Chapter Eight
"I can't do this," Sasha said, staring at her reflection in the ornate mirror of her guest room.
She'd changed into what she hoped was appropriate dinner attire, a navy dress that Ambrose had declared "suitably girlfriend-ish but not trying too hard", but she still felt like she was wearing a costume.
Ambrose, who was pacing behind her, paused mid-stride. "What do you mean you can't do this? We've been practicing all afternoon."
"Yes, and I've forgotten everything." Sasha turned away from the mirror to face him. "What's our story again? How did we meet? When did we start dating? What's my favorite thing about you that isn't your excellent taste in men?"
"House party, three months ago, and my sparkling wit," Ambrose recited automatically, then resumed his pacing. "Though at this rate, I'm going to forget my own name and introduce myself as Lukas by accident."
"That would certainly solve the fake girlfriend problem."
"Not helpful, Sash."
She watched him wear a groove in the Persian rug and felt a pang of sympathy.
His usually perfect hair was disheveled from running his hands through it.
"Poor Amb, you’ve got it bad, haven’t you?
It'll be fine," she said, trying to project more confidence than she felt.
"We'll sit together, make appropriate couple-y conversation, and try not to let your grandmother discover that you're madly in love with the head gardener. "
"Right. Fine. Easy." Ambrose stopped pacing and straightened his tie for the fifth time. "What could possibly go wrong?"
Famous last words, Sasha thought, but she kept that observation to herself. "This was your idea," she pointed out. "We can stop any time you’d like."
He gritted his teeth. "No, let me have one damn summer of being the golden child for once."
Sasha sighed but followed him down the stairs anyway.
THE DINING ROOM was exactly what she'd expected from a house like this: impossibly grand, with a table that could probably seat half of Manchester. Portraits of stern-looking ancestors glowered down from the walls, probably all judging her table manners preemptively.
Lady Alexandra, Ambrose’s grandmother, sat at one end of the table, resplendent in midnight blue silk and pearls that probably cost more than Sasha's annual rent. Victoria was seated across from Sasha, looking elegant in a simple black dress that somehow managed to be both professional and devastating. Sasha thought she might hiccup from stress, but she sat down and didn’t break anything, so that was a good start.
Less of a good start was catching Victoria take a sneaky glance at her, so that Sasha’s heart rate tripled just as Ambrose’s grandmother spoke to her.
"So, Sasha," Lady Alexandra said, delicately cutting her salmon, "Ambrose tells me you met at a house party?"
"That's right," Sasha replied, grateful for solid ground. She could do this.
"Mmm. And what was it that first attracted you to my grandson?"
Sasha felt Ambrose tense beside her. They hadn't actually practiced this part. "Well, he's very…" She glanced at Ambrose, who was staring at her with barely concealed panic. "Charming. And funny. And he has this way of making everyone feel comfortable."
"True," Lady Alexandra conceded. "Though he's always been rather too comfortable, if you ask me. When he was twelve, he tried to convince the vicar that communion wine would be more 'spiritually uplifting' if we served it chilled with little umbrellas."
"That does sound like him," Sasha said, because it very much did.
"And you, Ambrose," Lady Alexandra continued, "what drew you to Sasha?"
"Her eyes," Ambrose said immediately, then looked mortified. "I mean, her laugh. She has this wonderful laugh that just lights up a room."
"Mmm," she said again. "Though I must say, it's refreshing to see you settling down at last. At your age, I was already married with two children."
"Times were different then, Grandmother," Victoria said diplomatically.
"Indeed they were. Young people today take far too long making up their minds about everything." Lady Alexandra turned her sharp gaze back to Sasha. "I do hope you're not one of those modern girls who thinks marriage is passé."
Sasha felt trapped. Marriage barely figured on her radar. "Oh, no. Not at all. Marriage is… um, lovely."
"The roses this year are particularly spectacular," Sir Archibald was saying. "Lukas has done excellent work with the new varieties."
