"I've just started a new job. It's an adjustment period."
"Of course." The diplomatic pause suggested her mother didn't believe a word of it. "Well, the offer stands. Dinner next weekend, with or without a guest. We'd love to see you."
They chatted for a few more minutes about nothing in particular, the weather, the latest kitten escapade, Archie's utterly besotted behavior around Cathy. Her mother was clearly delighted to have successfully paired off two of her four children, and was now turning her considerable maternal attention toward the remaining two.
After her mother rang off, Victoria stood in her empty kitchen and looked around at the life she'd built. Expensive appliances she never used. A wine rack full of bottles she drank alone. A dining table that had never hosted an actual dinner party.
Everything perfect. Everything controlled. Everything completely, utterly hollow.
She poured the wine anyway and carried it to the window, looking out at London's glittering lights. Somewhere out there, Sasha was probably laughing with Ambrose, planning her future, moving forward without Victoria.
As she should be. As Victoria had encouraged her to do.
So why did getting everything she wanted suddenly seem so strikingly, completely, totally awful?
Chapter Thirty-One
The train station hadn't changed. Same cracked platform tiles, same faded posters advertising holidays in Cornwall that looked suspiciously photoshopped. Sasha stepped off the train into warm September sunshine and immediately spotted Ambrose leaning against his car with the studied casualness of someone who'd been practicing the pose.
"Darling!" He swept her into a hug that smelled of expensive cologne and what she suspected was Lukas's aftershave. "Two whole weeks without you. I've been bereft."
"You've had Lukas."
"True, but he won't discuss Love Island with me. Says it's beneath him." Ambrose grabbed her suitcase, loading it into the boot with theatrical effort. "Though between you and me, I caught him watching last week's episode on his phone. He's invested in whether Tom picks Rachel."
Sasha slid into the passenger seat. "So. Birthday party tonight."
"Mmm. Mother's outdone herself. Caterers, string quartet, the works." Ambrose pulled onto the road, navigating the narrow lanes with practiced ease. "Grandmother's already interrogated the harpist about her credentials. Apparently being trained at the Royal Academy isn't quite sufficient."
Maybe she should just go straight out and ask. She cleared her throat. "Will, um. Everyone be there?"
"If by everyone you mean my entire extended family plus half the county, then yes." Ambrose shot her a sideways glance. "If you're asking about someone specific, you could just say her name."
"I wasn't…"
"Victoria's not coming."
The words landed with more force than Sasha had expected. Two weeks of not seeing her, not talking to her, carefully not asking Ambrose for updates, and now just three words that made her chest hurt.
"Right." She aimed for casual. "Course not. Why would she?" Really, she was relieved, she thought. Quite, quite relieved. And also very disappointed.
"Too busy. New job's apparently all-consuming." Ambrose's voice was carefully neutral. "Sent her regrets yesterday. Very polite. Very Victoria."
Sasha stared out the window at the passing countryside. She'd been hoping Victoria would be there. Dreading it too, obviously, the thought of seeing her again made Sasha's stomach tie itself into complicated knots. But underneath the dread had been this stupid, persistent hope that maybe…
"You're doing that thing," Ambrose observed.
"What thing?"
"Where you look like someone spilled wine over your wedding dress and you’re trying to pretend it's fine."
"I'm not…" Sasha caught his expression. "Okay, fine. Maybe I was hoping. Just a little."
"Hoping to see her? Or hoping she'd magically realize she's madly in love with you and come racing back to Cornwall to declare her feelings?"
"The first one. Obviously." Sasha slumped in her seat. "I'm not that delusional."
"Aren't you?" Ambrose was smiling now, the bastard. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've spent two weeks moping around Manchester like some Victorian consumptive, and now you show up looking like you've been personally victimized by the train ride."
