Page 122 of Dare to Love Me

Lizzie doesnotlook convinced. She snatches a thong from my hands and sticks it back on the rack with an air of finality. “The point is, Edward might be different from Charlie, but hisworldisn’t. Are you ready for that?”

“It’sonedate, Lizzie. It’s just sex.”

“If it was just sex, you wouldn’t be floating around all week and spending a fortune on underwear. I’m just scared you’re going to get hurt.”

“I know, I know.”

We turn a corner and are confronted with a rack of lacy knickers emblazoned with the Union Jack.

Lizzie smirks at me.

I gasp. “Those are the ones you bought me!”

“The very same,” she says, deeply proud of herself. “You just can’t escape it, can you?”

I snort, reaching out to flick the offensive garment.

“Do you think we’ll still be doing this when we’re seventy?” Lizzie muses. “Like, will we be flogging walk-in baths while needing one ourselves?”

“If we are, I’d hope they’d let us wear age-appropriate skirts by then. Imagine trying to sell a foot spa while your own feet are in compression socks.”

She grins. “But youdolike it, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I admit with a shrug. “Even with Simon being a dickhead and half the products being absolute shite, I do. Couldn’t see myself doing anythingproper, like BBC News.”

I drop my voice into my best news anchor impression. “‘This is Daisy with today’s headlines. But first, a word on this revolutionary potato peeler.’”

Lizzie cackles. “Oh god, you’d slip an F-bomb during a segment about the chancellor’s budget.”

I wince. “Would definitely need to readPolitics for Dummiesfirst.” A flicker of shame creeps in—I don’t even know who the chancellor is, let alone what he does. And I don’t even want to admit that out loud to Lizzie, who once,very nicely, checked out a suspected hemorrhoid for me.

“Better get on that,” she says, still chuckling. “Before tonight.”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

“Gemma said Liam and Edward have long, drawn-out finance debates over dinner. Apparently, economics, policy, investment strategy—it’s all Edward talks about.”

My stomach clenches. “Oh, fuck.”

Lizzie catches my look and softens. “I’m sure he’s not like thatallthe time.”

“Yeah,” I say, waving it off. “We don’t need to have some deep philosophical debate every time we’re together.”

“Exactly!” she says, nodding like she’s cheering me on. “That’s not why he’s with you.”

I shoot her a sideways glance. “Lizzie, that’s not helping.”

“No, no, I mean—you’re fun and charming, and you don’t want to sit through someboringfinance chat over dinner. That’s agoodthing!”

I force a smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

I pretend to inspect my basket so I don’t have to meet her eyes.

I swallow hard.

The butterflies in my stomach twist into something heavier. Now, it’s not excitement for tonight—it’s panic.

I suddenly have a very strong urge to googlebasic finance termsandhow to sound intelligent without actually knowing anything.