Chapter Nine
Victoria made her excuses about checking emails and disappeared into the house with the sort of purposeful stride that suggested she had very important business to attend to.
Or was running away from something. Given the charged atmosphere they'd just generated on the terrace, Sasha suspected the latter.
"Well," Ambrose said, appearing at her elbow with two glasses of brandy, "that was subtle."
"I don't know what you mean." Sasha accepted the drink gratefully. After the dinner disaster, she needed something stronger than wine.
"Right. And I'm completely straight and madly in love with you." Ambrose settled into one of the wrought iron chairs. "So what's going on with my sister?"
"Nothing's going on with your sister."
"Sasha."
"Nothing inappropriate is going on with your sister," she amended, which was technically true since Victoria had fled before anything could happen. Not that nothing could have happened. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of it.
Ambrose studied her with the sort of knowing look that came from three years of friendship. "You do realize she's not actually available, don't you? I mean, beyond the obvious complications of her being my sister and you being my fake girlfriend."
"What do you mean?"
"Victoria doesn't do casual. She doesn't do relationships that don't fit into her five-year plan. And she certainly doesn't do anything that might complicate her perfect image." Ambrose swirled his brandy thoughtfully. "Trust me, whatever you think you felt out here, it's not going anywhere."
Sasha felt a stab of something that might have been disappointment. "I wasn't expecting it to go anywhere."
"Weren't you?"
She wasn’t sure what to say to that. She wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, to be honest. This whole free holiday thing was starting to spiral out of control.
Before she could come up with an answer, Ambrose continued, "Besides, we have more pressing concerns. Like the fact that I nearly referred to Lukas as 'darling' at dinner when talking about the gardens with dad, and that you invented a cricket injury. Or was it polo? Or… fencing? Really?"
"That was inspired improvisation."
"That was panic." Ambrose slumped back in his chair. "I'm a disaster, Sash. An absolute disaster."
Sasha looked at her best friend, noting the slump of his shoulders and the defeated expression. This wasn't the confident, charming Ambrose she knew. "You're not a disaster."
"I am. I'm twenty-eight years old and I'm lying to my grandmother about who I am because I'm too much of a coward to disappoint her."
"You're not a coward."
"Then what am I?"
Sasha set down her brandy and leaned forward. "You're someone who loves his family and wants them to be happy. But Ambrose, this isn't the way to do it."
"Isn't it? For once in my life, I'm the good grandson. I'm bringing home a girlfriend, making Grandmother happy, not being the family disappointment. It feels good. Whilst all the time equally feeling awful."
"You're not the family disappointment."
"Aren't I? I told you, Victoria's the golden child with her perfect career. Archie's got the estate to inherit. Sophie's got her veterinary dreams all mapped out. And I'm the one who… who doesn’t have anything."
"You have a job," Sasha said, because he did. He worked for a start up and disappeared every morning with a power shake and a foldable bike.
"Other than that."
Sasha felt her heart clench. "Is that really what you think?"
"It's what I know." Ambrose took a large sip of brandy. "Do you know what my father said to me last Christmas? He said he hoped I'd find my direction soon because watching me drift through life was 'concerning.'"
"Your father's an arse." Which she didn’t truly believe. Sir Archibald seemed like a softie to her.
"My father's practical. And he's not wrong."
Sasha reached over and grabbed Ambrose's hand. "Listen to me. You are kind, and funny, and loyal, and you make everyone around you feel comfortable and loved. You're not drifting through life, you have a job that you like, and one day, you’ll fall in love and have a family."
"And what if what makes me happy isn't acceptable to my family?"
"Then that's their problem, not yours." Sasha squeezed his hand. "Ambrose, your grandmother isn't going to drop dead if she finds out you're gay. And if she does disown you for it, then she's not worth keeping happy."
Ambrose was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the darkened gardens. "I know you're right," he said finally. "Although I’m not sure she won’t disinherit the entire family, not just me. I just… I want to be the good son for once. Just once."
"You are a good son. Being gay doesn't make you any less good."
"Doesn't it? Grandmother's always talking about carrying on the family name, about duty and proper marriages…"
"And you have three siblings. Let one of them carry on the precious family name." Sasha grinned. "Besides, have you met Archie's taste in women? You might be doing the gene pool a favor."
That got a laugh out of him. "Tiffany did ask if we could change the table decorations to match her nail polish."
"See? If Archie marries someone like that, you'll practically be a saint by comparison."
Ambrose smiled, the first genuine smile she'd seen from him all evening. "So what do you suggest I do? Announce it at breakfast tomorrow? 'Good morning, Grandmother, I'm gay and I've been lying to you for years?'"
"God, no. That would give the poor woman indigestion." Sasha considered this. "What about the house party? You said there's always a big gathering at the end of the holiday. Do it then, when everyone's relaxed and happy."
"And if it goes badly?"
"Then at least everyone will be drunk enough to handle it gracefully."
Ambrose laughed again, and Sasha felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. "You really think I should do it?"
