Chapter Thirty
Victoria hadn’t particularly expected that achieving everything she’d ever wanted would be quite so spectacularly boring. At least not quite so soon, anyway.
She sat in her corner office, an actual corner office, with windows overlooking the Thames and everything, and tried to muster enthusiasm for the quarterly projections spreadsheet glowing on her monitor.
The numbers were impressive. The client portfolio was excellent.
Her colleagues were competent and professional.
And she couldn't have cared less.
"Victoria?" Len from compliance stuck his head around her door. "Ready for the three o'clock?"
"Absolutely." She closed the spreadsheet with relief that was probably inappropriate given she was being paid an obscene amount of money to care about those particular numbers.
The meeting room was aggressively gray, filled with people in expensive suits discussing risk assessments with the sort of intense focus hostage negotiators generally used.
Victoria made appropriate noises at appropriate times, contributed relevant observations, and wondered what Cathy was planting in the kitchen garden this week.
Which was mad. Completely mad. She was a senior investment manager at one of the City's top firms, not some sort of vegetable enthusiast.
"—market volatility in the Asia-Pacific region," someone was saying.
Victoria nodded, though she was actually thinking about whether the tomatoes would need staking yet.
And whether Sasha had found a horticulture course.
And whether she was thinking about Victoria too, or if she'd already moved on to someone more appropriate.
Someone who didn't work eighty-hour weeks and measure their worth in client retention statistics.
Someone who could actually be present for a relationship instead of married to spreadsheets and quarterly reports.
"Any thoughts, Victoria?"
She blinked, refocusing on the room full of expectant faces. "Sorry, could you repeat the question?"
Gerald from risk management looked slightly put out. "The hedging strategy for the Ashton account. You've worked with them before."
"Right. Yes." Victoria pulled herself together with effort. "I'd suggest a conservative approach given their current exposure. Perhaps we could review the derivatives portfolio and…"
She continued talking, her mouth forming professional words while her brain wandered back to Cornwall. To morning light across white sheets. To the way Sasha's nose crinkled when she laughed. To the particular shade of green in her eyes when she was about to say something wicked.
Christ, she was losing it.
After the meeting, which had somehow stretched to two hours despite containing approximately fifteen minutes of actual substance, most of which could have been contained in an email, Victoria returned to her office and stared out the window.
London sprawled below her, all glass and steel and relentless forward momentum.
She should be thrilled. This was everything she'd wanted, everything she'd worked for.
So why did she keep thinking about a greenhouse in Cornwall and the way Sasha's hair caught the light when she was bent over a stubborn cucumber vine?
Her computer pinged with another email. Re: Client Portfolio Review - Urgent. She opened it, scanned the contents, and felt absolutely nothing. No thrill of professional challenge, no satisfaction at being needed, just a vague sense that she was going through motions that suddenly felt hollow.
Three more emails arrived in quick succession. All marked urgent. All requiring immediate attention. All making her want to throw her laptop out the window and see if it could achieve the same sort of graceful arc as the Thames below.
She'd spent years building a career that was supposed to define her, supposed to prove she was successful and capable and worth something. And now that she had it back, all she could think about was the weight of Sasha's hand on her waist and the sound of her laughter echoing across the terrace.
Christ, she was pathetic.
Victoria pulled up her personal email, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She could write to Sasha. Just a friendly message, checking in, seeing how she was settling back into Manchester. Completely casual. Absolutely not desperate.
Except what would she even say? Hello, remember me? The woman who chose spreadsheets over you and is now regretting every single life decision?
She closed the email window and returned to the urgent portfolio review that was neither urgent nor particularly worth reviewing.
Her phone buzzed, and for one heart-stopping moment she thought it might be Sasha. But the screen showed an unknown number, and Victoria's chest deflated as she answered.
"Victoria Sullivan."
"Vic! It's Sophie. Don't hang up."
Victoria blinked at the phone. "Why would I hang up on you?"
"Because I'm about to ask you for money.
" Sophie's voice was bright with the sort of determined cheerfulness that suggested she'd been practicing this conversation.
"For my kitten sanctuary. Well, it's going to be a proper cat rescue eventually, but right now it's mostly just eight increasingly large cats and a lot of ambitious planning. "
Despite everything, Victoria felt herself smile. "A cat rescue. At fifteen."
"Technically, the cats are already sixteen weeks old, so it's not like I'm starting from scratch, they’re not complete kittens, not anymore," Sophie's enthusiasm was palpable even through the phone.
