The train announcement crackled overhead, mercifully cutting off Sasha's need to defend herself. She grabbed her suitcase, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else.
"Look after yourself," Ambrose said, squeezing her shoulder. "And Sash? Maybe consider that running away isn't always the same thing as being selfless."
She thought about that as the train pulled away, watching Ambrose wave from the platform until he disappeared into the distance. Running away. Was that what she was doing? She thought she was being noble, setting Victoria free to live her perfect London life without the complication of a directionless waitress with muddy boots and no prospects.
But sitting there watching the countryside blur past, Sasha had to admit it felt less like nobility and more like she'd simply bottled it.
What she was absolutely sure about though was that forcing Victoria to change would have been the worst possible thing that she could do.
The train was one of those older models with uncomfortable seats and questionable air conditioning. Sasha found herself wedged between a businessman who kept jabbing her with his laptop bag and a woman with a baby who had apparently decided that Sunday afternoon was the perfect time to test the full range of human vocal capabilities.
She should have brought headphones. Or alcohol. Possibly both.
Instead, she had seven hours to sit with her thoughts, which was roughly six hours and fifty-nine minutes too many.
The problem was that everywhere she looked, she saw Victoria. In the elegant woman across the aisle checking her phone with focused intensity. In the way sunlight slanted through the windows, reminding her of morning light across white sheets. In the couple three rows up who kept stealing kisses, all casual affection and easy intimacy.
The worst part was the morning light. Or rather, the memory of morning light. Waking up tangled in expensive sheets with Victoria's breathing soft and steady beside her, feeling like she'd somehow stumbled into someone else's life.
She'd gotten used to that. To reaching out and finding warmth, to the small sounds Victoria made when she was dreaming, to the way her face relaxed in sleep until she looked less like a perfectly composed banker and more like someone who occasionally allowed herself to be human.
God, she missed it already. Missed her. Missed the weight of her hand on her waist and the press of lips againsther shoulder and the way Victoria would mumble something incomprehensible when Sasha tried to get up too early.
The businessman's laptop bag jabbed her ribs again. She shifted, trying to find a position that didn't make her spine scream, and caught sight of her reflection in the window.
She looked exactly how she felt. Rumpled, slightly lost, like someone who'd just been ejected from paradise and wasn't quite sure how to process re-entry.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Cathy:Archie finally got his head out of his arse and asked me to dinner. Thought you should know your meddling worked eventually. Thanks for that. Also, you're an idiot for leaving.
Sasha hurriedly typed back:Congratulations! He's lucky to have you. And I'm not an idiot, I'm being practical.
The response came almost immediately:Same thing in this case.
She pocketed her phone and tried to focus on the scenery flashing past, but it all blurred together. Fields and villages and the occasional glimpse of someone else's life through a window, all of it moving too fast to really see properly.
Rather like the past two weeks, she supposed. Everything had happened so quickly that she hadn't had time to think about what any of it meant. One minute she was getting fired from another waitressing job, the next she was fake-dating her best friend while falling catastrophically in love with his sister.
When exactly had it shifted from attraction to something deeper? Maybe it was in the greenhouse when Victoria had run away in the rain, clearly terrified of what they were feeling. Or in the library when she'd finally confessed about losing her job, letting Sasha see past the perfect facade. Or possibly it had been earlier, that first morning when she'd opened her eyes to findVictoria already awake and watching her with an expression so soft it had made Sasha's chest ache.
The baby across the aisle had finally exhausted itself and fallen asleep. Sasha closed her eyes, but that made things worse. With her eyes closed, she could almost feel Victoria's hands on her skin, could almost hear her laugh, could almost convince herself that this was all some elaborate nightmare.
But when she opened her eyes again, she was still on the train. Still heading toward Manchester and reality and everything that came after the fairy tale ended.
THE FLAT WAS exactly as depressing as she'd anticipated. Hours of increasingly maudlin train thoughts had prepared her for empty rooms and the faint smell of Ambrose's protein shakes, but somehow the reality was worse. The silence pressed against her ears, thick and suffocating after two weeks of Sullivan family chaos.
Everything felt too quiet, too still. No Ambrose singing off-key in the shower, no smell of burnt toast from his attempts at breakfast, no constant background noise of someone else living their life parallel to hers.
She dropped her suitcase in the hallway, and that's when she saw them. Flowers on the kitchen counter, a massive bouquet of roses and something purple she couldn't identify, arranged with the sort of casual elegance that screamed expensive florist.
Her heart started to beat properly again.
Victoria had sent flowers. Victoria, who was supposed to be in London starting her new perfect job, had sent flowers, which meant… what exactly? That she felt guilty? That she wanted to let Sasha down gently with expensive vegetation?
Sasha's hands shook slightly as she reached for the small envelope tucked among the blooms.
Dearest Sash,
Thank you for giving me the best summer of my life. Thank you for lying to my family with such commitment and creativity (though perhaps less fencing-scar improvisation next time). Thank you for making me realize that being the golden child is significantly overrated and that honesty really is less exhausting than maintaining elaborate deceptions.
