Page 17 of Dare to Love Me

“Students have time for such frivolities. When they’re not busy committing identity fraud.”

“Oh, excuse me—would you rather he showed me a good time by inviting me to observe colonoscopies?”

“I’d prefer,” he bites out, “that he didn’t take you anywhere while impersonating me.” His jaw tightens further. “And unless you’re planning to wait a few years for Spencer to finish med school, I don’t see colonoscopy observations in your immediate future.”

Apparently, my superpower is finding fresh, inventive ways to disappoint Edward Cavendish.

“Let’s just pretend this never happened,” I say, trying to sound like the kind of person who has control over this situation. It’s hard to project authority when he’s standing there in a perfectly tailored suit, looking like a damn Ralph Lauren ad, while I’m wearing a backward bodycon dress. “This is one of those moments where you never want to see the other person again.Ever.”

Edward’s lips twitch. Not into a smile. “Unfortunately for you, that won’t be possible.”

Right. Sophia’s bridal party.

Like I needed the reminder.

We’re both in it, which means I’ll be seeing him repeatedly. Engagement party. Rehearsal dinner. The wedding itself.

How am I going to survive this?

“Your car’s here.” His sharp gaze flicks over me, and even though I’m fully clothed now, I still feel naked. “Have you collected all your . . . belongings?”

The pause does not go unnoticed. Belongings, in this context, are clearly my Union Jack knickers. A national disgrace, really.

I nod, swallowing hard.

I have never felt more out of place than I do right now—like a silly little girl playing make-believe in a world that’s too sophisticated for me.

For the first time, I glance up at him and notice the exhaustion etched into the sharp angles of his handsome face, those piercing eyes dimmed with a quiet fatigue. The shadow darkening his jaw. The kind of weariness that comes from working a job that matters.

“You probably have important surgeon things tomorrow,” I mumble. “Sorry for derailing your evening.”

His jaw flexes. “I have a laparoscopic anterior resection scheduled.”

Of course he does. Excellent work, Daisy.

“I don’t even know what that means, but it sounds important.” I blow out a breath. “Some poor person’s going to wake up with their organs in the wrong order because their surgeon spent his evening dealing with the walking embodiment of a Mercury retrograde.”

He frowns. “Mercury what?”

“Never mind,” I mutter, waving it off. “It’s very niche stuff.”

I grit my teeth as he walks me to the door, his presence looming over me like a deeply judgmental storm cloud.

The short trip across the room feels endless.

A literal walk of shame.

“Please just pretend I don’t exist,” I mutter.

“You tend to make that impossible.”

I shoot him a glare. “I know that’s an insult. I’m not stupid.”

Which, frankly, feels debatable right now.

“Daisy.” His voice is edged with that authoritative tone that makes my spine bristle.

“No, I get it,” I cut in, throwing a hand up. “I’m a trainwreck. Believe me, it’s not news.”