Page 7 of The Rogue and His Flower

"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 areyoudoing?"

"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.

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