"Oh yes," Ambrose said dreamily, "he's absolutely wonderful. So…" He stopped abruptly as Sasha kicked him under the table. "So knowledgeable. About roses. And flowers. And things."
Silence fell over the table.
"Good staff are important," Lady Alexandra said slowly.
"Right. I, uh, appreciate good work," Ambrose said, his voice climbing an octave. "Good, professional, completely flowery gardening work."
Sasha cleared her throat, thinking she’d better dive in. "Ambrose has always been interested in horticulture, haven't you, darling?"
"Yes. Darling. Um. Right. Darling." Ambrose was now sweating visibly.
Victoria was pressing her napkin to her mouth, clearly suppressing a laugh.
"Well," Lady Alexandra continued, "I'm sure Sasha appreciates your... horticultural enthusiasm. Now then, you must tell me more about this house party where you met." She sneezed.
"Bless you, Grandmother," Victoria said.
"Thank you, dear." Lady Alexandra dabbed at her nose with her napkin, looking puzzled. "How peculiar. I've been sneezing all evening. I do hope I'm not developing an allergy to my own grandchildren."
Sophie, who was sitting next to her grandmother, went very still, and Sasha noticed her carefully avoid meeting anyone's eyes. Another sneeze echoed through the dining room.
"Perhaps we should open a window," Lady Charlotte suggested diplomatically.
"Excellent idea," Sir Archibald said, speaking for the first time since they'd sat down. "Fresh air. Very beneficial."
The conversation moved on to safer topics, the weather, the local parish news, Tiffany's latest social media venture (which appeared to involve photographing herself with various pieces of antique furniture while discussing "authentic living").
Sasha was beginning to relax when Ambrose nearly derailed everything.
"Now then, Sasha, you must tell me more about this house party where you met. Ambrose was rather vague about the details," Ambrose’s mother said, picking up where her mother-in-law had left off.
"Oh, well, it was…" Sasha glanced at Ambrose, but he was staring off into the distance with a dreamy expression that suggested he was thinking about someone who definitely wasn't sitting at this table. "It was a friend's birthday party."
"How lovely. And whose birthday was it?"
Panic. Pure, undiluted panic. "Sarah's," Sasha said, picking the first name that came to mind.
"I thought Ambrose told me it was Marcus's party," Lady Alexandra said, suddenly snapping to attention.
"Marcus and Sarah," Sasha said quickly. "Joint birthday. Twins."
"Ah, I see. "
Sasha took a breath. She was going to have to do better than this. She wasn’t about to let Ambrose down. Not when he paid her half of the rent at least half the time. "Ambrose was the life and soul of the party, I, um, couldn’t take my eyes off him."
Lady Alexandra's eyes narrowed slightly. "How charming. Though I'm surprised he gave you the time of day. To be honest, he’s never been particularly forward. With women."
Ambrose’s eyebrows raised. "I’m a perfect gentleman," he protested.
"Yes," said Lady Alexandra, eyeing him and then interrupted herself with another sneeze.
Sasha thought she’d better try again. "It was love at first sight," she said weakly. "Um, top to toe, head over heels, that sort of thing."
"Of course it was, dear." Lady Alexandra graced her with a smile. "From his unruly hair to his little scar."
Sasha felt Ambrose go rigid beside her. Scar? What scar? Why hadn't he mentioned a scar during their practice session?
"Oh yes," she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. "The scar. It's very… character-building."
"Indeed. Though I must say, it's faded beautifully over the years. You can barely see it now."
Sasha nodded sagely, trying to buy time while she figured out where this mysterious scar might be located. Ambrose was making subtle gestures in her peripheral vision, but she didn't dare look directly at him.
"Right, yes," she said finally, thinking that she’d better say something. "The shoulder scar, yes. Very faded now. You can barely see it."
Ambrose made a sound like a deflating balloon.
"His shoulder?" Lady Alexandra looked puzzled. "You mean the one on his knee, surely?"
"Right," Sasha said desperately. "His knee. I meant his knee, obviously. I was thinking of his… other scar. From a completely different accident." Christ, why had she mentioned body parts? What was wrong with her?
