Chapter Sixteen
Being driven to the beach by her fake boyfriend's chauffeur made Sasha feel like she was living in some sort of alternate reality where normal rules didn't apply. It was sort of like being on television but without the annoying director telling her what to do.
"Davies, you really don't have to…" she began for the third time as he held open the car door.
"Miss Fox, I assure you it's no trouble at all." Davies's expression was perfectly neutral, though she could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile. "Master Ambrose requested beach transportation, and beach transportation he shall receive."
"We’ll walk back," Ambrose said. "If it makes you feel any better?"
"It might," said Sasha.
"Come on, then." He was already halfway down the path to the sand, carrying a ridiculous wicker picnic basket that probably cost more than Sasha's last ten pairs of shoes, which, to be fair, were all sneakers. He turned and waved enthusiastically.
"I've packed champagne!"
"It's eleven in the morning," Sasha called back.
"Your point being?"
She followed him down to the beach, which was predictably stunning, all golden sand and turquoise water that looked like it belonged in a postcard rather than actual Cornwall. The heat was oppressive, even this close to the water, the sort of sticky warmth that made clothing feel like a punishment.
"Right," Ambrose said, spreading out an enormous blanket with surprising efficiency. "You haven't had much of a holiday, what with all the gardening and the sneaking around and the wanting to shag my sister, and… stuff."
"I don't want to shag your sister."
"Please. You practically vibrate when she walks into a room." He pulled out the champagne and two crystal flutes, because apparently plastic cups were beneath Sullivan standards even at the beach. "You deserve a proper day off."
Sasha accepted the champagne and looked around. "Where's Lukas then? Thought you might have invited him along."
Ambrose's face fell spectacularly. "Plant collecting trip. Something about rare specimens in Devon. He left this morning and won't be back until tonight."
"Ah. So this is less 'treating Sasha to a lovely beach day' and more 'Ambrose needs emotional support because his crush is away.'"
"Can't it be both?" Ambrose flopped dramatically onto the blanket. "I'm bereft, Sash. Absolutely bereft. Do you know what it's like to wake up and realize the most beautiful man you've ever seen won't be pruning roses in the morning sun?"
"Tragic." She settled beside him, digging her toes into the warm sand. "Though I have to say, this fake girlfriend thing has been excellent for your poetry. 'Pruning roses in the morning sun'? Very romantic."
"Mock me all you want, but I'm in love." He said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, that Sasha felt her chest tighten. His tone was flippant, but she knew him well enough to know that, for once, Ambrose Sullivan was being one hundred percent honest about his feelings.
"Yeah?"
"Completely gone." Ambrose took a long sip of champagne. "He's brilliant and kind and knows Latin names for plants, which shouldn't be attractive but absolutely is. And when he smiles at me? Christ, Sash, I forget how words work."
"Have you told him?"
"Are you mental? Of course I haven't told him." Ambrose groaned. "What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if he's just being professionally friendly and I've completely misread everything?"
"You haven't misread anything. I've seen the way he looks at you. Like you're something worth cultivating."
Ambrose made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "God, even you're doing plant metaphors now. Father's corrupted you entirely."
They were quiet for a moment, watching the waves roll in with hypnotic regularity. The beach was nearly empty, just them and a few distant figures walking dogs.
"What about you?" Ambrose asked finally. "Still pretending you don't have feelings for Victoria?"
"I'm not pretending anything."
"Sasha. We’re having our moment of raw honesty, come on, play along like a good girl."
"Fine. I really like her, alright? Like, stupidly. Inconveniently. The sort of like that makes you want to do ridiculous things."
"Such as?"
"Such as follow her around like a pathetic puppy. Such as memorize the way she takes her coffee. Such as think about kissing her approximately ninety percent of my waking hours." Sasha took a large gulp of champagne. "It's getting out of hand."
"So do something about it."
"I can't. She's your sister."
Ambrose sighed. "Fine. I give you my blessing. Does that help?"
"It's not just that, though, is it?" Sasha drew patterns in the sand with her finger. "Victoria doesn't do relationships. You said that yourself. She's career obsessed, always on her computer or phone, even on holiday. What am I supposed to do? Compete with investment banking for her attention?
Ambrose was quiet for a moment. "You know, you're right about the career thing. Vic's always been like that. Everything has to be perfect, planned, controlled. She color-codes her sock drawer, for God's sake."
"Sexy."
"And she's never dated anyone seriously.
Not really. A couple of banker wankers, but they were probably just as career obsessed as she is.
There was someone a few years ago, but Vic ended it because they wanted more than she could give.
