Chapter Twenty-Two: the importance of being fern-est

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Daisy was weighing up the pros and cons of murder.

The pros were winning. Now, she just had to decide—whether to murder Vanessa, the concierge, or just call it a day and end herself.

"Right." The concierge jerked his head of raven hair toward Daisy. "Daisy." He removed a delicate hand from his clipboard to gesture to Hunt. "And Joshua."

Daisy couldn't breathe. It happened. It was happening. They'd been caught. Caught by that smug, patronising, sweeter-than-sugar-if-sugar-was-Satan concierge ...

Daisy was out of options.

She was going to kill him.

Vanessa straightened in her seat. "You mean Hunt?"

"Sort of." Matthew looked exhausted after his and Honey's turn with the intimacy box. But he motioned to Hunt, and told her, "Joshua Hunter."

"No, Hunt Shepherd," Vanessa corrected.

"Hunter," Matthew emphasised.

"Shepherd."

Hunt's hand tensed on Daisy's thigh. She didn't know whether he even realised he'd reached for her. Like it was instinct. Like she was going to tether him, reel him back in now that he was being dragged out to sea.

Daisy didn't know how, given that she was drowning right alongside him.

She glanced at him sidelong, her fingers curling around his hand. His face was nearly drained of colour. Let's run for it, she'd been about to say. But it was Ruby who broke the awkward silence.

With laughter.

A loud, condescending, snort of a laugh that had everyone at their table jerking at the sudden sound.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ruby near-squealed, wiping a tear from her eye with one hand and waving her sake like a baton with the other. "Joshua Hunter," she repeated, as though the name was ludicrous.

"Pardon me?" the reverend queried.

"Hunt." She threw back her shot. Wiped her cherry-red lips on her sleeve. "His first name is Hunt, you moron, not Joshua. Joshua," she muttered to Belle, as if to say, Get a load of this guy.

"I beg your pardon?" Matthew asked again.

Beside him, Honey's perfect little nose was scrunched with confusion. "No, his surname's Hunt—Hunter. He told us at the—"

"Where have you two been?" Laia cut in. She was studying her immaculate black nails, her voice as cool and steady as a gentle tide. "Joshua is the name of Daisy's ex. Like, from months ago."

Matthew shook his head. "No, it's not—"

"Yes," Kenji affirmed simply. "Joshua is her ex, Matthew."

The table went quiet, and Daisy realised she was toying with Hunt's sleeve to distract herself from playing with her hair.

But her friends had never looked so sure of anything. They were reciting a fact as plain as day: the sky was blue, the grass was green, Hunt's name was and had always been Hunt, and Joshua was and had always been Daisy's ex.

The reverend sputtered like a broken motor. "So why did Honey and I book their package under the names Daisy and Joshua?"

"Oh, I don't know, Matthew." Ruby poured herself another drink from an ornate teapot. "Why does your heavenly father give people cancer?"

Matthew's attention veered. Ruby knew it would, which is exactly why she'd asked the question. She indulged his heated explanation, and Daisy brushed her foot against Ruby's leg under the table in thanks for her sacrifice.

"Alright, you two," Amira cut them off just as Matthew, for some reason, started reciting the Book of Job. "Daisy and Hunt patiently listened during your turns. Let's extend them the same courtesy."

Matthew looked the furthest thing from courteous. He looked downright flabbergasted as he sat back in his seat, his blue eyes clouded with confusion. Even Honey was still frowning, her immaculate golden curls swaying as she glanced between Daisy and Hunt, wearing an expression that Daisy knew meant she was reeling.

Granted, it was a bit hard to move on from what had just happened, and not just because Daisy's heart was still thrashing from the close call, or because the concierge was still eyeing her warily. Because her friends ... they were the best. They'd just gaslit the audacity out of a white man. They were better than the best. And Daisy knew that. She'd always known that.

Still. They hadn't been kidding about putting on the performance of their lives.

Daisy was conferring each of them with quick, grateful glances when Hunt reached for the intimacy box.

Meaning he was the first to draw a question from inside.

Meaning he got to be the first of them to ask a question.

Meaning she had to be the first to answer. To lie. To set the tone ...

