"That it's about bloody time?" Sir Archibald interrupted. "Because that girl's been in love with you since she was eleven, and watching you parade inappropriate women through here while she suffered in silence has been painful for everyone involved."
"You knew?" Archie's voice climbed an octave.
"Of course we knew," Lady Charlotte said, though her voice was warm with affection rather than exasperation. "The question is why on earth you never said anything. Why you kept bringing home women who were so obviously wrong for you when the right one was literally under your nose. Honestly, Archie, we’ve despaired of you."
"I didn't think you'd approve," Archie mumbled. "Different backgrounds, different worlds, all that. Thought you'd want me to marry someone more… suitable."
"Suitable?" Sir Archibald's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "Son, that girl knows this estate better than I do. She's brilliant, hardworking, and she's put up with your nonsense for years without complaint. If that's not suitable wife material, I don't know what is."
"We adore Cathy," Lady Charlotte added gently. "Always have. She's practically family already."
Archie looked like he might cry with relief. "Really?"
"Really," his mother confirmed. "Though you might want to actually tell her how you feel before you start planning the wedding. Poor girl's probably given up hope by now."
Victoria watched this unfold with a mixture of genuine happiness for her brother and something that felt suspiciously like envy. Here was Archie, confessing his love for someone completely wrong on paper, and their parents were practically throwing confetti. His different-worlds romance was being celebrated while hers…
Well, hers didn't exist anymore.
She realized she was being unfair. Cathy had grown up on the estate, knew their world intimately. She wasn't some stranger who'd wandered in for a holiday romance. But still, watching her family embrace the idea of love conquering practical obstacles made Victoria's chest tight with something she didn't want to examine too closely.
Mostly because it was all her own fault, she realized, as she stood there. At no point had Sasha mentioned not continuing things. Victoria had just always assumed… Well, assumed that she wouldn’t be wanted once she got back to herself. Back to her normal life.
"Right then," Lady Charlotte said, standing up with the air of someone who'd had quite enough emotional revelations for one evening. "I think we could all use some sleep. It's been rather a lot to process, and we’ve got the rest of the weekend to get through."
The family began to disperse, Ambrose still looking slightly stunned, Archie practically floating with relief, Sophie already planning improvements to her cat sanctuary. Victoria lingered, watching her parents exchange the sort of look that came from thirty-odd years of marriage and four children who specialized in keeping them on their toes.
"Happy endings all around," she murmured to herself, then immediately felt petty for the bitter edge in her voice.
She climbed the stairs slowly, exhaustion settling into her bones like lead. Tomorrow she'd catch the early train back to London, start her new job, rebuild her perfect life. Tonight she just needed to pack and try not to think about how empty her London flat would feel without Sasha's laughter filling it.
But when she opened the bedroom door, the emptiness hit her immediately. Sasha's things were gone. Suitcase, clothes, the small toiletries that had cluttered the bathroom counter. Even the faint scent of her perfume had been replaced by the neutral smell of fresh linens.
The day bed had been stripped and remade, as if no one had ever slept there. As if the past two weeks had been erased as efficiently as changing sheets.
Victoria stood in the doorway, staring at the spotless room, and felt something crack inside her chest. This was what she'd wanted, wasn't it? Clean breaks, no complications, no messy emotions to navigate. Sasha had made it easy for her, removing herself so completely that Victoria could pretend none of it had ever happened.
So why did easy feel like the cruelest thing imaginable?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The platform was depressingly cheerful, all bright sunshine and families with ice creams, completely at odds with Sasha's internal weather system which was firmly set to 'apocalyptic drizzle.'
"You could stay longer," Ambrose said, though they both knew she couldn't. "There's always room. Mother adores you. Father keeps asking about your opinion on orchids. Even Grandmother's stopped sneezing now that Sophie's relocated the feline army."
"Your family's lovely, but I think I've overstayed my welcome." Sasha adjusted her bag strap for the third time. "Besides, you've got Lukas. You don't need me hanging around being pathetic."
"You're not pathetic." Ambrose pulled her into a hug that smelled of expensive cologne and greenhouse soil. "You're heartbroken, which is completely different. Pathetic would be ifyou were pining over someone terrible. Victoria's brilliant, so your misery is actually quite reasonable."
"That's weirdly comforting."
"I try." He stepped back, studying her face. "You know you could just tell her how you feel. Revolutionary concept, I realize, but communication does occasionally work."
"She's got a new job. A fresh start. Everything she wanted." Sasha forced brightness into her voice. "I'm not going to be the complication that drags her down."
"Right, because nothing says 'I care about you' like disappearing without a trace like some sort of romantic ninja." Ambrose's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "Very mature. Extremely helpful."
Sasha grunted, not wanting to discuss this any further.
