kids like me, I’m reminded of a part of my life I’ve unconsciously forgotten. I realize how fortunate I am to have such parents.” My throat tightens, and Charles kisses the top of my head.
“I’m so fucking sorry. I know words will never be enough for all the nonsense I said and did tonight, but please accept my apology.”
My head rests against his heart, which always seems to beat a little too fast.
Is it only when I’m around him, or is it always like this?
“You hate kids, don’t you?”
Charles stiffens beside me, and several moments pass in silence. Just when I think I won’t get a reply, he answers, “I don’t hate kids, Daisy. I hate the idea of being a father because I know I’ll fail, and I hate failing.”
What? That’s…something I never imagined.
“How can you speak with such certainty about something you’ve never experienced before? Maybe you’ll be an amazing dad.” Hope swells within me as I picture Charles cradling a baby in his arms.
“Please.” He gently holds my face in his hands. “I really don’t want to talk about this anymore. I know it’s not for me.” His expression softens, and I don’t know what he sees on my face when he adds, “Do you know how much damage bad parenting can cause, even unintentionally? I don’t want someone to grow up believing they’d have been better off never being born.”
“Charles!” I gasp. “Why would you say something like that?”
“I was not a product of love, Daisy.” His grip tightens, almost painfully, but the emotional intensity swirling in his eyes silences me. “I was a pawn in my birth mother’s scheme to take over the Hawthorne business. I’m fortunate to have had Dad and, later, Kristy in my life. But an unloved childhood leaves its scars. I know I’m flawed and could never risk passing on these fears to someone, knowing a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to heal them.”
A pang of pain shoots through me.
How did I never see this side of him?
I should have.
I understand the feeling of being unwanted by your own parents. The same emotion that fueled my desire to have my own family had an opposite effect on Charles.
He doesn’t want kids, to spare them the pain we both endured.
How could I even hold it against him?
He has every right to feel the way he does.
I place a kiss over his dry lips. “Thank you for opening up to me, and I’m so sorry you had to go through all those emotions as a kid.”
Charles returns my kiss with one on my forehead and asks, “So are we good?”
I nod after a beat.
But are we really good?
Yes, we’ve resolved what happened this evening, but tonight also made something painfully clear.
Charles and I are like two corners of a river. We may flow in the same direction and experience the same waves of emotions, but we can never merge.
While I long for the warmth of a big family, he wants no part of it.
We are undeniably an imperfect match.
I wake up feeling as though a drummer is pounding away inside my head. Shifting to my side, I release a groan, my throat feeling as if it’s been rubbed raw with sandpaper.
Geez! How sick am I?
I place my palm on my forehead, only to have it replaced by Charles’ large, warm hand.
“I knew you’d get sick.”
“I’ll be fine soon,” I mutter before succumbing to a coughing fit.
“Yeah, I can see that. I’m going to ask Mrs. Kowalski to make you a warm drink.”
My eyes shut as Charles leaves the bed. God, I need something for this pounding headache.
My fingers are pressed against my forehead when a squeal rips out of my throat. My eyes shoot open as I’m lifted into the air.
“Charles! What on earth are you trying to do, kill me?”
“Don’t be so dramatic! I’m taking you back to where you belong.”
Moments later, he settles me onto his bed beneath the soft silk covers. His face is mere inches from mine.
“Promise me you’ll never leave this room after an argument. If something bothers you, talk to me. I don’t want us to be the kind of couple who can’t resolve issues through talking.”
Oh, Charles!
“Are you the same guy who has branded himself an anti-conversationalist ?”
His lips twitch and his blue eyes crinkle. “Not when it comes to my dear wife. For her, I can be a chatterbox.”
“If I wasn’t feeling so sick, I’d pounce on you right now.”
How can he be this freaking sweet?
“Easy there, tiger.” He grins and leans closer, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to pounce on me later. For now, please just rest.”
He hands me two white pills and a glass of water, and I take them without question.
Sometime later, when I blink my eyes open, the medicine has started to show its effect. My headache has dulled slightly, but unfortunately, my throat still throbs just the same. Adjusting the pillows, I attempt to sit up as the door swings open and Charles steps in, phone pressed to his ear.
“That sounds good, Doc.” He’s once again impeccably dressed in a crisp white shirt and a silk tie, though today, he’s missing a matching pocket square. Worry lines crease his forehead as he settles beside me. “How are you feeling now?”