Daisy threw back her soft drink, wishing it was stronger.

Hunt unfolded the slip of paper. As bright as the portrait of the forest had been before, it was a canvas of black and blue behind him now. It settled around him in a velvet cloak. Paired with his dark shirt and glittering eyes, it made him look all the more regal, like some devilish prince skipping court to play rogue.

Hunt cleared his throat. "What are three things about me that you were first attracted to?"

Daisy stilled.

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope.

But ... what choice did she have? Everyone was looking at her: Vanessa, Matthew, the concierge. Hunt. Even as anxiety snaked around Daisy's throat like poison oak, making her vision go sparkly, she knew—that there was no getting out of this. Making matters worse was that Hunt knew when she lied. So did Laia and the girls, apparently. Amira was sharp. Hell, she was their therapist. She probably knew all of Daisy's tells. Damn her stupid conscience. Daisy was going to have to do the worst thing imaginable.

She was going to have to tell the truth.

She drew a breath, telling herself to woman the hell up. After everything they'd done together, it was silly to feel nervous about this. There was no reason why this should have scared her.

It did.

And so Daisy said, her heart pattering in her chest, "Your eyes. Your heart. And ..." She chewed her lip, searching for the right way to put it. "I don't know the word for it, exactly. I guess I just ... trusted you. Like, I felt ... safe with you? As though I could tell you anything. I wanted to tell you ..." She shrugged. "Everything."

And she had.

Even when she'd first met him, when he'd just been Jerk Face who'd laughed at her while she was knee-deep in a pile of sex toys in a fancy hotel lobby, Daisy had told Hunt everything. She'd told him about Joshua, about her friends, about feeling like life was leaving her behind. She'd told him enough that he'd taken pity on her plight, then followed her to the cocktail mixer and gotten himself embroiled in their ridiculous scheme. Even now, she trusted Hunt.

She wanted to.

Daisy squared her shoulders, finally daring to look her fake boyfriend in the eye. A cloud blanketed the moon, only the top of his head doused in neon blue, his face leeched of light. Daisy found herself missing the wicked hint of amusement in his gaze that she could usually tether herself to.

"What do you mean," Amira prompted, "his heart?"

Had Daisy said that out loud?

Yeah. Shit. She had.

She couldn't have gone with abs? Shoulders? She really did like his shoulders ...

Best to rip off the Band-Aid, she thought.

"He's one of the nicest people I've ever met." She spoke to Amira, but her eyes remained fastened on Hunt's. Shadows still danced on his face, his expression unreadable enough that she almost lost her nerve. "He's kind," Daisy murmured. "And ... good. He'd give anyone the clothes off his own back. Stop traffic for baby ducks trying to cross the road. Hell, he'd probably scoop them up and carry them himself. He just ... he has the biggest heart." She smirked in jest, but it felt more sheepish than intended. "Which explains all the muscles, I suppose."

Ruby raised her glass. "Praise be thy muscles."

Belle and Laia cheersed to that. A nervous laugh pushed out of Hunt. It sounded strangely like shock.

That's why he'd gone so still, Daisy realised. Why he was so expressionless. Not indifference; shock.

And that made her want to cry.

Hunt was a complete and utter pain in her ass. But he was good. He was enough. He deserved to have someone sing his praises, loud enough for the world to hear. Loud enough for his ungrateful ex—who was pretending not to listen as she motioned for Zaid to refill her wine glass—to hear.

But Daisy knew Vanessa well. Her body was directed toward them, her chestnut hair curled behind an ear studded with pearls. She was making small talk about anything and everything—like she'd so often done in dance class when Daisy was being praised.

She was listening.

Amira nodded. "Alright. Daisy?"

Giving Hunt a meek smile, Daisy poked her hand in the box, pulling out a slip of paper. She unfolded it.

Her mouth dried out.

"Daisy?" Amira urged again.

Oh, to hell with it. "Am I like the people you usually date?"

Silence.

Hunt cleared his throat. "No."

Her stomach hollowed out, an empty, bottomless void.

"You're nothing like the women I usually date."

Somewhere across from them, someone shuffled forward in their seat. Yep. Vanessa was definitely listening. Smirking, probably.

