Chapter Twenty
The email pinged through just as Victoria was pretending to listen to Archie explain why his latest girlfriend's ideas for the estate were "something that should be seriously considered.
" Why all his girlfriends needed opinions on the estate was something that she was unclear about.
Perhaps because Archie was trying to sculpt them so desperately into wife material. She looked at her phone.
Subject: Interview Request - Senior Investment Manager Position
She took a deep breath. Richmond Brothers. One of the top firms in the City. Exactly the sort of position she'd been hoping for when this whole nightmare started.
Dear Ms. Sullivan, We were impressed by your credentials and would like to invite you for an in-person interview at our London offices…
She should be thrilled. She was thrilled. This was it, her way back, her chance to rebuild everything that had collapsed. Proof that she wasn't washed up at thirty-one, that redundancy wasn't the end of her career. That she could continue her career path just as before.
So why was she feeling oh-so-slightly hollow about the whole thing? That made no sense at all.
"—and Cassandra thinks we could really modernize the grounds," Archie was saying, gesturing enthusiastically. "Make them more functional for contemporary use."
Victoria looked up from her phone to find Archie's latest acquisition holding forth in front of the mantlepiece. Cassandra was tall, blonde, and possessed of the sort of confident horsey energy that came from a lifetime of expensive riding lessons. She was also, Victoria noted with growing irritation, completely ignoring Cathy, who stood by the door shaking her head and looking like she’d rather not have been roped into this conversation at all.
"The south lawn would be perfect for a show-jumping ring," Cassandra continued. "We could host events, competitions. Really put the estate on the map for the equestrian set."
Lady Charlotte's teacup paused halfway to her lips. "The south lawn has been maintained as ornamental gardens for two hundred years."
"Exactly! So traditional. But think of the opportunities." Cassandra pulled out her phone, swiping through images with manicured fingers. "I know this amazing contractor who specializes in competition-grade surfaces. We could have something world-class here."
Sir Archibald lowered his newspaper and glared, but apparently didn’t trust himself enough to speak.
"Actually," Cathy said quietly, "the south lawn's drainage isn't suitable for that sort of heavy use. The water table's too high. We'd need extensive groundwork that would destroy the root systems of the mature trees."
Cassandra waved this away. "I'm sure we could work around that."
"We couldn't," Cathy said, her voice still professional but with an edge. "The oaks are over three hundred years old. They're part of a protected woodland corridor."
"Then we'll move them."
The silence that followed was slightly longer than was comfortable.
"Move them?" Sir Archibald's voice was dangerously quiet.
"Well, yes. There are companies that relocate mature trees all the time. Very modern approach." Cassandra smiled brightly. "And honestly, they're blocking the best sight lines for the jumping course anyway."
Victoria watched her father's knuckles go white around his newspaper. Across the room, her mother had gone very still in that way that suggested someone had just committed an unforgivable social crime.
"Perhaps," Lady Charlotte said with icy politeness, "we might discuss other options."
"Oh, there are loads of options! We could do dressage rings, maybe a cross-country course through the woods…"
"The woods are also protected," Cathy interjected.
Cassandra's smile tightened. "I'm sure you mean well, but I think the family can make these decisions without input from the staff."
Victoria shook her head. Really, this was enough.
She needed to give her brother a solid talking to.
She knew what he was trying to do, knew that he was attempting to impress their parents with a potential wife that was going to help run the estate rather than just be a pretty face.
But couldn’t he see that he was failing spectacularly?
"Cathy knows more about this estate than anyone. If she says the south lawn won't work, it won't work," she said.
"I'm sure she's very knowledgeable about gardening," Cassandra said with barely concealed condescension. "But this is about vision. About seeing the potential for something greater than just pretty flowers."
"Pretty flowers," Cathy repeated flatly.
"Cassandra," Archie said, finally seeming to sense the danger, "maybe we should—"
"I'm just trying to help." Cassandra's voice had taken on a slight whine. "You said you wanted to modernize the estate, make it more viable. I'm offering solutions."
"Solutions that would destroy three hundred years of careful stewardship," Victoria said, her voice cool. "But I'm sure that's a small price to pay for playing horsey."
Cassandra's eyes flashed. "At least I'm thinking about the future. Not everyone wants to live in a museum."
Victoria closed her mouth. She’d take Archie to one side as soon as she could.
Someone needed to put an end to this farce.
Cassandra was what, the third, fourth date he’d brought in this holiday?
She could sense his desperation, but honestly, couldn’t he see that firstly, Cathy was besotted with him, and secondly, that Cathy would be the perfect person to do exactly what he was trying to do?
He wanted to make his mark on the estate, who better than Cathy to help him?
How could he be so blind?
She couldn’t watch this any longer. She excused herself and escaped to the terrace, her phone still clutched in her hand with the interview email glowing on the screen. She should respond immediately, confirm her attendance, start preparing. This was what she wanted. What she'd been working toward.
Wasn't it?
Except for once in her life, Victoria realized, she wasn't constantly thinking about work.
Oh, she was still applying for positions, still networking, still going through all the proper motions. But the sharp edge of panic had dulled. She no longer woke up at three in the morning with her heart racing, mentally cataloging everything she'd lost.