“Much better.” I place my hand on his cheek, my heart fluttering as he leans in and, without caring about the germs, places a quick kiss on my fevered lips.
Isn’t he the same man who had the cleaning staff sanitize his entire office floor after Jimmy once went into a coughing fit?
“The doctor will be here in fifteen minutes.” Charles glances down at his watch. “I’ll wait until he arrives.”
I grab his wrist and look down at the time. Even disoriented, my practiced brain remembers his schedule by heart.
“Charles, you have a meeting with Vincent Beaumont in person in an hour. I’m perfectly capable of talking to the doctor myself.”
He makes no move to get up, but his gentle fingers tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
I must look horrible, with a red nose, puffy eyes, and sweaty hair plastered to my forehead, yet he gazes at me as if I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
“You certainly know how to make a girl feel special, my dear husband.” I touch his freshly trimmed jaw, and he playfully boops my nose in response.
“You are no ordinary girl, my dear wife.” A smile finally graces his lips.
“Please go to the meeting. I’ll text you as soon as the doctor leaves.”
Silence hangs between us, and I watch various emotions flicker across his face before he reluctantly nods. “Okay. But if you forget to text me—”
“I won’t,” I reply fast, pushing the covers aside.
“Whoa. Where do you think you’re going?” Charles grabs my waist, putting me back in place. “You stay right in this bed until the doctor says you’re perfectly fine.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m sure you’d prefer that I meet the doctor wearing more than just a bathrobe.” I nod toward my body, and Charles’ gaze follows.
His eyes flare before he quickly shakes his head.
“Definitely!” His response is clipped while I bite my lip to stop my grin. Charles slowly rises up. “But just stay here.” A second later, he returns with a pair of my underwear and a pajama set that has cupcakes all over them. “Change here.”
“I’m not changing in front of you, Charles. I don’t look sexy at all right now.”
He grabs my shoulders, locking eyes with me.
“You difficult, difficult girl. I’m not a perv. I was going to give you your privacy and go out of the room, but you don’t leave the bed unless you have to use the bathroom. Got it?”
I nod more than a few times. “How can I disobey my husband’s orders?”
He chuckles, kissing my forehead again. “You’re the least obedient person, Daisy. Now get changed and remember to take it easy today.”
I’m still smiling even after Charles leaves.
Lately, my mood swings like a pendulum, shifting from one extreme to the other. Right now, I’m riding high on happiness.
Exactly twenty minutes later, the Hawthorne family doctor pays me a visit. After taking a blood sample, he prescribes some antibiotics and advises me to take it easy for the entire week.
Once the doctor leaves, I shoot a text to Charles.
Me: Following doctor’s orders, I’m off duty for the week, Mr. Hawthorne. Hope you can manage without me. ~ Your obedient assistant.
His reply is immediate.
Husband aka Charles Adorable Hawthorne: Working without my competent assistant will be a challenge, no doubt, but I’d rather have my wife get some rest and get well soon. So I’ll try to manage. ~ Your loving husband.
Me: Awwww, who knew you could be so cute, hubby. ?? ??
Husband aka Charles Adorable Hawthorne: I love the new nickname, but what are those hands doing? Is it some kind of hint that you want to jerk me off?
I burst into laughter.
Me: You and your one-track mind. They’re hands making heart signs. ????
The cutest thing happens next. My emoji-despising husband replies to me with a kiss.
Husband aka Charles Adorable Hawthorne: ??
If getting sick is the price to pay to see this sweet and cute side of Charles, I’ll be praying for rain every week.
Husband aka Charles Adorable Hawthorne: Enough texting for now, my dear wife. I don’t want you getting another headache.
Me: You’re no fun.
Husband aka Charles Adorable Hawthorne: I’ll be fun in person this evening.
I glance around the empty room and then down at my phone, hesitating before typing another message to Charles.
Me: Is it okay if I invite my friends over?
My teeth sink into my bottom lip. I know Charles doesn’t like people invading his private space.
Husband aka Charles Adorable Hawthorne: That’s your home too, Daisy. You can invite anyone you like.
Reading his response, I let out a squeal so loud that Mrs. K rushes from the kitchen to check on me. She looks at me with a mix of surprise and concern.
“Sorry, my friend just sent me a picture of a cute kitten.”
