Page 76 of The Rogue and His Flower

“Apparently so,” I say, my jaw gritting at the audacity of my father to make arrangements without at least consulting either of us first. I should’ve known fucking better.

“It’s tradition for all Gunn’s to be married at St Augustine’s,” my father reminds me. “It will be no different for you, Dalton. The date has been set, and the invites have already been sent.”

Of course they have.

“But I just assumed–” Daisy begins.

“That you’d be married in a civil ceremony?” my father replies, cutting her off.

“Well, yes, because I’m not religious.”

“Irrelevant,” my father snaps, dismissing her with a careless wave of his hand.

“Not to me it isn’t,” she retorts, her sunny disposition slowly fading beneath his persistence and disregard for our wants.

“Regardless, you will be getting married at St Augustine’s and then you will have the wedding reception at my hotel. You’re expected at eleven this morning. Don’t be late,” my father replies, standing.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable lying to a vicar,” Daisy says, frowning.

“Why? As you said, you’re not religious, so what difference does it make lying to a vicar when you’ve been lying to everyone else quite successfully so far.”

I can see Daisy bristling with indignation, a spark of defiance lighting in her eyes. She sets down her half-eaten toast, glaring at my father.

“Daisy, there’s no avoiding it,” I interject quickly, not because I want to prevent her from giving my father a tongue-lashing—Christ knows he deserves it—but because I don’t want her good mood to be ruined before the day has even begun.

“Exactly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do,” my father adds before twisting on his heel and striding from the room.

“Is he seriously going to make us get married in a church?” she hisses.

I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’m no more happy about it than you are, but we’ve got little choice, Daisy, you know that. Besides, you heard what he said, the invitations have already been sent.”

Her shoulders sag in defeat. “I just assumed,stupidly,that it would be a civil ceremony with a registrar marrying us. I should’ve known better.”

“What’s really bothering you, Daisy? Is it the fact that we’re getting married in a church, or the fact that this is becoming all too real?” I ask, rounding the table, and pulling out the chair next to her, sitting down.

Daisy’s gaze drops to the table as she fiddles with her napkin. “I guess… it’s just that I never imagined my wedding day to be like this. I had my own ideas of how it would look.” She sighs, giving me a half-smile. “Stupid, I know, given what I agreed to.”

“How did you imagine your wedding day?” I ask, cocking my head to the side as I wait for her to answer.

“As your father so ineloquently put it, that’s irrelevant,” she retorts, her expression falling.

“It isn’t.”

“But it clearly is,” she persists. “Like you said, we can’t avoid it. Your father is the puppet master and we just have to play along, right?”

“Just humour me, will you? Tell me what your dream wedding looks like.”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I really want to know,” I agree, because it’s the truth.

“I always imagined a private wedding on a beautiful beach somewhere tropical, with only my close friends and family in attendance,” she admits with a soft sigh. “I’ve always wanted to wear one of my own designs, reciting vows to the man I love as the sun’s setting, with water lapping softly at our bare feet.”

“Sounds beautiful,” I muse, chewing on my lip as I watch her expression fall into thoughtfulness and longing.

She gives me a small shrug. “It’s just a silly dream. I’ll do what I have to do.”

I study her face, seeing both conflict and resignation warring within her as she pulls her hand free from mine, then stands.

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