Page 141 of The Rogue and His Flower

“I don’t know, Dalton. I need time to think,” she whispers.

“Of course, take all the time you need,” I reply, squeezing her hand gently.

“Dalton?” she asks after a moment.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not being able to give you what you need,” she croaks out, tears spilling over her lashes as she drops her head. “For putting your inheritance in jeopardy.”

Shifting my body slightly, I reach up and cup her jaw, gently lifting her chin. “You’re who I need.You, Daisy. Please believe that.”

She nods. “Okay.”

But I feel her faith in me,in us, slipping away, so I lean in closer, brushing my lips against hers gently, pouring all the love and reassurance I can muster into that one, simple kiss, hoping, for now, that it’s enough.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

DAISY

“We’re having a dinner party tonight. Some business acquaintances will be in attendance, alongside their wives. I take it you’ve recovered enough to attend?” Carl asks, looking up at me from across the table as we eat breakfast, his steely blue eyes narrowing.

My stomach drops. Despite another week passing since Dalton and I spoke with Dr. Wigmore, and despite feeling physically better, emotionally I’m not. The thought of having to be in the company of strangers makes my stomach coil with nausea. I’m not myself. I haven’t even been able to talk openly with Dalton about possible IVF treatment, let alone our relationship, his feelings about everything, or our future for that matter. The last thing I want to do is entertain Carl’s business acquaintances and their wives with small talk.

“I–” I begin, but Dalton cuts in.

“No. Daisy’s still recovering,” he says, eyeing his father with disdain.

“Forgive me,” Carl says, narrowing his eyes at me and giving me a look that tells me he couldn’t care less about my forgiveness, “But if you’ve been able to leave the house and visitwith your brother since leaving hospital, then I think an hour or two sitting at a dinner table should be manageable, no?”

“I said she’s still recovering,” Dalton persists through gritted teeth.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Carl retorts, levelling his gaze with Dalton before looking back at me.

Dalton’s curled fist slams against the table, making the crockery and plates jump from the force. “And I don’t give a fuck, she isn’t going.”

“Dalton, please…” I whisper, shaking my head at him.

“Daisy? Is there something you wish to share?” Carl asks, lifting a brow, his gaze falling to my red jumper with yellow embroidered daisies sewn across it. I wore it purposefully in the hope that it would make me feel better, it doesn’t. Nothing is making me feel better. “Well?” he insists, and I don’t like the way he’s staring at me, as though trying to delve into my head and claw out my thoughts.

“I’m still a little tired, but I think I can manage a dinner party,” I say softly, dropping my gaze back to my bowl of half-eaten yoghurt and fruit, wishing I was far, far away from here.

The need to run away has been building with every passing day. I hate that I feel that way, and I know it isn’t fair to push Dalton away after he’s repeatedly tried to talk with me, but I can’t help feeling like this. I just need time to heal, to grieve, to figure out how to move forward. I love Dalton, that hasn’t changed, but that love has been tinged with so much sadness and disappointment, and this dreadful feeling of not being enough. We both know that there are no guarantees with IVF and if I can’t have his baby, where does that leave us? He can tell me all he likes that the contract doesn’t matter, but we both know that it does.

“Excellent. It will be a semi-formal affair, so be sure to dress accordingly,” he says, before pushing up from his seat and striding from the room.

“Daisy, you don’t have to do this,” Dalton says as I move to stand, wanting to get away, to go back to my room, curl up on my bed and sleep.

If Carl has noticed that we haven’t been sharing a bedroom since our return from the hospital, then he hasn’t said anything. I don’t suppose he cares how we choose to sleep at night, because as far as he’s concerned this is still a marriage of convenience, not a chance to indulge in an actual, healthy relationship. And even if this wasn’t a marriage of convenience, then it’s become very apparent that women to him are just trophies to parade around and vessels to impregnate. I can’t imagine he’s ever shared his inner sanctuary with a woman outside of fucking them.

“It’s fine. It’ll just be a couple of hours,” I reply. “I’ll see you later. I think I might just go and lie down for a bit.”

“Daisy…”

With a heavy heart I ignore the pleading tone in Dalton’s voice, and simply turn on my heel and leave.

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