Chapter Seventeen
Victoria had to admit that she had a problem.
Well, more than one. There was the fact that as far as her family was concerned she was still an important and, more importantly, employed banker.
But then there was something else. Every time Sasha laughed, every gesture, every tilt of her head, Victoria felt it like a physical pull.
Ridiculous, really. She was thirty-one years old, not some hormonal teenager.
And yet.
And yet she couldn’t seem to get her mind out of the gutter.
Take tonight, for example. A lovely family dinner, and all she could think about was taking Sasha and bending her over the dining table and…
She forced herself to swallow, to be in the moment, to breathe.
"The house party is shaping up beautifully," her mother was saying, ticking items off on her fingers. "Thirty-two guests confirmed so far. The Harrisons, the Pemberton-Smythes, Lord and Lady Ashworth…"
Victoria tried to focus on the guest list. She really did. But Sasha was sitting directly in her eyeline, and she'd just tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a way that made Victoria's stomach do something complicated and needy.
Christ, she needed to get a grip.
"The caterers are confirmed," Lady Charlotte continued, "and I've arranged for the quartet from Bath. They were lovely at the Winthrops' garden party last month."
"As long as they don't play that dreadful modern jazz again," Lady Alexandra said. "Music should be melodic, not sound like someone's strangling a cat."
Sophie made a small choking sound, and Victoria caught the flash of panic in her sister's eyes. Interesting. And Sasha was hiding a smile, even more interesting.
"We'll stick to classics, Mama," Lady Charlotte said soothingly. "Nothing too adventurous."
Victoria picked up her wine glass and found Sasha watching her over the rim of her own. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second too long, and Victoria felt heat creep up her neck. Sasha's lips curved slightly, like she knew exactly what Victoria was thinking.
Which was impossible. And terrifying.
And terrifyingly impossible. Right?
Victoria wasn’t at all sure that she was capable of sharing a room with the woman tonight. Not without doing something unspeakable. Honestly, she must be ovulating or something, her hormones were looking to eat someone alive.
"Victoria, darling, you'll help me with the seating arrangements, won't you?" her mother asked. "You're so good at that sort of thing."
"Of course," Victoria managed, tearing her gaze away from Sasha. "Though perhaps we should seat the Ashworths away from the Harrisons. There was that incident at Ascot."
"Good thinking. I'd forgotten about that." Lady Charlotte made a note. "And we'll need to…" She pulled a notepad out of a small pocket and started to jot things down.
"I've had the most brilliant idea," Archie announced, filling the ensuing silence. He turned to Liza, who was examining her reflection in the back of her dessert spoon. "Cathy suggested we expand the kitchen garden. Make the estate more self-sufficient. Grow more of our own vegetables."
"Doesn’t sound like you’ve had an idea," Ambrose said mildly. "Sounds like Cathy’s had an idea."
Lady Alexandra set down her fork with approval. "I think it sounds very sensible. There's something rather satisfying about eating food from one's own land. Very traditional."
"Is it?" Liza wrinkled her nose. "Sounds a bit… I don't know. Boring?"
There was a stilted silence that went on for just a tad too long.
"Boring?" Lady Alexandra's voice was dangerously calm.
"Well, yeah. I mean, vegetables are just vegetables, aren't they? And won't it make the place look a bit… council house-y? All those rows of cabbages or whatever. Not very aesthetic."
Victoria caught Ambrose's eye across the table. He raised his eyebrows fractionally. Archie had gone very still, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. The three of them had been through enough disastrous girlfriend introductions to recognize when someone had just signed their own death warrant.
"I see," Lady Alexandra said, her tone arctic. "How… interesting."
Sir Archibald emerged from behind his newspaper and fixed Liza with a stare that spoke volumes. "The kitchen gardens have been supplying this house for three hundred years," he said quietly. "I hardly think they've made us look like a council estate."
Liza laughed, apparently oblivious to the hole she was digging. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that. Just that maybe we could do something more fun? Like a Zen garden? Or those trendy vertical herb walls you see on Instagram?"
"Instagram," Lady Alexandra repeated, as if testing a particularly distasteful word.
"I’m sure that those Instagrams are lovely," their mother said desperately, clearly trying to salvage the conversation. "But we’re more on the traditional side, really, aren't we, darling?" She turned to Victoria.
