‘It’s all so wonderfully romantic,’ Mrs Valdermeyer crooned over her shoulder. ‘Two weeks at The Waldorf and a gold credit card. You’re going to have the time of your life, Daisy.’
‘What does he mean about his solicitor?’ Juno said.
‘I’m not going.’ Daisy folded the letter and shoved it back in its envelope. She couldn’t possibly go. Okay, somewhere in the last few days she’d got over her anger, and for a moment Mrs Valdermeyer’s industrial-strength enthusiasm had almost blinded her to the truth. For a split second she’d seen herself on Connor’s arm decked out in glitters and her best posh frock. She’d never been further than Calais on a school trip so she felt she was entitled to get momentarily carried away. But she couldn’t do it. And what had he meant by ‘I want you to look the part’—as if she were his personal mannequin? The cheek of the man.
‘Of course you’re going, my dear. Don’t be absurd,’ Mrs Valdermeyer said.
‘I really don’t think she should,’ Juno piped up. ‘She’d be totally at his mercy and—’
‘Stop right there, Juno.’ Mrs Valdermeyer got up and took Juno’s arm. ‘I want you out of here. Daisy and I have to talk about this in private,’ she said, dragging Juno to the door.
Before Juno had a chance to say anything else, she’d been shoved over the threshold and had the door slammed at her back.
Mrs Valdermeyer brushed her hands together. ‘Right, now the most unromantic woman in the Western World has gone, let’s discuss this properly.’
She sat down next to Daisy, laid a hand on her knee.
‘You don’t understand.’ Daisy fisted her fingers on Connor’s perfunctory letter. ‘It’s not romantic at all. He just needs a girlfriend to hang on his arm for a couple of weeks. We’re not even dating. It’s a business thing. Or something.’ She let out a trembling breath. The truth was, he thought so little of her, he hadn’t even had the courtesy to tell her why exactly he needed her there.
Daisy shoved Connor’s letter and the jeweller’s case back in the box—ignoring the cold fingers of regret gripping her stomach.
How pathetic that she felt depressed she couldn’t go. She was her own woman, she didn’t need a man to complete her and she certainly didn’t need some too-sexy-by-half egomaniac sweeping her off her feet only to dump her back down to earth again two weeks later.
‘He may very well think that,’ Mrs Valdermeyer said gently, resting her knarled hand over Daisy’s. ‘But I suspect there’s a bit more to it.’
Tears pricked Daisy’s lids—and made her feel even more pathetic. ‘Like what?’ she said, cynicism sharpening her voice.
‘Daisy, dear. Men don’t ask a woman on a first-class, all-expenses-paid trip to New York just for the sake of a business deal.’
‘He didn’t ask me,’ Daisy said, the tears she was busy ignoring clogging her throat. ‘He told me. And I think he’s expecting some pleasure mixed in with his business to justify the expense.’
Mrs Valdermeyer chuckled fondly. ‘He is a scoundrel, isn’t he? Just like my third husband, Jerry.’ She patted Daisy’s leg, still chuckling. ‘But once you’ve tamed him, my dear, you’ll see they’re the very best kind. Both in bed and out.’
Daisy tried to smile at the old lady’s irascible tone, but somehow she couldn’t muster more than a strained grimace. ‘I don’t want to tame him. Believe me, it would involve far too much work.’
Mrs Valdermeyer took Daisy’s hands in hers. ‘Look at me, dear.’ Daisy lifted her eyes, saw that the old woman wasn’t smiling any more. ‘Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too seriously? Surely, this is about a man and a woman having a marvellous adventure together. Nothing more. And you’ve had far too few adventures in your life to let one as spectacular as this pass you by.’
Daisy huffed. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I had enough adventures to last me a lifetime before I ever came here.’
‘No, you didn’t. Those were your mother’s adventures. They don’t count. This is going to be your adventure and you’re going to enjoy every minute of it. You need to get out there and experience life before you can think about finding love, you know.’
A flutter of butterfly wings began to beat under Daisy’s breastbone. She tired to ignore them. ‘I really don’t think…’
Mrs Valdermeyer held up her finger to silence her. ‘Don’t think, Daisy. You’re a dear sweet girl who thinks far too much, mostly about everybody but herself. For once, don’t think, just feel.’ She patted Daisy’s knee. ‘Take it from me, I’m an old woman and there are a few things I’ve learned. You’ve got the rest of your life to plan things out, to do the right thing, to be cautious and careful and responsible. That’s what you have to do when you start a family—that’s what your mother should have done and didn’t. And if you find the right man to do it with it won’t be boring, let me tell you. But you’re young, and free and single and you get to be spontaneous now, to live life as it comes and take whatever fun and excitement you can grab.’ She picked up the velvet jeweller’s case. ‘Now, I want to know what sparkles your handsome scoundrel picked out for you in Paris. Don’t you?’
Mrs Valdermeyer placed the case back in Daisy’s lap.
Daisy stared at the embossed gold lettering on the top, ran her finger over the textured velvet. She sighed. What the heck. What harm could it do to take a quick peek? She lifted the heavy case in one hand and opened the lid.
The sight of the emeralds winking on a lattice of silver chains had her heart leaping into her throat and threatening to choke her. She took an unsteady breath and touched the precious stones.
The butterflies went haywire as the fanciful, fairy-tale images that had been hovering at the back of her mind came into sharp, vivid and all-too-real focus.
She could feel t
he beautiful necklace warming her cleavage, see the luminous satin of a ball gown she’d once designed in her dreams shimmering in the glow of a thousand tiny lights and sense Connor, tall, dark and far too dangerous, his blue eyes bold with appreciation as he held her close in his arms.
She slammed the lid shut like a frantic Pandora with her box.