Chapter Twenty-Five
The beach path was mercifully cool in the early morning air, a sharp contrast to the increasing chaos back at the house.
Sasha could hear the distant sounds of party preparation.
Caterers arriving, staff bustling about, Ambrose’s mother issuing orders.
Tonight was the start of the big house party, Ambrose would finally tell his grandmother the truth, and Monday…
Well, on Monday she'd probably be back in Manchester, wondering what the hell had just happened to her life.
"You're being very quiet," Ambrose observed, picking his way carefully down the rocky path. "Usually by now you've made at least three sarcastic observations about my footwear choices."
"Your trainers are fine," Sasha said absently. "Very sensible for beach walking."
"Christ, you are in a state. Since when do you approve of my fashion choices without mockery?"
They reached the sand, and Ambrose immediately began stripping off his shirt with the casual confidence of someone who'd never doubted his place in the world. Sasha envied him that certainty, even as she kicked off her sandals and felt the cool sand between her toes.
"So," she said, settling onto the blanket he'd brought, "this is the weekend then. Operation Coming Out."
"Operation Coming Out." Ambrose grinned, but there was nervousness underneath it. "Though I have to say, I'm significantly less terrified than I was a week ago."
"Lukas effect?"
"Definitely the Lukas effect." His expression went soft in that particular way that meant he was thinking about his ridiculous head gardener.
"Did I mention he kissed me yesterday? Properly kissed me, not just the sneaky greenhouse fumbling we've been doing.
" He flushed. "He, uh, wondered if I might like to go back to Poland with him for a weekend. "
"Meeting the family?" Sasha couldn't help smiling at his obvious happiness. "That’s a big step."
"Well, I mean, he’s already met mine, hasn’t he? Seems only fair."
"I suppose it does," agreed Sasha.
Ambrose dug into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. "Which brings me to this."
Sasha eyed the box suspiciously. "If you're proposing, I should mention that I'd make a terrible wife. Don’t care for cooking and, as previously mentioned, I’d probably make fun of your shoes too much."
"It’s not a proposal, you muppet. It’s a thank you.
" He opened the box to reveal a delicate silver necklace, simple and elegant.
"For giving me a whole holiday of being the golden child. For letting me be the son they wanted, even if it was all a lie. It was an interesting experience. Not sure I’ll be repeating it, but not having people criticize me for once was lovely. And they all love you, by the way."
The necklace was beautiful, clearly expensive, and absolutely not something she deserved. "Ambrose, I can't—"
"You can and you will." He was already fastening it around her neck, his fingers gentle at her nape. "Besides, you've earned it. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to be perfect? I've gained a whole new appreciation for Victoria's constant stress levels."
"Speaking of Victoria…"
"Ah." Ambrose settled back on the blanket, studying her face. "She's back this afternoon, you know. Interview went well, apparently."
"Good for her." Sasha tried to sound casual and failed spectacularly. "She'll be thrilled to get back to London. Back to proper banking and work and everything that makes her happy."
"You think work makes her happy?"
"Doesn't it? She lights up when she talks about investment strategies. Gets that focused look when she's on business calls. It's clearly what she loves." Sasha picked up a handful of sand, letting it run through her fingers. "Which is fine. Admirable, really. Very driven."
"Sash." Ambrose's voice was gentle. "You know that's not the whole story, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"Victoria's been working like a maniac since university because it's what she thinks she's supposed to do. Perfect daughter, perfect career, perfect everything. But have you seen her this week? Actually looked at her?"
Sasha had looked at her. Had catalogued every smile, every laugh, every moment when Victoria forgot to be perfect. Had memorized the way she moved, breathed, spoke.
"She seems relaxed," she admitted.
"She seems human. For the first time in years." Ambrose was watching her carefully. "Don't be too harsh on her, yeah? She does what she knows how to do. And she's genuinely brilliant at it, the banking thing isn't just an act. But that doesn't mean it's all she is."
They swam after that, the water shockingly cold but refreshing after the sticky heat. Ambrose disappeared underwater like the aquatic show-off he was, surfacing near the rocks with his hair slicked back and a grin that made him look about twelve.
"Race you back," he called, already striking out toward shore.
"Cheater!" Sasha called back, but she was laughing as she followed.
The walk back up to the house gave her time to think, which was probably a mistake.
The estate sprawled before them in the morning light, all honey-colored stone and manicured perfection.
Staff moved efficiently across the grounds, preparing for the weekend’s festivities.
It was all… unreal. She couldn’t even believe Ambrose belonged here, let alone someone like her.
