Page 83 of The Rogue and His Flower

“And you admit you’re attracted to him,” she queries.

“Yes, I am.”

Lia nods thoughtfully, taking in all the information I've shared about Dalton. After a moment of silence, she speaks softly.

"It sounds like Dalton is trying to show you a different side of himself, a side that perhaps you never expected to see. It's understandable that you're feeling conflicted, especially given your past experiences with him and his reputation, but I think it’s worth giving him a chance to prove that he's sincere in his efforts to be a better person.”

I consider Lia's words carefully. Despite my reservations and uncertainties, there's a part of me that wants to believe that he’s truly capable of being more than the shallow playboy I once thought him to be.

Taking a deep breath, I look at Lia and say, "I think... I think I want to see if there's something genuine between us, but I’m terrified of opening myself up to the possibility of getting hurt."

Lia's kind smile is filled with encouragement and empathy. "It takes bravery to be vulnerable, Daisy. It’s scary too, but sometimes that vulnerability can lead to surprising and wonderful results.”

“So what now?”

“Well, right now we eat these delicious scones, drink this tea, and then you’ll choose a wedding dress. And after that, I guess it’s up to you.”

By the timeI’ve chosen a wedding dress that I’m comfortable wearing, and spent the rest of the afternoon catching up with Drix and Toby, it’s past the time I usually sit down to eat dinner with Dalton and Carl. When I arrive back at the estate, rather than go in search of Dalton, I head to my bedroom still ruminating on my conversation with Lia.

Shrugging off my coat, and kicking off my shoes, I sit down at my desk and pull open my sketchbook, needing a distraction. Designing clothes has always helped to soothe my heart and calm my anxiety, and before long a stunning rainbow coloured dress has come to life before me. The colours are muted, but nonetheless striking. Pale pink, baby blue, soft yellow, subtle green and muted lilac swirl together in delicate layers of tulle and chiffon, creating a gown fit for a fairytale princess. As I add intricate beading to the bodice, my mind drifts back to Dalton and our future together. Would he appreciate the effort and creativity I’ve poured into this dress? Would he even notice the subtle symbolism of the colours representing hope, trust,happiness and new beginnings? Lost in thought, I don’t hear the door creak open behind me until a voice breaks through my reverie.

“That’s beautiful,” Dalton says quietly, his eyes fixed on the sketch before me.

Startled, I glance up to find him standing behind me, his expression a mix of awe and curiosity. I quickly close the sketchbook, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck.

“Oh, um, it’s nothing. I was just doodling,” I mutter, a flutter of nerves in my stomach at his sudden appearance. “Was there something you needed?”

“I thought I’d check in on you, see how your day went,” he explains, his gaze lingering on the closed sketchbook. “But now I’m intrigued. May I take a look?”

“Sure,” I say, passing the sketchbook to him.

He flips through the pages filled with my designs, his proximity sending a wave of warmth through me, and I struggle to focus on anything other than the way his presence fills the room.

“You’re incredibly talented, Daisy,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the delicate lines of my sketches.

I feel a rush of warmth at his praise. “Thank you. Sketching designs help me to relax. I lost track of time.”

“You need to relax? Did the wedding dress shopping not go well?”

“It was fine. I found something suitable to wear.”

“Suitable?” he queries, passing my sketchbook back to me.

I slide it back in the top drawer of my desk. “It’s not my dream dress, but it will work for the occasion,” I reply.

“I see,” he says, frowning.

“So, how was your day?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Pretty fucking awful,” he replies, his gaze lingering on me as if searching for something in my expression.

“That bad, huh?”

“It wasn’t the best,” Dalton admits, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. “I was going to call it a night, but if you’d like some company, we could watch some trash TV if you’d like?”

“You know what, I’m feeling a little tired myself. I was going to get an early night too.”

He presses his mouth shut in a firm line, nodding. “Well, then I’ll let you get some rest,” he says.

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