And there it was. Even if Daisy wanted Hunt for more than his body, even if some primal part of him liked some part of her, she could never actually have Hunt. He didn't want someone like her, didn't—

"You're warm," Hunt said.

Her head shot up.

"You're kind," he told her. "You're compassionate. Loyal. Honest. Funny as hell. And you are so, so striking, Daisy. You are, like, next-level hot. I don't even think you realise it. You don't realise how much it hurts to look at you. Sometimes ..." He shook his head, his voice so low and soft that it felt like a caress, like he was sweeping a hand over her flushed skin. "No," he ground out. "I couldn't dream up a person like you."

Her mouth twitched with the need to fall agape. He'd said that? In front of her friends? In front of ...

No. Daisy wasn't going to think about her. Even if it was just pretend. Even if Hunt was just playing his part, playing their little game—and doing a remarkably better job than her, at that. Daisy wouldn't think about Vanessa, wouldn't stain that moment.

Their moment.

Maybe she'd even let herself believe it was real.

That cloud finally passed over the moon, bathing Hunt in silvery light. It revealed his eyes, glowing like twin pools of honey as he half-turned toward Daisy, weighing her reaction from the corner of his eye.

"Hunt?" Amira prompted.

Tea lights dotted their table, their tiny orange flames licking Hunt's face. Peeling his gaze away, he slowly pulled out another slip of paper. One directing him to ask Daisy about her stance on cheating. Whether she'd ever done it.

"No," she answered. "First of all, we both know I couldn't. Couldn't lie to anyone the way something like cheating requires."

Hunt sketched a knowing smirk, his eyes briefly dipping to her hair in a silent, shared joked.

She added, "I'd never do that, anyway. Communication is key, and if I was unhappy, I'd speak to my partner. Break things off before pursuing anything new."

Hunt's eyes went a bit unfocused then, and Daisy wondered what he was thinking. Before she could deign to ask, Amira directed her back to the box for their last question.

Again, her stomach fell to her feet. For a whole different reason. She grit her teeth. "What's your favourite ... sexual memory of us?"

That time, Daisy knew it was Laia she sensed shuffling forward in her seat. Her face still looked a little pale, and she'd barely touched her meal, but she peered at Hunt with predatory focus over her cup of water, her dark nails tapping the glass in an unsettling rhythm. But her expression didn't translate to what Daisy predicted—This should be good. It was more along the lines of, Tread carefully, Tarzan.

Daisy groaned to herself, setting the paper down. The book. Savannah and Atlas. This was going to be like couples' therapy all over again; Hunt was going to recite something from the book. Chapter twelve, maybe. He'd started adding his own tabs—blue ones, whatever that meant—so Daisy knew he'd surpassed the salacious cloakroom scene.

As much as Daisy loved Lai, she sent up a silent prayer that her best friend threw up all over the table so they had to vacate the restaurant. Mortifying. This would be mortifying

"It was the first time we kissed," Hunt murmured.

Daisy's crackle of nervous energy simmered.

"The first time we really kissed. I've never ..." He rubbed a hand along the cut of his jaw, looking away. "I've never felt energy like that before. Never felt so warm. It was like, in that moment, I knew."

"Knew?" Amira queried.

"That there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for her. There wasn't anything I didn't want to do to her, do with her. There wasn't anything I wouldn't let her do to me." Hunt's cheeks heated, like he'd just realised what he'd said. "I know that's crass, but ..."

"Not at all." Amira tutted. "It's natural. Human."

Hunt fidgeted, and Daisy knew he was remembering when she'd said the same thing. Without thinking, she reached for his hand again, as though echoing Amira's sentiment.

Like it was what he needed, Hunt added, "It wasn't just a kiss." He nodded solidly, and damn it if Daisy didn't think the world of him in that moment for being so open, so vulnerable—even if he was just playing along. "It changed things. Changed me." His gaze drifted to their locked hands. His thumb ran up the length of hers. "Irreversibly."

Didn't Daisy know it. Didn't she know it right now, right when her whole body went tight, then loose, just at the memory of that kiss. At the way he was looking at their hands under the table—where no one else could see that they were entwined. And then he looked up. Looked at her. It made her feel like she was the only woman in the room, in the world.

