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I reached for my phone to call Malcolm, my finger hovering over his contact information. One conversation could change everything.
Did I have the courage to let it?
The morning sun climbed higher outside my windows, casting new shadows across the acquisition documents. At the center of the cover page, printed in cheerful green letters that seemed to mock the clinical nature of the surrounding text, was the Gardens & Home Television logo.
And beneath it, in smaller print:Hosted by Lili Anderton—Growing Dreams, One Garden at a Time.
I stared at those words until they blurred, feeling the weight of choice press against my chest like a stone. In my hands lay the power to save her dreams or destroy them.
The answer, I realized, would define not just Lili's future, but who I truly was beneath all the careful construction of Edward Grosvenor. Was I the man who'd spent decades building walls around his heart? Or was I finally brave enough to let someone with dirt under her fingernails and laughter in her voice teach me what it meant to grow something beautiful from nothing?
The taste of coffee had long since turned bitter in my mouth.
The sounds of the city continued below, indifferent to the choice that would reshape everything I thought I knew about myself.
CHAPTER 10
Lili
"Son of a biscuit!" The words escaped under my breath as I felt the delicate clasp on my vintage necklace—Mama's only good jewelry—snap. The pearls scattered like tiny marbles across the marble floor, pinging and rolling in every direction. Some disappearing under tables, others being stepped on.
I should've known this would happen. When Lady Victoria had announced this morning that Edward would be escorting me to tonight's Children's Hospital Charity Auction—not exactly a request, more like a royal decree—I'd been nervous enough. The fact that several of Edward's colleagues would be there, sizing up Daphne's "little friend," had made it worse.
Edward appeared at my side with that efficiency that probably came from years of handling crises, already dropping to one knee to gather the pearls within reach. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring. "We'll find them all."
"Easy for you to say," I whispered, watching a particularly perfect pearl disappear under the hem of some socialite's evening gown. "That necklace is the only thing Mama has that'sworth more than sentiment. Her Mama gave it to her on her wedding day."
"Then we'll make sure you go home with every one," he said firmly, pressing several rescued pearls into my palm. The warmth of his touch sent an unwelcome flutter through my chest.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice boomed over the crowd, "please welcome Edward Grosvenor and his guest, Miss Lili Anderton."
All eyes turned toward us—Edward rising gracefully from his crouch while I stood there clutching a handful of pearls, my cheeks burning hot enough to cook an egg. Three hundred of London's most prominent citizens suddenly focused on the American girl collecting her grandMother's jewelry off the floor.
"Breathe," Edward murmured, offering me his arm with the kind of calm confidence that suggested pearls on the floor was just another Tuesday for him.
Edward looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine spread for "How to Be Impossibly Handsome While Supporting Charity." His perfectly tailored tuxedo probably cost more than my monthly salary, and not a single dark hair dared to be out of place.
The charity auction was being held in the ballroom of some fancy hotel whose name I couldn't pronounce without butchering at least three consonants.
Crystal chandeliers cast everything in golden light, and even the air smelled expensive—a mixture of fresh flowers, fine perfume, and what I could only assume was the scent of old money.
I'd been to plenty of events back home—church fundraisers, school auctions, the occasional chamber of commerce dinner where they served cheese cubes on toothpicks and called it sophisticated. But this was another level entirely.
"You're squeezing my arm rather tightly," Edward observed quietly as we made our way to our table.
"Sorry." I loosened my death grip, trying to channel some of that southern charm Mama always said would get me through anything. "I'm just not used to rooms where the napkins are worth more than my grocery budget for a month."
"That's actually quite possible," he said with a hint of amusement. "The Meridian Hotel doesn't believe in subtlety."
Our table was near the front—of course it was—and populated with what I could only assume were Edward's colleagues from the firm. They all had that same polished look. Expensive suits, perfect posture, and the kind of confidence that comes from never having to check a bank balance before ordering wine.
"Edward, my boy!" A distinguished gentleman with silver hair and a voice that could narrate nature documentaries rose to greet us. "And you must be Daphne's friend we've heard so much about."
"Lili Anderton." I extended my hand, trying to project more confidence than I felt.
"Sir Malcolm Pemberton," he said, shaking my hand with the firm grip of someone accustomed to closing deals. "And these are my colleagues—Davies, Thompson, and Mrs. Chen."
Each introduction came with polite smiles and subtle assessments. I could practically see them cataloging everything about me—my accent, my Texan drawl, the way I tucked a stubborn curl behind my ear when nervous, the small pile of rescued pearls clutched in my other hand.