It takes a moment before she smiles and leaves, and I grab my phone.
Me: You are the cutest. Can’t wait to see you this evening.
Husband aka Charles Adorable Hawthorne: Have fun. Now let your husband get some honest work done.
About an hour later, my friends are gathered in Charles’ kitchen while Mrs. K prepares her mouth-watering pierogi. I’m perched between Elodie and Violet on the barstools, sipping ginger-orange tea. Willow is behind the counter, bombarding our chef with questions like a third grader.
“Why don’t you all sit in the living room, and I’ll bring the food as soon as it’s ready? I’m worried you’ll overexert yourself, Daisy,” Mrs. K suggests kindly.
Before I can respond, Willow hides her hands behind her back, which were moments ago chopping herbs. “Am I bothering you too much with my questions?”
Mrs. K smiles. “Not at all, dear. I love having company in the kitchen.”
“Oh, thank goodness, because I’m having a blast.” Willow throws her arms around Charles’ housekeeper, who looks momentarily surprised before patting my friend’s back affectionately.
Her smiling gaze meets mine. “You girls go. I’m sure Mr. Hawthorne wouldn’t be thrilled to hear that you spent the whole day with me in the kitchen, Daisy.”
“Okay,” I agree, more so because my headache is slowly starting to make a grand appearance.
Once the three of us are settled on the couch, Elodie surprises me. “When you said you were sick, I really thought you were pregnant.”
“What? Why would you think that?” My hand reaching for my tea on the table freezes midair.
“Daze, even when we were kids, your biggest dream was to have your own family. It was natural for me to think so, now that you’re married to a man you love.”
“And not just any man, but Charles Hawthorne,” Violet adds.
“You thought the same?” I ask cautiously.
“Of course. Haven’t you read any gossip columns recently?” Violet nods.
“No, why?”
“There’s an article about you and Charles almost every week speculating if you guys got married because you were pregnant, or better yet, when the next Hawthorne will be born. So, believe me, there are a lot of people waiting to see your little one!” Violet grins, filling my chest with equal parts warmth and despair. It’s the feeling that comes when you wake up after dreaming about your biggest wish coming true. You feel the skin-tingling euphoria about something that’s just a figment of your imagination.
I shake my head slowly and take a sip of my warm drink. “Thank you for keeping me updated on the town gossip, but enough about me. What’s new with you guys? I feel like I haven’t seen you for so long.”
“You’ll be pleased to hear that I’m joining the local news as their newest local reporter.” Violet beams.
“You are? Oh my God, that’s such great news, Vi!” Elodie and I throw ourselves over Vi, laughing and tumbling onto the floor until my senses remind me of any potential germs I might transfer to my friends.
“I only got the confirmation two days ago—”
“And you waited two days to tell us about your dream coming true? That’s so cool, Vi!” I playfully smack her hand before settling back on the couch.
“Sorry.” Violet holds her ears with a sheepish smile. “But the dream is to someday work for the Elite Gazette , but yeah, this is a good start.” There’s unmissable glee on her face as she claps her hands together. “I can’t wait to cover all the amazing gossip in town.”
“You know you have to publish real news and not just gossip, right?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Of course.” She waves her hand dismissively. Elodie and I probably don’t look convinced, because Violet straightens up. “If you must know, I’m very ethical when it comes to journalism.”
Before I can ask her if there’s a journalist oath, Willow enters the room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.
“Why were you all squealing as if you just found out that Minnie King is performing in town and we just got front-row tickets?”
Minnie King, aka Dreamcatcher, is one of the most famous pop soul and ballad singers, and she has fans from all age groups, nine to ninety.
“About my new job.” Violet shrugs, then looks at me and Elodie. “I told her this morning.”
“Since when are you interested in cooking, by the way?” Elodie flicks her eyes toward Willow.
“What, because I cook badly, I’m not allowed to enter anyone’s kitchen?” Willow flops onto the floor, sitting cross-legged. When she pushes the sleeves of her pullover up, the vines of her tattoos peek out. “Since you sound so interested, I’m trying to rope in a new chef at the inn.”
“That’s amazing, Willow. Does that mean business is going well?” Elodie asks, but Willow’s expression darkens.
“What is it?” I tilt my head to the side.
An irritated look crosses her face. “Remember my grandfather’s land, the one he inherited from his parents?”