Instead, she woke up with Sasha warm against her side, and work felt like something that happened to other people in another life entirely.
Which was completely mad.
She'd spent years building her career, sacrificing relationships and social life and basically anything that didn't fit into her carefully planned trajectory. She was the golden child, the perfect daughter, the one who had everything figured out. Career came first. It always had.
Except now she kept thinking about Sasha's hands on her skin, the way she laughed, the soft sounds she made when Victoria's mouth found sensitive places.
She thought about Sasha's enthusiasm for the gardens, the way she'd discovered something she genuinely loved and pursued it with wholehearted joy.
She thought about mornings tangled in sheets and stolen kisses in the potting shed and the terrifying realization that this felt like significantly more than just physical attraction.
Was it possible she'd been as blind as Archie?
Her previous relationships had all ended the same way.
Partners who complained she was married to her job, who wanted more time and attention than she could give, who eventually gave up on competing with investment banking for her affection.
She'd always told herself they simply weren't the right fit, that the right person would understand her ambition.
But what if the problem wasn't them? What if the problem was that she'd been so focused on being perfect that she'd forgotten to actually live? That she wasn’t willing to risk what it took to be seen as anything less than perfect?
Sasha appeared on the terrace, interrupting her spiraling thoughts. Her face was flushed from working outside.
"There you are," Sasha said. "I thought you were having coffee and meeting Archie’s latest acquisition."
"Escaped. Cassandra was explaining why we should demolish three-hundred-year-old oaks for show-jumping."
"Christ. Archie really knows how to pick them."
"Doesn't he?" Victoria's phone buzzed with a reminder about responding to the interview email. "Listen, I need to go to London tomorrow. Job interview."
Something flickered across Sasha's face. "That's brilliant. When do you leave?"
"Early train. I'll be back by evening." Victoria stepped closer, drawn by that magnetic pull she still couldn't quite name. "But I was thinking…"
"Thinking what?"
"Thinking I should probably pack now. Get organized." Her hand found Sasha's waist, fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt to touch warm skin. "Except I keep getting distracted."
"Distracted?" Sasha's voice had gone rough.
"Mmm. Can't seem to focus when you're around." Victoria couldn’t stop herself. But at least she was sensible enough to know that the terrace was a truly dangerous proposition. She grabbed at Sasha’s hand, pulled her through the house, navigating corridors with single-minded determination until they reached the snooker room.
Empty, as she'd known it would be at this hour.
She closed the door behind them.
"Victoria, we can't—" Sasha began, but Victoria was already on her, pressing her against the heavy oak door and kissing her until neither of them could think straight.
"We can," Victoria murmured against her mouth. "We just need to be quiet."
Her hands were already working at Sasha's clothes with increasing urgency. She couldn't get enough, couldn't stop touching, tasting, claiming. Every time felt like the first time and the last time all at once.
She walked Sasha backward until her hips hit the snooker table, then turned her around with gentle insistence. Sasha's breath caught as Victoria pressed against her back, hands sliding around to work at the buttons of her jeans.
"Here?" Sasha managed, though she was already arching back into the contact.
"Here." Victoria's mouth found the curve of her neck. "Unless you'd rather I stop?"
"Don't you dare."
Victoria peeled Sasha's jeans down slowly, deliberately, enjoying the way Sasha trembled under her touch. The green baize of the table was soft under her palms as she bent Sasha forward, and the sight of her like this, flushed and wanting and perfectly undone, made Victoria's mouth go dry.
She took her time, hands and mouth touching every available inch of skin, every place that made Sasha gasp or moan. When her fingers finally slipped between Sasha's thighs, finding her wet and ready, Sasha had to press her face into her own arm to muffle the sound that escaped.
"Quiet," Victoria reminded her, though her own breathing was far from steady. "Can't have anyone hearing."
She worked her slowly, thoroughly, one hand between Sasha's legs and the other pressed flat against the small of her back, holding her in place. The sounds Sasha was making, muffled and desperate, were driving her mad with want.
When Sasha finally began to shake, Victoria had to cover her mouth with one hand, swallowing those gorgeous sounds while Sasha trembled beneath her.
They stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing hard, before Victoria helped Sasha straighten and put herself back together. Sasha's hair was a mess, her lips swollen, and she looked absolutely undone in a way that made Victoria want to start all over again.
"We can’t keep doing this," Sasha said, but she was smiling.
"You like it." Victoria kissed her softly, tasting satisfaction on her tongue.
"I can’t lie about that." Sasha's expression grew more serious. "You'll be back tomorrow evening? From London?"
"Yes. Earliest train I can get back. I promise."
"Good." Sasha's fingers threaded through Victoria's hair, pulling her down for another kiss. "I'd miss you otherwise."
Victoria's chest tightened at the casual admission. "Would you?"
"Obviously. Who else am I supposed to shag in inappropriate locations?"
But there was something underneath the joke, something that made Victoria's heart swell up until it almost hurt. She pulled Sasha close, breathing in the scent of her, trying to memorize this moment.
Because the truth was, at some point she would be leaving for good.
She'd get a job, this one or another, and return to London, return to her real life where investment banking and eighty-hour weeks left no room for summer romances with beautiful women who made her forget why she'd ever cared about being perfect.
At some point, this would end.
She just didn't want to think about when.