Chapter 3
DAISY
CHAPTER THREE
Dragging in a deep, calming breath, I shrug off my pink woollen coat and hand it to the hostess. Her perfectly manicured nails graze the buttons of my coat as she takes it from me, her eyes narrowing in disapproval at the bold colours of the outfit I'm wearing underneath. The green and blue stripes of my palazzo trousers clash purposefully with my cerise pink shirt and heeled pumps, whilst my bright cherry lipstick adds another splash of colour.
In contrast, the hostess wears a demure black pencil skirt and starched white shirt, her hair slicked back in a low bun. She exudes elegance and sophistication, just like the private members club 'M' that I have entered. The name itself is obnoxious–it means 'ten million' in Roman numerals–and you can only join if you have at least ten million pounds in your bank account. The added horizontal line above the M indicates the multiple millions you must have.
“Mr Gunn is waiting for you in the lounge,” the hostess says, hanging my coat in a closet behind her and pointing the way.
"Thank you," I reply, smiling politely, unfazed by her disapproving look as I glide past her, my heels clicking against the polished wooden floor.
The lounge itself is bathed in a soft golden light, casting a warm glow over the antique furniture and black velvet armchairs. Other members are quietly talking, enjoying the gentle melody from the pianist as he plays, their conversation interrupted by my entrance. No doubt my colourful outfit upset the muted tones of this terribly stuffy, and frankly, dull establishment. I’m not unaccustomed to this private members’ club, after all my father was once a member, but I’ve never felt truly comfortable here. There are too many judgmental people here who think that wealth gives them the right to be rude, and happiness only comes in the form of a bank balance in the millions.
Ignoring their stares and the whispers that follow me, I make my way across the room to where Dalton is seated in a secluded corner, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Almost immediately, his sharp eyes meet mine as I approach, a hint of surprise flashing across his face as he takes in my choice of outfit, before schooling his features. I can see the questions forming in his eyes, the judgement lurking behind his tight smile. But I'm not here to conform to his expectations or anyone else's for that matter. I'm here out of obligation, and I refuse to be anything other than my authentic self.
"Dalton," I say, greeting him with a forced smile of my own.
"Daisy," he retorts, gesturing for me to take a seat opposite him, and as I do, I catch the flicker of annoyance in his gaze. "Did you happen to pass through a rainbow on your way here?"
I arch a brow, pointedly taking in his own choice of outfit; a black suit with a dark grey shirt and tie. "Funny, I was just wondering whether you'd just stepped out of a storm cloud. There's no accounting for taste."
"I prefer sophistication over a circus," Dalton quips, his words laced with a subtle sting.
I meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down despite the tension crackling in the air between us. "And I prefer authenticity over pretence," I shoot back, my tone firm and unwavering.
Dalton's jaw tightens imperceptibly, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he leans back in his chair, appraising me with a critical eye.
"You never quite fit in, did you?" he muses, swirling the amber liquid in his glass thoughtfully before taking a mouthful.
"If by fitting in you mean having my head stuck up my arse, then no, I guess I haven't. Besides, why conform to the mundane when you can dazzle in technicolour?" I quip back, raising an eyebrow challengingly.
Dalton chuckles, a patronising smile playing on his lips. "Always the rebel, aren't you, Daisy?"
Before I can retort, the waiter approaches the table to take our drink orders. Dalton orders another scotch on the rocks while I opt for a vibrant cocktail that matches the riot of colours that make up my outfit.
I watch Dalton closely as he engages in small talk with the waiter, his icy exterior momentarily melting into a facade of charm and ease. It's something I've grown accustomed to. Dalton has lived and breathed this world his whole life, and has been trained to act accordingly. He is a Gunn, and there are certain expectations he must fulfil, keeping up appearances being one of them.
"So, what is it that you wanted to speak about exactly?" I ask once the waiter leaves. "The sooner we're done here, the sooner I can go home."
"How are Lia and Toby doing?" Dalton counters. I must look surprised because he then adds, "Drix called me from the hospital. He filled me in on what happened."