Even if Victoria did like her, which was a generous interpretation of their situation, what exactly was Sasha supposed to do with that?
She'd be going back to her garden center job search and Ambrose's spare room, while Victoria returned to Chelsea and banking and a world where people learned Latin for fun at age twelve.
They came from different planets. The fact that they'd collided so spectacularly for two weeks didn't change that basic reality. It had been a fantasy holiday, that was all.
As they reached the house, Ambrose spotted Lukas heading toward the rose garden. "I’ll catch up with you later," he said before speeding off.
Sasha grinned. At least someone was happy. Very happy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Ambrose so infatuated. And Lukas was nice, really nice. She turned to go in through the terrace before a voice stopped her.
"Sasha, thank God you're back."
Sophie materialized from behind a topiary hedge, looking like she'd been awake all night. Her hair was escaping from its ponytail, and there were yet more scratch marks on her arms.
"What's wrong?" Sasha asked, though she had a fairly good idea.
"It's a disaster. A complete disaster. Livingstone got out again, and when I went to catch him, I left the door open and three more made a break for it.
I've got four kittens loose in a house that's about to be invaded by a bunch of people who will definitely notice cat hair on their dinner jackets. "
"Right." Sasha looked around, noting the increasing activity as party preparations ramped up. "Go and catch them and lock them up. I’ll keep an eye out. But once you’ve got them all, you really need to move them. All of them."
"Move them where?"
"One of the outbuildings. The old stable block, maybe? Somewhere away from the main house where they won't be discovered by guests looking for the loo."
Sophie's face lit up with relief. "The stable block! Why didn't I think of that? There's running water and everything. I could set up a proper sanctuary."
"Exactly. But find the escapees first. Off you go. I’ll try and run some interference if I can." Sasha squeezed her shoulder. "And Sophie? After the party, you're going to have to tell your parents."
"I know." Sophie's voice was small. "I just… what if they make me get rid of them?"
"What if they don't? What if they help you find proper homes, or set up a real rescue operation? You won't know until you trust them enough to try."
Sophie nodded, looking slightly less terrified, and hurried off toward the house with renewed purpose.
She was just sneaking in through the terrace doors when she ran smack into Archie, who looked like he’d been pulled through a hedge backward.
"What on earth happened?" she couldn’t help but ask.
"Eugh. Only the worst possible thing at the worst possible time."
"What's wrong now?"
"Venetia's cancelled. Food poisoning, apparently, though I suspect she's just having second thoughts about meeting the family as a potential mate. Which leaves me completely dateless for tonight with a house full of people expecting me to produce a future Lady Sullivan."
"Right," Sasha said, trying to look sympathetic while privately thinking that maybe the universe was trying to tell him something. "That's… unfortunate."
"Unfortunate? It's a disaster! I can't show up alone. What will people think? What will Grandmother say?" He was pacing now, working himself into a proper state. "I need to find someone else. Quickly. Maybe Charlotte's available? Or that girl from the village, what's her name…"
"I'm sure you'll figure something out," Sasha said diplomatically. "Maybe, um… Look a little closer to home?"
"Yes, right. Think, Archie, think." He hurried off, muttering to himself about backup plans and social catastrophes.
She made their way back through the house, avoiding caterers and cleaners and Lady Charlotte who was floating through everything like a galleon.
Then she climbed the stairs to Victoria's room, their room, feeling suddenly, inexplicably nervous. The space smelled faintly of that expensive perfume Victoria wore, clean and floral and entirely too appealing for someone who was supposed to be maintaining emotional distance.
She sat on the edge of the bed, fingering the necklace Ambrose had given her.
In a few hours, Victoria would be back from London, probably full of excitement about her interview and her inevitable job offer.
At some point, Ambrose would tell his grandmother the truth, and their little charade would be officially over. And Monday…
Monday she'd go back to Manchester and pretend the last two weeks had been exactly what they'd agreed they were: a bit of fun, nothing more.
But sitting here in the quiet room, surrounded by the scent of Victoria's perfume and the memory of tangled sheets and whispered conversations in the dark, Sasha found herself wondering if she'd been an idiot to agree to keeping things light.
Maybe she should be honest. Maybe when Victoria got back, she should tell her that this had stopped being casual somewhere between the greenhouse kisses and the midnight confessions. That she'd like to see where this could go, distance and different worlds be damned.
Maybe, for once in her life, she should fight for something instead of just letting it slip away.
The question was whether she was brave enough to risk everything on maybe.