Chapter Ten
The day bed in Victoria's room looked innocent enough, Sasha thought, staring at it with suspicion.
It seemed perfectly normal. Not at all like a torture device.
No, it was quite comfortable, really. Positioned by the window with a lovely view of the gardens.
Perfectly respectable sleeping arrangements.
The problem wasn't the bed. The problem was that it was approximately six feet away from Victoria's actual bed, where Victoria would be sleeping, presumably in pajamas, possibly making those soft little sounds that people made when they were dreaming.
Or maybe, Sasha thought with growing heat and horror, Victoria might decide to sleep naked.
No, she told herself. No. Rich people didn’t sleep naked. They could definitely afford pajamas. And silk nightgowns. And probably lacy lingerie and…
"Right then," Ambrose said, hefting Sasha's damp suitcase onto the luggage rack with theatrical efficiency. "This should be cozy."
"Shut up," Sasha hissed. Victoria was still in the corridor talking to her mother, but she could have the hearing of a bat for all Sasha knew.
"I mean, what could possibly be complicated about sharing a room with my devastatingly attractive sister who you absolutely aren't attracted to?" Ambrose grinned at her. "Sweet dreams, darling."
"Not helpful, Am."
He shrugged. "Well… I suppose you could always bunk in with me. Mama wouldn’t mind, but grandmother might take issue with it."
Sasha pulled a face. "Thanks for the offer, but your room’s a bit… penis-y."
Ambrose snorted. "Not penis-y enough for my tastes, but point taken. And, well, you’ll be completely fine in here. No dishonorable intentions toward my sister at all, right?"
Sasha bared her teeth at him and thought about Victoria in bed and again, her stomach flip-flopped. Maybe she should share with Ambrose.
But he was already yawning and then leaning in to kiss her cheek and departing. Leaving Sasha alone with her thoughts and the growing certainty that she was absolutely fucked.
THE NIGHT WAS, in a word, torturous.
Not that Victoria did anything inappropriate.
She was perfectly polite when she returned from speaking with her mother.
Wishing Sasha goodnight with pleasant but distant courtesy, and disappeared into the en suite bathroom for exactly seventeen minutes.
When she emerged, she was wearing the sort of sensible dressing gown that suggested she took nighttime practicality very seriously indeed.
And ruining any stray thoughts that Sasha might have had about lingerie.
Unfortunately, even sensible dressing gowns looked unreasonably good on Victoria Sullivan.
Sasha tried not to look. In fact, she was wondering if it was at all possible just to feign sleep for the entire rest of the trip.
Or perhaps to take her blanket and sleep under the snooker table.
Maybe she should just lapse into a coma for the next twelve days.
She lay on her day bed, staring at the ceiling, and tried very hard not to listen to Victoria's breathing.
Soft and steady, and occasionally accompanied by the rustle of sheets when she turned over.
At one point, Victoria murmured something incomprehensible in her sleep, and Sasha felt her stomach do something that definitely wasn't appropriate given their circumstances.
But then, there was the sneaking suspicion that Victoria might not be as asleep as she seemed.
Perhaps she too was lying there pretending.
And then Sasha felt too hot and kicked off her blanket before hastily retrieving it with the thought that she was so hot she might accidentally tear off her pajamas in her sleep and be lying there naked when Victoria woke. Or pretended to wake.
By dawn, she'd managed perhaps two hours of actual sleep and was ready to throttle anyone who suggested that sharing a room was "no trouble at all."
She heard Victoria get up and waited what she felt was a decent length of time before opening her eyes.
Certainly enough time for any changing or dressing to happen.
And she definitely didn’t peek. She screwed her eyes tight shut and waited until she could wait no more before she opened them to find Victoria sitting at her laptop with the sort of focused intensity that suggested the rest of the world could disappear and she wouldn't notice.
She looked up when Sasha stirred, and for a moment their eyes met across the room.
"Morning," Victoria said, her voice slightly husky from sleep.
"Morning," Sasha managed, acutely aware that her hair probably looked like she'd been electrocuted. "Um, sleep well?"
"Fine, thank you." Victoria's gaze lingered on Sasha's face for a moment longer than necessary. "The bathroom's free if you want to…"
"Right. Yes. Thank you."
Sasha fled.
THE GARDENS, THANKFULLY, provided an escape from the charged atmosphere of shared sleeping arrangements. Sasha decided that she was being stupid and sleeping in the same room was no different than a sleepover. A weird, rich person’s sleepover. But getting out of the house seemed like a wise idea.
Cathy was already at work among the vegetable beds, and Sasha found herself gravitating toward the practical comfort of someone who dealt with problems by getting her hands dirty.
"You look like you've been hit by a truck," Cathy observed cheerfully, not looking up from the tomato plants she was staking.
"Rough night."
"Mmm, that day bed's murder on the back. Used to sleep on it myself when I was younger and stayed over sometimes." Cathy glanced at her sideways. "Though I suspect your sleepless night had more to do with the room's other occupant."
Sasha felt her cheeks burning. "I don't know what you mean."
"Course you don't." Cathy grinned. "Here, make yourself useful. These cucumber vines need tying up before they strangle themselves."
"And how do you know where I’m sleeping?" Sasha asked, putting her hands on her hips.
Cathy laughed. "A house like this is like a village. There’s no keeping secrets. At least not logistical ones. Besides, Ambrose was practically hysterical about it this morning. He’s finding it entertaining if no one else is."
Sasha grunted. "Glad to know my pathetic teenage crush is hilarious."
