"Do you?" Victoria closed the door behind them. "Because I rather doubt that."
"You're going to tell me I should just be honest with grandmother. Stop all this ridiculous pretending and tell her I'm gay."
"Actually, yes. That's exactly what I was going to say." Victoria crossed her arms. "This whole charade is absurd, Ambrose. Grandmother isn't as fragile as you think she is. And to be honest, I think dad’s full of shit when he tells you to keep things to yourself. We can’t all cater to an old woman just in case she decides to leave all her money to the local cat shelter."
"Easy for you to say," Ambrose said. "You're the perfect daughter with the perfect career and the perfect life. You don't know what it's like to be the disappointment."
The words stung.
"That's not…" she started, then stopped. How could she explain that her perfect career had just imploded? That she was sitting here lying to their entire family about her own life? That she felt like a complete fraud? Which in the end didn’t exactly make her much better than Ambrose and his fake girlfriend.
"Look," Ambrose continued, apparently taking her silence for agreement. "For once in my life, I'm being the good son. I'mbringing home a girlfriend, I'm making grandmother happy, I'm not causing any family drama. Can't you just let me have this?"
Victoria stared at her brother, seeing something desperate in his expression that she'd never noticed before. When had he started thinking of himself as the family disappointment? When had she become so focused on her own achievements that she'd missed his insecurities?
"Fine," she said quietly. "But Ambrose… you know you don't actually have to be perfect to be loved, right?"
He looked at her with surprise. "Says the woman who's spent her entire life being exactly that."
Victoria shook her head and let him go. This was going to be a very long two weeks.
Chapter Six
Pretending to be in love with your gay best friend, Sasha discovered, was going to require significantly more concentration when said best friend was clearly developing a case of the vapors over someone else entirely.
"Right," Ambrose said, straightening his shoulders as they stepped out onto the terrace after breakfast. "Estate tour. Family bonding. Convincing girlfriend behavior. I can do this."
"You sound like you're preparing for battle," Sasha observed, watching him smooth down his hair with the sort of nervous energy usually reserved for job interviews or root canals.
"I am preparing for battle. The battle against my own complete inability to act heterosexual for more than five minutes at a time." He glanced around to make sure they weren't being overheard, then leaned closer. "Did you see how gorgeous Lukas the gardener is? Because I'm fairly certain I made heart eyes at him over the fence during breakfast."
"I was too busy trying to figure out the family dynamics," Sasha said diplomatically, trying not to think about Victoria’s restless energy. Actually, trying not to think about the woman at all because, well, because who wants to be reminded of theirmistakes? She colored just thinking about it. Crawling into bed with someone else. Honestly.
"Fair enough. There are a lot of us to keep track of."
But even from the lawns, she could see Victoria through the morning room windows, pacing back and forth with her phone pressed to her ear, her free hand gesticulating wildly at something or someone who couldn't see her.
"She's always been like that," Ambrose said fondly, catching her looking. "Even as a child, she couldn't just sit and watch television. She'd rearrange her dolls or reorganize her bookshelf or color-code her school supplies."
"Sounds exhausting."
"Says the woman who once reorganized my entire spice rack at two in the morning because you couldn't sleep."
"That was different. Your spice rack was chaos. An affront to civilization." Which was true, but also she really didn’t want to talk to Ambrose about his sister just at the moment. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but the change of subject was a welcome one.
They made their way across the manicured lawns. Perfectly maintained gardens stretched in all directions, dotted with mature trees and meandering paths that seemed designed for romantic strolls, with the breeze off the distant sea and the shade of ancient oaks.
"The formal gardens are over there," Ambrose said, pointing toward geometrically precise hedges and flower beds. "Father's pride and joy, though he'd never admit it. The kitchen gardens are behind those walls, and the greenhouses are…" He trailed off as a figure emerged from behind a rose-covered archway.
Sasha followed his gaze and immediately understood the heart-eyes situation. The man walking toward them was indeed quietly handsome in that understated way that probably made sensible people do foolish things. Tall and lean with work-roughened hands and sun-streaked brown hair, he looked completely at home with himself.
"Lukas," Ambrose said, and Sasha was fairly certain his voice went up half an octave.
"Morning," Lukas replied, a slight accent on the word. His smile was warm but professional. "You must be Sasha. Welcome to Cornwall."
"Thank you," Sasha managed, trying not to laugh at the way Ambrose was practically vibrating beside her. "The gardens are beautiful."
"We try our best. Though this heat is making things challenging." Lukas wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and Sasha heard Ambrose make a sound that might have been a whimper. "Would you like to see the greenhouses? Sir Archibald has some magnificent orchids."