"I see," I reply, blinking back the threat of tears at the memory of that awful morning. I haven't told anyone, but the whole experience has brought to the surface some disturbing memories of my own, and I've been battling with them ever since.
"Daisy?" he prompts, a frown appearing between his eyebrows.
"Lia is going to be okay. She's a strong woman, and Drix has been incredible with her. He loves her so much," I explain, swallowing hard. Their love is such a joy to witness, but it only highlights what I'm lacking in my own love life. Forcing that thought away, I continue. "Toby is such a resilient little boy too. They're going to be okay now that they have each other, and that pig rots in jail."
He nods, a muscle in his jaw flexing as he grits his teeth. "And you? How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," I reply tightly, and Dalton reaches across the table for my hand. His fingertips brush against my skin, and I pull away from him, crossing my arms.
"Daisy, don't lie to me," he says. "That was quite an ordeal you all went through."
"Like you care," I mutter, my heart clenching at his words, hating myself for feeling vulnerable in his presence. Dropping my gaze, I stare at the shiny surface of the table between us, the soft lighting reflecting off its surface.
"I care," he eventually says.
I laugh bitterly. "You don't have to pretend with me, Dalton."
"Daisy, look at me," he commands, his voice low, gruff.
Slowly I raise my gaze to meet his, schooling my features so he doesn't see how shaken I truly am. His piercing gaze seems to see right through me, and I fight the urge to break eye contact.
"I wanted to come to the hospital," he explains, running a hand through his hair.
"Then why didn't you?"
"Drix said he didn't want me there, that you didn't."
The atmosphere between us becomes even more tense as Dalton's words sink in. I feel a surge of unwavering love towards my brother for keeping Dalton away. I understand why he did it. Drix was trying to protect me, just like he always does. Besides, what difference would it have made if Dalton had come? It's not as if he truly cares about me. He just wants to secure his future, and a very substantial inheritance.
Before I can respond, the waiter returns with our drinks balanced on a tray, but as he reaches for Dalton's scotch he somehow manages to knock over my cocktail, shattering the glass on the table and spilling the contents all over my blouse.
I gasp as the cold liquid seeps into the fabric, staining it. My heart races as I look down at the mess, heat colouring my cheeks as everyone turns around to stare.
"I'm so sorry, madam," the waiter stammers, his expression panicked as Dalton stands.
"You idiot!" Dalton growls at the waiter as he rounds the table and grips my elbow gently, his long fingers pressing into my skin. "Daisy, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I retort, shards of glass dropping to the floor as I stand. "I'll just go and clean up."
Dalton throws a glare at the waiter. "Clean this mess up, and replace our drinks," he snaps, before guiding me away from the table and towards the restrooms situated at the far side of the lounge, his palm pressing into my lower back.
"I'm quite capable of cleaning myself up," I say as he pushes open the door to the ladies room.
But Dalton doesn't listen, his jaw set with determination as he steers me inside.
The room is empty, the muted lighting casting a warm glow over the elegant decor. I head towards the sink, but before I can turn on the gold-plated faucet, Dalton's hand lands on mine, stopping me in my tracks.
"Let me help you," he says softly, his deep-set, blue eyes searching mine.
The air between us thins, or at least it feels that way as he regards me. Dalton has always been that man, you know the type, the ones who suck the oxygen from the room and steal if for themselves.
"I don't think so," I reply tightly, shrugging him off as I wet a paper towel and begin to dab at the stain on my blouse. Only I seem to be making it worse, not better. I let out a heavy sigh. "Pretty sure this is ruined."
"Maybe you should just dry it off?" Dalton suggests, eyeing the hand dryer.
"I guess," I mutter, unbuttoning and shrugging out of my ruined blouse as I lift my gaze back up to meet his.
The heated look in his eyes stills my hand, and I realise in that moment that I'm practically naked in an empty restroom with a sex addict, who also happens to be my fiancé.
"You're full of surprises, Daisy," he says, a little too gruffly for my liking as his gaze drops to my breasts encased in a pretty cerise lace bralette. I'm not sure if he's referring to my choice of bra or the fact that I've just stripped in front of him.