“The one you’re supposed to inherit next?”
Willow’s mouth twists into a thin line at my words. “I was supposed to, but now someone else is claiming ownership. He’s a distant second cousin and claims the land was gifted to his father several years ago. After the initial shock, I thought maybe it’d be for the good. What’s better than having a business partner who’s also family?”
“But he isn’t on board with your plans?” Elodie leans forward.
“No, he wants to sell it to some big hotel chain. I don’t know who the buyer is, but I know he has deep pockets and big connections.”
“Oh, Wills! I’m so sorry. Is there anything we can do to help? Maybe I can talk to Charles.” There’s no one in town with deeper pockets and bigger connections than him.
Willow finally smiles and shakes her head. “Thank you so much, but not yet. I have a plan. Maybe I can turn this around to my advantage.” The spark returns to her eyes. “I have an appointment scheduled with the big-shot hotelier. I’m going to pitch my plans for the land—extending our inn to a rustic, charming wedding location. Apart from the Butterfly Inn, there’s no other proper wedding venue in Cherrywood, but we host so many weddings each year.”
“That’s so true!” I find myself nodding along with Elodie and Vi.
“So, you all think it’s interesting and he might agree to investing in my idea instead of establishing a huge hotel that no one wants in Cherrywood?”
“Of course!” I give her a high five. “That’s very smart, Wills.” But I’m not entirely surprised, Willow has always been the one with the most business acumen.
“Thanks, but now everything rides on the mystery man, my potential investor.” Willow leans back. “So what about you, Daze? When are you starting on your plan for that big family?”
And for once, I have no response.
All my friends are working toward their dreams. They have a plan, but here I am, holding something beautiful in my hands that I never dreamed of.
What am I supposed to do now? Live this life and forget my dreams? Or leave this and chase what I’ve always wanted?
Because as badly as I want them to, these two things will never be the same.
It’s been five days since my friends visited me. I’m feeling much better now and, truth be told, eager to dive back into work. However, Charles has been adamant that I take the entire week off.
I’m sitting in the sunroom with a cup of hot cocoa. After last night’s snow, Cherrywood is draped in a beautiful white blanket, and through the clear glass, I have a picturesque view of the town—the frozen lake, snow-capped peaks, and a scattering of red and pink decorations as the town gears up for Valentine’s Day.
Despite seeing the sight all my life, my lips instinctively curl into a smile.
Our townsfolk certainly know how to celebrate.
The last few Valentine’s Days have been nothing short of dreadful for me. I’d spent weeks planning every little thing, only to end up alone since Jax was too busy with something important at work.
But this year, I’m scared to even make a single plan, knowing that the man I’d make plans for would perhaps exceed all my expectations.
If you have to plan, plan your exit, Daisy. Your work here is done. Staying any longer is only going to cause heartache.
That voice in my head grows louder with each passing day spent in this house. But that’s not the only change.
Every moment I’m with Charles, this feeling to just crawl inside him and never leave wells inside me with no end in sight.
I can’t even pinpoint the exact moment my insufferable boss transformed into the man I’ve fallen so deeply for.
You really lived up to your name this time, Daisy Hazy.
Love and family were never a part of this deal.
Shaking my head to silence the inner monologue, I reach for my laptop on the nearby table. I must return to work before I lose my mind.
I sift through my inbox to see if anything unusual jumps out, but every project seems to be on track. Until my eyes lock on an email from an unfamiliar address and my heart nearly leaps from my chest as I read the words.
Dear Mr. Hawthorne,
I trust this email finds you in good health. I’m pleased to share some photographs from the tea party you graciously sponsored for the kids. They loved everything—the clothes, the food, and the gifts. Furthermore, Max has started his sessions with his private chess instructor. Thank you for arranging that.
Best Regards,
Greta Day
Supervisor at Cherrywood Orphanage
My hands tremble as I open the attachments.
Lulu! The little girl who invited Charles to her tea party during the charity event is dressed in a delicate tutu skirt. It takes a moment for me to realize that it’s from Chloe’s last fall collection. But it’s not just Lulu, every child is wearing vibrant, chic clothes, and their radiant smiles are the most beautiful accessory.
The door to the room swings open. My laptop still rests on my lap when Charles strides in, his smile faltering as he makes a beeline toward me, dropping his laptop bag at the foot of the couch.