"I think you should stop living your life for other people and start living it for yourself." She paused. "But if you want to wait until the house party, I'll keep up the charade until then. On one condition."
"What's that?"
"You stop calling yourself a disappointment. You're not. You're just... finding your way. We both are."
Ambrose looked at her with the sort of affection that made her chest tight. "What did I do to deserve a friend like you?"
"You let me move in when I needed a place to live, and you didn't judge me for having no idea what I wanted to do with my life."
"Fair trade." He raised his brandy glass. "To finding our way?"
"To finding our way." She clinked her glass against his. "And to surviving the rest of this holiday without either of us accidentally propositioning the wrong person."
"Speak for yourself. I make no promises about Lukas."
"Just try not to do it in front of your grandmother."
"Deal." Ambrose drained his brandy and stood up. "Right, I think this calls for a celebration. Fancy a drink in the snooker room?"
Sasha blinked. "The what now?"
"The snooker room. It's got a proper bar and everything."
"You're joking."
"I'm really not. This house has six living rooms, Sash. Did you think we wouldn't have a snooker room?"
"I suppose I thought that was just something people made up. Like having a butler."
"We have Davies."
"Davies is real? We sure he’s not a robot?"
Ambrose grinned. "Come on, let me show you just how ridiculously posh my family really is."
???
Victoria powered down her laptop with a sense of satisfaction she hadn't felt in days. In the past two hours, she'd managed to send off applications to six different firms, update her LinkedIn profile, and schedule three phone interviews for the following week.
It was amazing what she could accomplish when she wasn't distracted by blonde hair and green eyes and the sort of quick wit that made her stomach do things like attempting a somersault.
She changed into her pajamas and settled into bed, but sleep seemed elusive. Her mind kept wandering back to the terrace, to the way Sasha had looked in the dim light from the house, to the moment when she'd almost…
Well. When she'd almost done something spectacularly stupid.
Victoria stared at the ceiling and allowed herself to think about what might have happened if Ambrose hadn't interrupted them. If she'd closed that final distance between them, if she'd kissed Sasha the way she'd wanted to…
The idea sent heat pooling low in her stomach.
Maybe Chloe had been right. Maybe this enforced break from work was exactly what she needed. When was the last time she'd had a proper holiday? When was the last time she'd done something spontaneous and reckless and purely for her own pleasure?
She could have a summer fling. Nothing serious, nothing that would complicate her life once she got back to London. Just two weeks of… exploration.
Except Sasha was supposed to be dating Ambrose. Fake dating, but still. It would be complicated and messy and exactly the sort of situation Victoria usually avoided.
But then again, her usual approach to life had just resulted in unemployment and lying to her family, so perhaps it was time to try something different.
Her hand began to drift beneath the covers, and she let her mind wander to thoughts of Sasha's smile, the way she'd looked in that sundress, the tantalizing glimpse of her in the greenhouse with her wet clothes clinging…
A crash from somewhere beside her made Victoria bolt upright, her fantasy interrupted by what sounded like rushing water and creative cursing.
"Oh, bollocks," came Sasha's voice through the wall, followed by more crashing and what might have been Sophie shouting.
Victoria grabbed her dressing gown and rushed into the hallway, where she found chaos.
Water was dripping through the ceiling near the main staircase, and Sasha was standing in the corridor in soaked pajamas that left very little to the imagination, looking thoroughly miserable.
She did, Victoria thought, seem to spend an awful lot of time getting wet.
"What happened?" Victoria asked, trying not to stare at the way Sasha's wet nightshirt was clinging to her curves.
"Pipe burst," Sasha said miserably. "Right above my bed. Everything's absolutely drenched."
Lady Charlotte appeared at the top of the stairs in a flowing dressing gown, looking like she'd stepped out of a 1940s film.
"Oh, my dear girl, how dreadful! Davies is calling the emergency plumber, but I'm afraid it won't be sorted until morning. He’s switching off the water in the bathroom above you. "
Sir Archibald emerged from his room looking grumpy and disheveled. "What's all this racket?"
"Burst pipe in the blue guest room, darling. Poor Sasha's been flooded out."
More doors opened as the rest of the family gathered to assess the damage. Sophie appeared with her hair in a messy ponytail, Archie stumbled out looking confused, and even Lady Alexandra emerged, looking remarkably composed for someone who'd been woken by a plumbing emergency.
"Well," Lady Charlotte said, surveying the dripping ceiling with the sort of calm efficiency that came from managing a large household, "we'll need to get you sorted with somewhere else to sleep, won't we?"
Victoria felt a sense of impending doom.
"The yellow guest room's being redecorated," her mother continued, mentally cataloguing options. "And the green room has that damp problem we've been meaning to address… The others are earmarked for the house party and haven’t even been made up yet."
"I could sleep on a sofa," Sasha offered weakly.
"Nonsense. You're a guest." Lady Charlotte's face brightened as she reached the obvious solution. "Victoria's room has plenty of space. Sasha can camp out on the day bed in there, can't she, darling?"