Not a lie. Not for her. Not at all.

Opposite them, Laia settled back into her seat. Daisy didn't know the name of the expression that softened her best friend's features.

Polite applause signalled the end of their turn. Daisy released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. Light. She felt so light—

"We should kiss," Hunt murmured.

She glanced up, startled.

"The other couples did," he explained coolly, his eyes on their joined hands, "after their turns."

"Right." Because it was just pretend. Just a game.

Hunt shuffled uncomfortably, sweeping a finger through the condensation on his glass. "Only if you want to—"

Too quickly to back down, Daisy braced her hand on Hunt's arm, leaned across her seat, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Nothing. A peck. Nothing. Especially in comparison to the chapstick challenge. But as Daisy pulled away, wiping a smudge of coral lip gloss from Hunt's warm skin, as she took in the upwards twitch of his mouth when he glanced down at her, she wondered why nothing left her feeling just as high.

Needing something to do, somewhere to look, Daisy fiddled with the menu. Hunt asked, "Do you want dessert?"

"I'm full." Though the red bean mochi were calling her name ... "We could share?"

"Sure."

"What do you feel like eating?"

Vanessa and Zaid were taking their turn, but Hunt's silence was the only thing Daisy could hear. She looked up.

His eyes were fastened on hers. Burning. They lowered—to an area beneath their linked hands. An area beyond Daisy's skirt. An area that flooded with aching warmth as though Hunt had reached out and touched it.

When his eyes slid up again, they danced with insinuation. "Whatever you want."

Daisy went with the daifuku.

It wasn't what she wanted.

Hunt slung his jacket over Daisy's shoulders, ignoring a pointed glance from the reverend as they ascended the stairs to the elevated lounge in their shared lodgings after dinner. 

"That was close," he uttered, flicking on the lights for the others.

Daisy frowned. "What was?"

"You know ... Joshua."

Right. In the aftermath of everything else, Daisy had totally forgotten about that horrible brush with exposure. Had forgotten about everything—except what Hunt had said about her. In front of her friends. In front of everyone. And the way he'd looked at her before dessert ...

How was a woman expected to survive a look like that? Or retain the ability to think?

They'd reached the bridge to their treehouse, still hand-in-hand, when he said, "That game was intense."

"I know." Daisy didn't need to put a hand on the railing. Not with Hunt in front of her, steering her over the bridge. "I think you got the rough end of the stick."

"I don't know about that." When she glanced up at him, he raised a brow, his lips curving. "My eyes, huh?"

Daisy groaned, shoving him gently, and he laughed as he turned, bracing himself against the door. She didn't have a sliver of alcohol in her veins that time, and she still wanted to dance to the velvety sound.

He tugged on her hand, coaxing her off the bridge—but made no move to open the door. Drawing her closer, Hunt held her gaze. He leaned back against the wood, the portrait of comfort. Of reclining royalty. All while Daisy's heart was fluttering in her chest.

She wanted to take a photo. Wished it wouldn't be creepy if she did. He was just ... perfect. He was so lovely and tall and tanned, his eyes heavy-lidded, that lazy smile a slash of sin on a face designed to lure, to corrupt, and she was just staring, and—

"You said I'm cute."

Daisy's pulse tumbled.

"When you're drunk," Hunt clarified.

Sense eddied out of her. She couldn't breathe. The text. He had read it. She wasn't sure when; she'd been watching him like a hawk all night—

Hunt tugged on her hand again. Daisy was too weak, too foggy-headed, not to follow the pull. His face was a blur, like she was drowning in smoke and mist, and she wanted to let her legs give out. To rest everything she was on him.

When only an inch of dancing, electric air sizzled between them, Hunt asked, his voice a shade quieter, "Only when you're drunk?"

Daisy's pulse roared in her ears. Why had she said that? Or text it—whatever. That line between them ... where the hell was it?

Her mouth opened of its own accord. "No."

"No?"

She shook her head.

Hunt swallowed. He was staring at her.

Or was she staring at him?

Shadows devoured his face, but his eyes were bright. All she could smell was spice. Was the waterfall. Was him.

"You ..." God. Her heart was pounding. Could

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