"Oh, come on now," Cathy said. "It’s not a pathetic teenage crush. For a start, you’re not a teenager."
Sasha snorted and got down to work. She might as well face it, it seemed like everyone under the age of forty knew about her crush. Other than Victoria, of course.
Working in the gardens was surprisingly meditative.
There was something soothing about the methodical work of tying and staking and weeding, something that required just enough concentration to keep her mind off Victoria's breathing patterns.
Cathy proved to be an excellent teacher, pointing out which plants needed water, which were struggling with pests, and which were thriving in the unusual heat.
"You've got good instincts," Cathy said after Sasha successfully identified a cucumber plant that needed more support. "Most people can't tell the difference between a healthy plant and one that's just putting on a show."
"Really?"
"Really. Look at this one here." Cathy indicated a tomato plant that looked perfectly fine to Sasha's untrained eye. "What do you think?"
Sasha studied the plant carefully. The leaves were a good color, the stems looked strong, but something about it seemed… off. "It's not happy," she said finally. "I don't know why, but it looks like it's trying too hard."
"Exactly right. Root rot. Probably from overwatering. The plant's compensating by putting all its energy into looking healthy, but it won't last." Cathy looked impressed. "That's not something you can teach. Either you can read plants or you can't."
The morning passed quickly, and Sasha found that she was genuinely enjoying herself. There was something deeply satisfying about helping things grow, about working with her hands and seeing immediate results. It was the first time in years that she'd felt truly engaged with something, truly useful.
"Oi, Sasha!" Ambrose's voice carried across the garden, and she looked up to see him approaching with Lukas in tow. Both men were carrying various gardening implements and wearing the sort of expressions that suggested they were trying very hard to look professional.
"Morning," she called back, then lowered her voice to Cathy. "How much do you want to bet that Ambrose volunteered for garden duty?"
"No bet," Cathy said dryly. "He's been finding excuses to help with outdoor work ever since he arrived. Yesterday he offered to carry fertilizer. Ambrose Sullivan, who once called gardening 'organized dirt management.'"
Sure enough, Ambrose was making a production of examining the rose bushes with the sort of intense focus usually reserved for neurosurgery.
"These roses are very… rosy," he announced to no one in particular. "Excellent rose work, Lukas."
Lukas looked amused. "Thank you. Though I think the credit goes more to the roses themselves."
"Right, yes, teamwork. Very important in… rose situations."
Sasha exchanged a look with Cathy, who was clearly trying not to laugh.
They disappeared off and Sasha straightened, stretching her back. "I’m going to get some water."
As Sasha made her way over to the roses, she caught sight of Sophie emerging from behind the greenhouse, moving with the sort of careful stealth that suggested she didn't want to be seen. When she spotted Sasha, she quickly hid something behind her back.
"Morning, Sophie," Sasha said casually, pretending not to notice the obvious concealment.
"Oh, hello," Sophie said, a bit too brightly. "Lovely morning, isn't it?"
"Gorgeous. What are you up to?"
"Nothing much. Just… exploring. You know how it is."
Sasha didn't push, but she filed the interaction away for future consideration. Sophie was definitely up to something, and whatever it was, it involved sneaking around with mysterious objects.
"Have you heard the news?" Sophie continued, clearly eager to change the subject.
"What news?"
"Tiffany's gone. Left this morning in a taxi, taking half the breakfast pastries with her." Sophie's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Archie's devastated, naturally."
"What happened?"
"Oh, the usual. She wanted to redecorate the library to make it more 'photogenic,' and Grandmother made some pointed observations about the sanctity of literary spaces. There may have been words about 'vapid modernization' and 'intellectual vandalism.'"
Sasha winced. "Ouch."
"Quite. Though between you and me, I think Cathy's relieved. She's been watching Archie parade inappropriate women through here for years."
Sasha glanced back at Cathy, who was now pretending to be very interested in a row of lettuce. There was something in her posture, a careful neutrality that suggested Sophie had hit close to home.
"Don't worry," Sophie continued cheerfully. "He'll have a replacement by tonight at the latest. Archie can't stand being single for more than five minutes. He’s so desperate to get married and prove himself a good heir that he won’t leave the seat next to him empty for a second."
"Right," Sasha said, still watching Cathy. "I'm sure he’ll find a willing victim."
THE REST OF the day passed in similar fashion: Sasha learning the names of plants and the art of proper watering, Ambrose finding increasingly creative reasons to work within sight of Lukas, and the general rhythm of estate life continuing around them.
It was tiring, but in a nice way. Not her usual sort of vacation, but Sasha didn’t find herself missing cheap cocktails on a crowded beach one bit.
As the afternoon drew on, Sasha was dreading the thought of another night in Victoria's room.
The day bed wasn't the problem, she'd slept on worse.
The problem was Victoria herself, all that contained energy and professional composure, and the way she'd looked at Sasha that morning like she was… interested.
And Sasha was starting to think she might be interesting. And interested, for that matter.
She was helping Cathy put away tools when Victoria appeared on the terrace, and Sasha felt her pulse quicken at the sight of her. Victoria was wearing a simple summer dress that made her look softer somehow, less armored.
"Right," Cathy said, following Sasha's gaze. "I'm thinking tonight might be even more challenging than last night. You can always shack up in one of the greenhouses, if you like?"
Sasha sighed and shook her head, gathering up the last of the plant ties. Another night of listening to Victoria breathe, of being hyperaware of every sound and movement, of lying awake wanting things she had no business wanting.
Because the truth was, she'd much rather be in Victoria's bed than on the day bed beside it.