Epilogue
Victoria had a plan.
She always had a plan, obviously. Plans were what separated functional adults from chaos agents like her younger siblings.
But this plan was special. This plan involved a ring currently burning a hole in her sock drawer, a gazebo at sunset, and an entire Christmas holiday to execute the most romantic marriage proposal in Sullivan family history.
"Do we really need three jumpers?" Sasha called from the bedroom, her voice muffled by what sounded like an open wardrobe. "It's Cornwall, not Antarctica."
"It's December in Cornwall," Victoria replied, folding another cashmere sweater with geometric precision. "Trust me, you'll want layers."
What she didn't say: And I need there to be snow, perfect crystalline snow dusting the gardens while I get down on one knee, because I've pictured this exactly and I refuse to propose in the rain like some soggy Victorian novel.
Sasha emerged with an armful of clothes that looked like they'd been selected by closing her eyes and grabbing randomly. Which, knowing Sasha, they probably had been. "Your family knows I own exactly one nice outfit, right? Everything else is basically garden wear with delusions of grandeur."
"My family adores you. You could turn up in a bin bag and Sophie would still think you were the bee’s knees." Victoria plucked a shirt with a mysterious stain from the pile. "Though perhaps not this one. There’s dirt on it."
"That's mulch, not dirt. Completely different."
"How reassuring."
They'd been living together for four months now, ever since Sasha finished her horticulture qualification and Victoria had casually mentioned that her new Manchester flat had excellent southern light for plants.
The suggestion had been calculated to sound offhand, like she hadn't spent three weeks nervously rehearsing various ways to ask Sasha to move in.
Sasha had said yes immediately, showed up with two bags of clothes and seventy-three plant cuttings, and proceeded to turn Victoria's minimalist flat into something that actually felt like a home.
It was terrifying. It was perfect. It made Victoria want to lock it down permanently before Sasha realized she could do significantly better than a recently-reformed workaholic with control issues.
Hence: the plan.
"I can't believe it's been almost two and a half years since that first summer," Sasha said, sitting on the edge of their bed with a soft smile. "Me fake-dating Ambrose and you pretending you didn't fancy me."
"I never pretended anything. I was simply… strategically withholding information." Victoria abandoned her packing to cross the room, sliding her arms around Sasha's waist from behind. "In my defense, you were slightly intimidating."
"Me? Never." Sasha leaned back against her, and Victoria pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, something botanical and fresh that still made her slightly dizzy.
"Excited to see everyone?" Sasha asked.
"Mostly excited to see how enormous Cathy's gotten. Archie sent photos. She looks like she's smuggling a beach ball."
"Be nice. Growing a human is hard work."
"I'm always nice."
Sasha snorted. "You told Sophie her calf looked like 'a gangly potato with legs.'"
"Fromage does look like a gangly potato with legs. I was being accurate, not mean."
They packed in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Victoria's mental checklist running on repeat: Ring. Check. Weather forecast promising snow. Check. Flowers ordered from Lukas for the terrace. Check. Sunset at 4:47 PM, giving her exactly seventeen minutes of golden hour light. Check.
She'd arranged everything perfectly. The family would be occupied with Christmas preparations, giving her the privacy she needed.
The terrace would be strung with lights, it always was.
She'd even written out her proposal speech, which was currently folded in her wallet, memorized down to the last syllable.
Nothing could go wrong.
Forty-eight hours. One perfect proposal. She'd faced down hostile investors and emergency board meetings. How hard could one marriage proposal possibly be?
THE HOUSE LOOKED like a Christmas card that had been attacked by a very enthusiastic child with glitter and too many ideas.
Every window blazed with light, garlands draped across the stonework, and someone had hung an enormous wreath on the front door.
Victoria had barely gotten out of the car before the front door burst open and Sophie came flying down the steps, seventeen now and somehow even more chaotic than she'd been at fifteen.
"You're here! Finally! Cathy's being absolutely foul about her ankles and Archie won't stop trying to feed her things, and Mama's convinced the turkey is going to be too small even though it's enormous, and…
oh!" Sophie threw her arms around Sasha first, naturally, because Sasha was everyone's favorite.
"Did you bring me cuttings? You promised cuttings. "
"Hello to you too," Sasha laughed, hugging her back. "Yes, I brought cuttings. They're in the boot."
"Excellent. Come see Fromage, she's gotten huge. Well, not huge huge, but bigger. Much bigger."