"Don't get any funny ideas," I retort, giving him my back as I place my soaked blouse under the hand dryer and let the warm air dry it off.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he mutters after a moment.
After a few minutes, my blouse is dry enough to wear once again. As I slip it back on, I can feel his gaze burning into my back. It's unnerving, yet strangely thrilling. Though I quickly shake that feeling off. Everyone knows Dalton has no discernment when it comes to women, as long as they have a vagina, he'll fuck them.
"Believe it or not, I wanted to come to the hospital. I wanted to see if you were okay," he suddenly admits. "Are you okay, Daisy?"
"Thank you for your concern," I reply quietly, my fingers stilling on the top button of my blouse as he steps closer, his presence looming behind me. "But I'm perfectly fine."
"You sure about that?" he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear, his body way too close for comfort.
My pulse flutters at his proximity, and I turn to face him, only to find his lips dangerously close to mine. The air crackles with tension, and I find myself questioning why I'm not shoving him away.
“I’m fine,” I repeat.
"Something tells me you're lying," he adds, his gaze flicking to my lips then back up again to meet my eyes.
"You might want to back up, Dalton. You know what happened before when you stepped out of line," I remind him, hating that he sees something in me that I thought I'd hidden.
"We're in public," he counters. "Fiancé."
"We're in a restroom, arsehole," I snap back.
Before things can escalate further, the door behind us swings open, jolting us apart. A middle-aged woman enters, her eyes widening in surprise. Dalton cocks a brow, and I glare at him, seeing the intention in his eyes. Fortunately for us both he doesn't try to kiss me.
"We were just leaving," Dalton says, stepping back, his charming mask slipping back into place as he smiles at the woman and takes my hand in his.
When we reach our table, Dalton releases my hand and pulls out my chair with practised ease, offering me a polite smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Immediately reaching for my cocktail that the waiter replaced in our absence, I gulp it down in one go, thankful for the distraction.
"So why am I here exactly?" I ask, placing the empty glass back on the table between us.
Dalton chews on his lip, giving me a look I can't quite interpret before he reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. My heart stills.
"Is that what I think it is?" I blurt out, dragging in a shaky breath.
"Open it," he replies, pushing the small box across the table between us.
Reaching for it, I flip open the lid. "It's..."
"An engagement ring, Daisy," he finishes for me, a small smile jerking up his lips.
I stare at the huge princess cut diamond set in platinum gold. I'm no expert on the value of such things, but given its size, and Dalton's reputation for extravagant gestures, I can only imagine the cost.
"This is absurd," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't accept this."
"Why not?" he asks, his voice tight.
"Because it isn't real."
"I can assure you that diamond is very real, and worth a substantial amount of money."
"That's not what I meant," I retort, closing the lid and pushing it back across the table towards him.
"Daisy, you're my fiance, my future wife. You will wear this ring," he hisses out, sliding it back towards me.
"This is not how I imagined things to go," I admit quietly, disappointment expanding in my chest. This ring isn't me. Nothing about this proposal is what I'd wanted for myself.
"Do you want me to make a grand gesture, to get down on one knee, is that it?" he asks, pushing upright as he snatches up the ring, removing it from the box before rounding the table.
"What are you doing?" I hiss, my cheeks flooding with heat as he kneels before me. "People will see!"
"Let them,” Dalton declares, his eyes locked on to mine as reaches for my left hand, his fingers warm as they clasp my palm.
Around us, the conversations fade away, leaving only the sound of my heartbeat thundering in my ears. Dalton's expression is earnest, vulnerable almost, and yet I don't trust it, I can't. This is all an act, a show for the people watching. He’s always been very good at that.
"Daisy Hammer, will you marry me?" Dalton asks, his voice ringing loud in the silence.
My stomach coils, and tears prick my eyes but not for the reason everyone here might think. This is all a lie, and even though I chose this, chose to marry Dalton, it still hurts knowing that. I always imagined an intimate proposal, just me and the man I loved somewhere secluded, romantic, not here in this members’ lounge surrounded by judgemental strangers.
