Imperfect Match (Elixir Bachelor Billionaires #1)

“You need to see this, sir.” Dave doesn’t say more and grabs the remote from the counter.

My stomach clenches with a nauseating twist of dread.

The TV monitor in the kitchen comes to life, putting my chest in a chokehold.

“This is live,” Steve confirms, as I’m unable to look anywhere but at Daisy on the screen.

Dressed in a yellow summer dress and a long cardigan, flats on her feet, her hands clutched in front of her, she stands in the middle of a sea of reporters outside Cherrywood Memorial Hospital. She blinks on the screen, and my stupor breaks.

“Where the fuck is her security?” I grab my phone from the counter, my grip painfully tight as I dial Carter King, but the call goes straight to voicemail.

“They were two cars behind, as always, Mr. Hawthorne, but as soon as Daisy stepped out of her car, the press surrounded her and now there are cameras everywhere. Her bodyguards are trying to get to her.”

I’m still processing Steve’s words when I hear a reporter’s voice on the screen.

“Mrs. Hawthorne, congratulations on the good news. But where’s Mr. Hawthorne? We heard you’re no longer staying at his residence. Is this true?”

I pull my gaze from Daisy’s face to the headlines running at the bottom of the screen.

Is the local fairy-tale love story coming to an end?

Or was it a marriage of convenience that has finally come to its planned ending?

“I need his name!” My growl roars in my living room. “I need the name of this dumbfuck reporter who thought he could ask these fucking questions to my wife.” I turn to face my bodyguards, who nod furiously before I speed-dial the chief of police.

“Mr. Hawthorne, I’m seeing the news. We are—”

I don’t waste time in pleasantries and interrupt whatever he’s about to say.

“I need the streets from my estate to the hospital all clear, Chief. Not a single vehicle, not a single soul.” My chopper could have been faster for the distance, but not when it’s impromptu.

“You got it, Mr. Hawthorne.”

“Let’s go.” I’m already striding toward the door, when Mrs. K gasps my name.

“Mr. Hawthorne, you should take it off!” She points toward the apron still tied to my front as shock and worry consumes her features.

I tear the material away from me, swallowing the wince when the neck strap bites my skin. Without caring where it lands, I march down the stairs, forgoing the elevator, with Dave and Steve on my heels.

The minutes-long ride to the hospital feels like hours, while my gaze stays on the live newsfeed running on my iPad.

She’s still there, in the midst of the crowd.

Nervous and worried, facing questions no one should have dared to ask her. It should have been my task, protecting her, protecting our blip.

But I’m coming, butterfly.

We finally fucking arrive, and I don’t care whose collar I grab as I make my way toward my wife.

The annoyed looks around me morph into shock as I’m recognized by the swarm of men holding cameras and mics. I don’t give a damn about the flashes that go off, as the attention only makes it easier for me to reach Daisy.

Five months.

It’s been almost five fucking months since I last saw her in person, breathed the same air as her.

And she looks more beautiful than in any of my fantasies and dreams.

My heart pounds violently in my chest, each beat like a drum roll. “You do like to attract a crowd, my dear wife,” I finally whisper, my mouth almost dry, words sticking in my throat.