"Mmm," Victoria agreed, still watching Sasha, who was pressing her napkin to her mouth in what was obviously trying not to either choke or get hysterical. Their eyes met again, and Victoria felt that pull intensify, like a cord drawn tight between them.
She wanted to grab Sasha's hand and drag her out of this dining room, push her up against the nearest wall, kiss her until neither of them could remember why this was a terrible idea.
The urge was so strong it was almost physical, a need that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with the way Sasha's dress clung to her shoulders, the soft curve of her neck, the—
"Don't you think, Victoria?"
Victoria blinked. "Sorry?"
"The arrangements for the house party," her mother said patiently. "You agree we should set up on the south lawn?"
"Yes. Absolutely. South lawn." She had no idea what she was agreeing to.
Ambrose kicked her under the table. She kicked him back and scowled. He grinned at her and ostentatiously draped an arm around Sasha’s shoulder in a way that made Victoria very much want to punch her brother.
"Well," Liza was saying brightly, apparently unaware that she'd just committed social suicide, "I'm sure whatever you decide will be lovely. Though if you want any help with modernizing things, I've got loads of ideas. My flat in London is very minimalist. Very now."
"How nice," Lady Alexandra said, in a tone that suggested it was anything but.
The rest of dinner passed painfully slowly. Victoria managed to eat without choking, though she couldn't have said what any of the courses were. She was too aware of Sasha sitting across from her, too conscious of every movement, every laugh, every time those green eyes flickered in her direction.
This was getting out of hand. She needed to focus on her career, on finding a new job, on rebuilding the perfect life that had just collapsed. She didn't need complications. She certainly didn't need to be obsessing over her brother's fake girlfriend like some sort of… fool. Idiot. Hormonal teen.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out discreetly, glancing at the screen under the table.
Subject: Re: Senior Investment Manager Position
Her stomach clenched. She'd been waiting for this one. Henderson Associates. The role had been perfect, exactly what she'd been looking for.
Dear Ms. Sullivan, Thank you for your interest in the Senior Investment Manager position. Unfortunately, after careful consideration…
She stopped reading. She knew how these emails went. The polite rejection, the "we were impressed by your credentials but," the "we wish you the best in your future endeavors."
Four phone interviews this week. Four rejections.
What was going on? What was she doing wrong?
She’d literally never been in this position before.
And worse, she had no idea how to change anything.
What if this was what her life was now? An endless parade of failures.
What if she’d used up all her luck, all her goldenness, and now she was doomed to…
Her breath was coming faster, too fast. She swallowed, calmed herself, slipped the phone back into her pocket and reached for her wine glass, only to find it empty. Probably for the best. The last thing she needed was to get drunk at family dinner and do something spectacularly stupid.
Like kiss Sasha in front of everyone.
Like kiss Sasha period.
"Are you alright?" Sasha's voice cut through her thoughts. "You look a bit pale."
Victoria glanced up to find Sasha watching her with concern, those green eyes seeing far too much.
"I'm fine," she said automatically.
"Are you sure? Because you seem—"
"I'm fine." Victoria pushed back from the table. "Just tired. I think I'll turn in early again."
"Victoria, darling, you've barely touched your dessert," her mother protested.
"Not very hungry. Sorry. Things are… busy at work. Lots to do, unfortunately." It was an excuse they’d all heard so often before that it shouldn’t raise any suspicions. She stood, smoothing down her dress. "Lovely dinner, as always."
She could feel Sasha's eyes on her as she left the dining room, could feel the weight of that concerned gaze following her into the hallway. Part of her wanted to turn around, to let Sasha ask what was wrong, to admit that everything was falling apart and she had no idea how to fix it.
But Victoria Sullivan didn't fall apart. Victoria Sullivan had contingency plans and backup strategies and the sort of professional composure that had gotten her through six years of high-pressure banking.
Victoria Sullivan was absolutely fine.
She climbed the stairs to her room, each step feeling heavier than the last, and tried very hard not to think about the fact that in a few hours, Sasha would be sleeping six feet away from her, breathing softly in the darkness, and Victoria would be lying awake wanting things she had no business wanting.
The hallway stretched before her, familiar portraits watching from the walls with disapproving eyes, and Victoria had never felt more like she was walking toward something inevitable and utterly terrifying.