"I've got the old stable block set up, and Father's hiring someone to help with the day-to-day care, and Mother's been amazing about organizing fundraising, but I still need donations for the veterinary costs and—"
"How much do you need?" Victoria interrupted.
"Well, the initial setup is about five thousand, but ongoing costs—"
"Send me the details. I'll transfer ten."
Silence on the other end. Then, quietly: "Really?"
"Really." Victoria pulled up her banking app. "Though I have to ask, Sophie, are you sure about this? You're fifteen. Shouldn't you be worrying about exams and university applications, not running a bloody animal rescue?"
"Should you be worrying about spreadsheets instead of being happy?
" Sophie shot back, then immediately softened.
"Sorry, that was rude. But Vic, when you want something badly enough, nothing else matters.
And I want this. I'm doing it whether anyone thinks I'm too young or too inexperienced or completely mental. "
Victoria felt something twist in her chest. When you want something badly enough. "Right. Well. Send me the details."
"Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much." Sophie paused. "Are you alright? You sound a bit… flat."
"I'm fine. Just tired. New job and all that."
"Mmm." Sophie's tone suggested she wasn't buying it, but mercifully she didn't push. "Right then. I'll let you get back to being a terrifyingly successful banker. Love you."
"Love you too, Soph."
Victoria ended the call and sat staring at her phone. When you want something badly enough. The words echoed uncomfortably, forcing her to acknowledge what she'd been carefully avoiding all day.
She didn't want this. Any of this. The corner office, the important meetings, the endless emails about urgent matters that would be completely forgotten by next quarter. She wanted dirt under her fingernails and Sasha's laugh and the particular quality of light in her father's greenhouse.
Which was completely impractical and utterly ridiculous.
She closed her laptop with decisive force and headed home, despite the fact that it was barely eight o’clock yet.
THE FLAT WAS exactly as she'd left it that morning: spotless, expensive, and soul-crushingly empty. But then, it wasn’t like there was anyone else in it to make a mess.
To, say, leave a stray pair of pajamas over the back of the couch, or a hairbrush in the sink.
She'd lived here for three years and it still looked like a hotel room.
No personal touches, no clutter, nothing that suggested an actual human being resided within these pristine walls.
Victoria dropped her bag by the door and was contemplating whether opening wine at close to nine counted as acceptable stress management when her phone rang again.
"Darling!" Her mother's voice was bright with maternal enthusiasm. "How's the new job? Settling in well?"
"It's fine. Good. Very… professional."
"That's wonderful. Listen, I wanted to tell you the most marvelous news. Archie and Cathy are officially together. He finally worked up the courage to actually ask her properly, and honestly, I've never seen him so happy. They came for lunch yesterday, and it was absolutely lovely."
"That's brilliant," Victoria said, and meant it. "I'm glad he finally sorted himself out."
"Mmm, and Ambrose is bringing Lukas to dinner next weekend. Your father's already planning which orchids he wants at the table to show off. It's all very sweet." Her mother paused meaningfully. "Of course, we'd love to have you as well. Perhaps you could bring someone?"
"Mother…"
"I'm not pushing, darling. Just observing that you work very hard and perhaps deserve some happiness too. You have so much to offer, if only you could see it."
Victoria felt her throat tighten. "I'm perfectly happy."
"Are you?" Lady Charlotte's voice was gentle. "Because you don't sound it. You sound like someone going through the motions."
"I've just started a new job. It's an adjustment period."
"Of course." The diplomatic pause suggested her mother didn't believe a word of it. "Well, the offer stands. Dinner next weekend, with or without a guest. We'd love to see you."
They chatted for a few more minutes about nothing in particular, the weather, the latest kitten escapade, Archie's utterly besotted behavior around Cathy.
Her mother was clearly delighted to have successfully paired off two of her four children, and was now turning her considerable maternal attention toward the remaining two.
After her mother rang off, Victoria stood in her empty kitchen and looked around at the life she'd built. Expensive appliances she never used. A wine rack full of bottles she drank alone. A dining table that had never hosted an actual dinner party.
Everything perfect. Everything controlled. Everything completely, utterly hollow.
She poured the wine anyway and carried it to the window, looking out at London's glittering lights. Somewhere out there, Sasha was probably laughing with Ambrose, planning her future, moving forward without Victoria.
As she should be. As Victoria had encouraged her to do.
So why did getting everything she wanted suddenly seem so strikingly, completely, totally awful?