"What other scar?" Lady Alexandra asked with increasing suspicion.
"The one from… cricket?" Sasha said, grasping at straws. Rich people played cricket, didn’t they?
On the other side of the table, Sophie was burying her face in a napkin and Archie was biting his lip.
"Cricket?" Lady Alexandra looked even more puzzled. "Ambrose has never played cricket. He detests team sports."
"Right. Yes, my mistake. Um…" Sasha could feel sweat beading on her forehead. "Polo?" Rich people definitely played polo.
"He fell off his pony precisely once, dear, and that was quite enough equestrian adventure for one lifetime. He’s the only member of the family that doesn’t ride."
Ambrose was making increasingly frantic gestures, but Sasha was too panicked to decode them properly.
"Fencing," she said desperately.
"Now you're just making things up," Sophie said helpfully.
The table fell silent. Even Tiffany looked up from her phone, sensing drama.
"Perhaps," Lady Alexandra said with dangerous politeness, "you two might spend a little of your time here getting to know each other a little better."
At which point, Archie took pity on them all and changed the subject to the local hunt. Leaving Sasha feeling like she’d run a marathon and firmly come in last place.
WHEN DINNER FINALLY ended, Sasha escaped to the terrace, desperate for air that didn't smell of her own embarrassment.
The evening was still warm, though the earlier rain had left everything smelling fresh and green. She found a quiet corner near the rose garden and was taking deep, calming breaths when footsteps approached.
"Ah," Victoria said, appearing beside her with a glass of wine. "Didn’t mean to interrupt."
"You’re not," Sasha replied. "I think your grandmother is probably researching private investigators as we speak. Not sure I’m really pulling this off."
"She’ll reserve judgment for a while," Victoria said, leaning against the balustrade. "Though I have to admit, the fencing scar was inspired. Very… creative problem-solving."
"Right. Distinct lack of ferrets though." Sasha looked out over the darkening gardens. "I suppose it could have been worse. I could have claimed he got it in a duel."
"It’d be over another man's honor, though," Victoria said pointedly.
Which seemed like a less than coy reminder. Sasha groaned, then remembered that the last time she’d seen Victoria was when she inexplicably walked away in the rain. "You got rather wet earlier," she said, then immediately regretted the phrasing when Victoria's eyebrows rose.
"I'm sorry?"
"From the rain. When you ran away from the greenhouse." Sasha felt her cheeks warming. "That came out wrong."
"Did it?" There was something in Victoria's voice, something that made Sasha look at her more carefully.
"You seemed to be in quite a hurry to get away."
"Perhaps I was avoiding something."
"What were you avoiding?"
Victoria moved closer, close enough that Sasha could catch her perfume on the evening breeze. Close enough that she felt a pulse in a place that didn’t normally have a pulse. "Poor decision-making, probably."
"Ah." Sasha's heart was doing something complicated in her chest. "And how's that working out for you?"
"Terribly," Victoria said softly. "I seem to be drawn to situations that are completely inappropriate and entirely inadvisable."
They were standing very close now, close enough that Sasha could see the way Victoria's pupils had dilated in the dim light from the house. Close enough to count the freckles across her nose, to notice the way her lips parted slightly when she breathed.
"Inadvisable how?" Sasha asked, though she was fairly certain she already knew the answer.
"Well," Victoria said, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "for starters, you're supposedly dating my brother."
"Only supposedly."
"Still rather complicated."
"I like complicated."
Victoria's hand moved, just slightly, and her fingers brushed against Sasha's wrist. The contact was electric, sending shivers up Sasha's arm. "Do you?" she asked.
Before Sasha could answer, the terrace door opened with a creak, and Ambrose's voice cut through the charged atmosphere like a bucket of cold water.
"There you are! I've been looking everywhere… " He stopped abruptly, taking in their proximity and what was undoubtedly a guilty expression on both their faces. "Please tell me I’m not interrupting anything."