Dalton holds the ring over the end of my finger, as though I have a choice to say no, that this engagement will only become real if I agree to his proposal, but we both know that's bullshit. It became real the moment I signed the contract.
"Daisy?" Dalton questions, his voice dropping, his shoulders tense as he looks up at me. There’s a tightness around his eyes, and for the briefest of moments he seems lost somehow.
"Yes, I'll marry you," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
His face lights up with a triumphant smile as he slips the ring onto my finger, and the surrounding guests begin to clap in stilted applause, as though they too suspect that all is not as it seems.
Sensing their doubt, I force a smile, my eyes flickering from the ring on my finger back to Dalton's expectant gaze. The weight of the ring feels heavier than anything I've ever experienced, a physical reminder of the choice I made, and the path I’m willingly walking down.
As Dalton rises to his feet and pulls me into a tight embrace, I can't help but feel a sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. We both know that this engagement isn't just a union of two people; it's a contract sealed with secret agreements and hidden agendas, and as much as I try to push down the rising doubts, they claw at the edges of my mind, whispering truths I'm not ready to confront.
Dalton eases back slightly, his fingers dusting across my cheek as he stares down at me. “Shall we seal this with a kiss?” he murmurs, and there isn’t a hint of hesitation in his eyes.
If I didn't know any better I could be fooled into thinking that he really wants this, wants me, but then I remember our contract and the stipulations written within it. We have to make this look real.
"Fine," I whisper back. "Just do it."
He licks his lips, his arm circling my back as he pulls me tighter against him and presses his lips against mine in a gesture that should be filled with joy and promise, but all I feel is the cool press of uncertainty against my mouth.
Mine. His. Ours.
And as his lips part, and I tentatively swipe my tongue into his mouth, something shifts almost imperceptibly. Maybe it's the fact that I've downed a strong cocktail, or perhaps it's because I truly need to make everyone believe this is real, but I kiss him back, welcoming the firm sweep of his tongue with a soft moan. He reacts immediately, his fingers sliding into my hair, gripping me tighter as I press myself against him and drag my hands up the firm planes of his muscular back.
Now as we kiss there's an air of desperation. I don't want Dalton, but I guess I just want to blot out this shit-show of a proposal with something that makes me feel more than just a means to an end. Even if it is pretend.
So we kiss like lovers might, like two people in love, and for a while I give in to the feeling of it and allow myself to believe in the lie. I let him press his body closer to mine. I submit to his demanding kiss, explore it even.
But no matter how much I try, all I keep thinking is that this is just a carefully orchestrated scene, and it makes me feel inexorably sad. Sensing the change in me, Dalton pulls back, his gaze turbulent.
"Daisy, I..." he falters, brushing his fingers over my cheek, frowning as he looks down at me.
"Don't. It's done," I reply softly, shoring up my defences, straightening my spine as I plaster on another smile. As we break apart, I notice the interested onlookers still glued to us both. They clap and murmur, gossiping amongst themselves.
"Congratulations," one gentleman says as he passes us by, his gaze flicking from Dalton to me, an eyebrow cocked quizzically.
I know what he's thinking, what is a man like Dalton Gunn doing marrying the adopted daughter of Hubert Hammer? Most of the people in this town know my history, or at least the only part of it Hubert and I were willing to share. I'm nothing but a kid abandoned by her parents, and fortunate enough to be adopted by a wealthy man. Like Dalton pointed out earlier, I've never fit in. I don't belong here, and I sure as hell don't belong to him, not in the way that counts.
"Thank you," Dalton replies, twining his hands with mine. "We're very happy, aren't we, Daisy?"
I nod, refusing to buy into this charade any more than I have too. This is a marriage of convenience, a lie, and I won't ever forget that. But for now, under the watchful eyes of strangers and amidst the facade of happiness, I bury those secrets deep within me, locking them away behind a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. This may not be the proposal I dreamed of, but it's the reality I chose.
As Dalton leads me out of the lounge, his fingers woven with mine, I realise that agreeing to this marriage is only the beginning of a twisted dance, where every step brings me further away from myself, and I can't help but wonder if I'll ever find my way back.