Imperfect Match (Elixir Bachelor Billionaires #1)

But Daisy isn’t waiting for a response or reaction from me. No, she’s too pumped, for whatever damn reason. That’s how, moments later, I find myself standing outside a room while my wife walks in, straight to a group of kids seated around a fireplace and holding neatly wrapped gifts.

“Hey, kids, this is Charles. He’s the prince of Cherrywood.” She grins conspiratorially with all the tiny humans, while an uncomfortable feeling claws at my chest, begging to be released.

I’m about to insist that we need to leave this place right now, when someone tugs on my pant legs. I look down to see a little girl barely reaching my knees, with a toothy grin and pigtails. “Would you like to join our tea party?”

Tea party? What’s happening tonight?

I’m Charles Hawthorne, the man who has avoided every social interaction for the last decade with the same intensity a supermodel avoids carbs.

Yet here I stand.

I don’t reply to her, because all the ways that come up in my head to decline the invitation aren’t polite or suited for a young girl’s ears.

Everyone keeps staring at me for a while, including my wife, as if expecting a response. But I continue to stand there like a statue with my arms crossed over my chest. Daisy must have finally become attuned to my feelings, as she slowly turns to the kids away from me.

But not before I catch her smile losing its shine. As always, her face speaks volumes. She’s disappointed, but right now, so am I.

“Okay, kids, it’s time for me to leave, but I wish you all the very best. And, Max, when we meet next time, I hope you can teach me how to play chess.” She fusses with the hair of a little boy who’s holding a chess set close to his chest.

Daisy doesn’t wait for me and marches right out of the room.

“Do you know these kids?” I ask, catching up with her.

“I don’t have to know everyone to be polite to them.” Her lips press into a thin line.

“You’re upset?”

“And you’re very perceptive,” she replies flatly.

I run a hand over my jaw as the vision of a little girl’s crestfallen face swims before me, and a twinge of guilt tightens around my heart like a lasso. “I’m not an asshole in general, Daisy. But I’ve just had enough of this place.”

“Of course you have. When can anyone or anything be bigger than you?” Before I can tell her that’s not true, Daisy stops under the sign pointing toward the restrooms. “Can you tell Steve or Dave that we’re ready to leave, and I’ll meet you in the parking lot in a few minutes?”

She doesn’t wait for my reply and walks away from me. My feet remain stuck for a beat as I watch her leave, and once she’s no longer in my sight, I turn around.

My breath skitters as I find myself back at the same doorway of the room, watching the kids lost in their own world.

“Can I help you, Mr. Hawthorne?” A middle-aged woman approaches me from behind. “My name is Greta Day. I’m the head supervisor at the local orphanage.”

I swallow the lump in my throat before words find their way. “I was invited to a tea party a few minutes ago.”

The woman’s brows rise.

“I didn’t properly reply to the invitation. Unfortunately, I cannot attend, but could you please arrange for a proper party tomorrow nevertheless? Please send all the invoices to my office.”

Her eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling with joy and surprise. “That’s…very generous of you, Mr. Hawthorne. The kids would love that.”

The burden of my guilt lessens a tiny bit, and I stride toward the parking lot, where Dave is waiting for me, holding an umbrella against the unexpected rain. Daisy is already seated in the car, and as I slip in beside her, no words are exchanged between us.

How did this evening turn out like this? So many promises were made for later, but now it’s like something broke between us. Eventually, her silence becomes unbearable.

“Why are you still so upset?”

In response, she folds her arms over her chest, looking out the window as if she can’t hear me.

“Is it not enough that I’ve given more money to this charity in one night than they would otherwise see in a decade?”

I hate every word that comes out of my mouth, but it’s like my tongue is possessed.