" He rolled onto his side to look at her.
"But this holiday she's different. More distracted.
Less focused on work and more focused on… well, on you. At least I think so."
"You're imagining things."
"Am I? Because she defended you to Grandmother at lunch yesterday. Victoria never contradicts Grandmother. Ever. Too busy being the golden child to do contradictions."
Sasha felt warmth that had nothing to do with the sun. "Still. I'm not the sort of person who does summer flings. You know that."
"I do know that." Ambrose sat up, brushing sand off his arms. "Which is why you need to be careful, because if you're not the summer fling type and Victoria doesn't do relationships, this whole thing is going to end with someone getting hurt."
"Probably me."
"Probably you," he agreed cheerfully. "Now come on, let's swim before I start crying about Lukas again."
The water was shockingly cold after the heat of the beach, making Sasha gasp as waves crashed against her legs. Ambrose dove in without hesitation, surfacing with his hair plastered to his head and a grin on his face.
"Refreshing!" he called.
"Freezing!"
But it was glorious once she adjusted to the temperature.
They swam and floated and generally behaved like tourists rather than people caught up in elaborate romantic deceptions.
For a few hours, Sasha let herself forget about Victoria and fake relationships and the growing certainty that she was in far too deep.
"So what are you going to do when you get home?" Ambrose asked as they were toweling off later. "Back to job hunting?"
"Actually, I was thinking about trying to get something at a garden center.
" The words came out more easily than she'd expected.
"Or maybe seeing if there are horticulture courses I could take.
I really like working with Cathy here. Learning about plants, seeing things grow. It feels… right, somehow."
Ambrose's face lit up. "Sash, that's brilliant. You'd be amazing at that."
"You think?"
"I know. You've got instincts for it. Even Father said so, and he never compliments anyone who isn't a rare orchid."
They packed up the picnic things and slowly began the trek up the beach and over the rolling dunes back toward the house, the afternoon sun bright and hot on their backs.
It had been nice to spend some time with Ambrose, but no less confusing.
It seemed that the two of them were in pretty much the same situation.
Though in this case, sharing their woes didn’t make her feel any better at all.
IT WAS LATE afternoon when they arrived back at the house, the shadows lengthening across the manicured lawns. Sasha was heading upstairs to change when she caught movement in her peripheral vision, Sophie, slipping around a corner with suspicious quickness.
Curious, Sasha followed.
Sophie moved through the house with practiced ease, clearly knowing exactly which floorboards creaked and which corridors were most likely to be empty. She climbed the back stairs to the family wing, glancing over her shoulder periodically but never quite looking behind her enough to spot Sasha.
When Sophie reached her bedroom door, she paused, listening intently. Then she slipped inside and pulled the door almost closed behind her, leaving just a crack.
Sasha crept closer, holding her breath.
"Hello, darlings," Sophie's voice came through the gap, pitched low and sweet. "Did you miss me? I know, I know, I've been gone ages. But look what I've brought you."
There was a rustling sound, followed by distinct meowing. Multiple sources of meowing, actually, in various pitches and volumes.
"That's it, don't fight over the chicken. There's plenty for everyone. Yes, even you, Livingstone."
Sasha felt a smile tugging at her lips. So that explained the mysterious scratches, the sneaking food, Lady Alexandra's sneezing fits. Sophie Sullivan was running some sort of unauthorized kitten rescue operation in her bedroom.
She backed away quietly, leaving Sophie to her secret.
Everyone in this house was hiding something, she thought, not for the first time.
Ambrose with his fake girlfriend, Victoria with whatever was going on with her job, Archie with his inability to see what was right in front of him.
And now Sophie, rescuing kittens while her grandmother sneezed through family dinners.
The guilt settled heavy in Sasha's stomach. All this pretending, all these lies, and for what? So Ambrose could avoid an awkward conversation? So Victoria could maintain her perfect daughter image? So Sasha could spend two weeks wanting someone she couldn't have?
She made her way to Victoria's room, their room, she reminded herself, though it still felt like an intrusion. Victoria wasn't there, probably off making another phone call or sending yet more emails. She wondered if Victoria’s boss appreciated what he had.
Her bag needed unpacking from the beach trip. She pulled out her damp swimsuit and towel, and as she passed Victoria's bed, she caught the scent of that expensive perfume Victoria always wore.
She shouldn't. It was weird and borderline creepy and definitely not the sort of thing normal people did.
But she leaned over anyway, pressing her face into Victoria's pillow and breathing in deeply. The scent was stronger here, mixed with something that was just Victoria, clean and warm and utterly intoxicating.
Christ, she had it bad.