Victoria cleared her throat. "Sophie. Breathing. Try it."
"Oh, right. Hi, Vic." Sophie gave her a perfunctory hug before immediately returning her attention to Sasha.
They made it approximately three steps into the entrance hall before the chaos truly began.
Lady Charlotte appeared from the direction of the kitchens, looking harried. "Sophie Elizabeth Sullivan, if I catch that calf in my kitchens one more time…"
"It wasn't my fault! Mrs. Henderson left the door open!"
"Mrs. Henderson left the door open because she was running away from your calf, who had somehow gotten into the larder and was eating the butter."
"She was hungry," Sophie said defensively.
"She's a menace." But Lady Charlotte was smiling when she turned to greet them properly, pulling both Victoria and Sasha into warm hugs. "Darlings, how wonderful. How was the drive?"
"Long," Victoria said. "Traffic was murder around Birmingham."
"Well, you're here now. Sasha, you look lovely. Victoria, you look tired. Are you sleeping enough?"
"Mama."
"I'm just asking. A mother worries." Lady Charlotte linked her arm through Sasha's, already steering her toward the sitting room. "Come, everyone's gathered. Well, except Ambrose and Lukas, they're still at the cottage, but they'll be here for dinner."
The sitting room was warm and comforting, but Victoria was brought up short by the sight of her sister-in-law sprawled across the sofa like a beached whale, which was uncharitable but accurate.
She looked approximately forty months pregnant, though Victoria knew it had only been seven.
Her feet were propped on an alarming number of cushions, and she was glaring at Archie with the kind of fury usually aimed at war criminals.
"I don't want tea," Cathy was saying. "I don't want biscuits. I don't want another bloody cushion. I want this baby out."
"Darling, you still have two months…"
"I'm aware, Archie. I'm painfully, agonizingly aware."
Sir Archibald looked up from his newspaper, his stern face softening slightly. "Victoria. Sasha. Good to see you both."
"Papa." Victoria bent to kiss his cheek, caught the faint scent of pipe smoke and old books that always clung to him.
Lady Alexandra sat in her usual chair by the fire. "Victoria. You've lost weight."
"Hello, Grandmama. Lovely to see you too."
"I'm not criticizing, simply observing. Sasha, dear, come sit by me. Tell me about this horticulture business you’ve learned. Your last letter mentioned something about new propagation techniques."
Sasha, who had somehow charmed Grandmother Alexandra through a shared love of Latin plant names and a complete lack of fear, immediately settled into the chair beside her.
Which left Victoria standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, watching her perfect proposal weekend begin to crack at the edges.
Because there, visible through the French doors that led to the terrace, was Fromage.
Fromage, who had grown from gangly potato to slightly-less-gangly larger potato, and who was currently eating her way through what looked like the entire contents of the terrace planters.
The terrace planters that were supposed to be full of winter roses and trailing ivy and everything else Victoria had specifically needed for the perfect proposal backdrop.
"Sophie," Victoria said, her voice very calm. "Why is your calf eating my flowers?"
"Your flowers?" Sophie looked offended. "They're family flowers."
"I asked Lukas to plant those. For… aesthetic purposes."
"Oh." Sophie squinted through the glass. "Well, Fromage probably thought they were for eating purposes. She's not great with nuance."
Victoria groaned. So much for the perfect proposal backdrop.
"Victoria, dear," Lady Charlotte called. "Come help me with the seating arrangements for dinner. We've got Lukas's mother arriving tomorrow, and I'm not sure where to put everyone."
"Lukas's mother?" Victoria turned slowly. "As in, his mother from Poland? Who's visiting?"
"Yes, didn't Ambrose mention? She's staying through New Year. Lovely woman, though her English is somewhat limited."
More people. Still, Victoria couldn’t blame Lukas for wanting his mother around at Christmas. Her plan was falling apart, she’d need to re-think. But she could do this.
She still had time to pull this off.
Right?
VICTORIA WOKE AT six a.m. to the sound of rain hammering against the windows.
Not gentle, romantic rain. Not the soft pitter-patter that might add atmospheric charm to a marriage proposal. This was aggressive, Biblical rain, the kind that suggested God had personal grievances.
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, careful not to wake Sasha, who was still deeply asleep with her face half-buried in the pillow. The weather app loaded with agonizing slowness.
Heavy rain throughout the day. 95% chance of precipitation. High of 7°C.