Victoria should investigate. Should figure out what her baby sister was hiding, what was causing those scratches and grandmother's mysterious sneezing fits. Under normal circumstances, she would have. She'd have cornered Sophie after dinner and extracted the truth with ruthless efficiency.
But Sasha was laughing at something Ambrose had said, and Victoria's brain was too busy cataloging the exact curve of her smile to properly focus on family mysteries.
She needed to get a grip. This was getting absolutely ridiculous. She was thirty-one years old, not some hormonal teenager who couldn't concentrate because of a pretty girl.
Except Sasha wasn't just pretty. She was funny and kind and enthusiastic about things in a way that made Victoria want to be enthusiastic too. She made Victoria forget why she'd ever thought being perfect was important.
And that was frightening.
When dinner finally ended and people began dispersing, Victoria waited until Sasha passed her chair, then caught her arm.
"Study," she murmured, low enough that only Sasha could hear. "Two minutes."
Sasha's eyes went dark, her breath catching slightly. "Victoria…"
"Please."
The study was blessedly empty, books lining the walls and the scent of old paper and leather filling the air. The moment the door closed behind them, Victoria had Sasha pressed against it, kissing her with the sort of desperate intensity that probably said far too much about her current mental state.
Sasha's response was immediate and gratifying, hands clutching at Victoria's dress, pulling her closer with a small sound that went straight to Victoria's core. This, at least, hadn't changed. This still felt exactly right, still made her brain shut off and her body light up like someone had flipped a switch.
"I missed you," Sasha murmured against her mouth when they finally broke apart enough to breathe.
"I was at breakfast this morning. We sat across from each other."
"Still too long." Sasha's fingers traced patterns on Victoria's hip through the thin fabric of her dress, and Victoria had to resist the urge to lock the door and forget about propriety entirely. "Though I suppose I'd better get used to it."
Something cold settled in Victoria's stomach, spreading outward like ice. "Get used to what?"
"Missing you. When you go back to London." Sasha's smile was careful, practiced, like she'd been rehearsing it. "This is just a summer thing, right? No expectations. No complications. Just… fun while it lasts."
Victoria should have been relieved. This was exactly what she'd wanted, wasn't it? What she'd told herself from the beginning. No messy feelings to navigate, no difficult conversations about impossible futures, no having to choose between her career and a relationship that could never work long-term anyway.
So why did she feel like someone had just hollowed out her chest with a spoon?
"Right," she heard herself say, her voice sounding distant. "Just a summer thing."
"Exactly." Sasha kissed her again, but there was something final about it. Something that tasted like goodbye, even though they still had days left. "No sense making it complicated when we both knew how this would end."
"No sense at all." Victoria's phone buzzed in her pocket, but for once she ignored it. "Sasha—"
"I should go." Sasha was already pulling away, straightening her clothes with hands that trembled slightly despite her casual tone. "Ambrose wanted to practice his coming-out speech on me before the house party. Moral support and all that. Apparently he's terrified he'll forget how to speak."
"Of course." Victoria stepped back, giving her space, giving them both space to breathe.
Sasha paused at the door, her hand on the brass handle, looking back with an expression Victoria couldn't quite read. Something sad and resigned and achingly tender all at once.
Then she was gone, leaving Victoria standing alone in the empty study.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Waking up first was becoming a bad habit. Sasha opened her eyes to bright sunlight spilling into the room.
Victoria was still asleep, one arm flung across the pillow, dark hair spilling everywhere in a way that should have been messy but somehow managed to look effortlessly elegant. Even unconscious, she radiated that particular brand of understated perfection that probably came standard with expensive educations and trust funds.
Sasha lay there for a moment, cataloguing the curve of Victoria's shoulder, the way her breathing made the sheet rise and fall, the slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth like she was dreaming about something pleasant. Possibly involving hostile takeovers. Or perfectly organized spreadsheets.
This was dangerous territory. The sort of domestic morning scene that led to ridiculous thoughts about futures and feelings and other complications she absolutely could not afford.
