"I haven't been moping."
"You sent me a photo of yourself eating ice cream in bed at three PM on a Tuesday with the caption 'living my best life.'"
"That was ironic."
"It was sad." But his voice was gentle. "Look, I don't know what happened between you two—"
"Nothing happened. That's the point."
"—but whatever it is, you're clearly not over it."
Sasha watched the familiar landmarks appear. The church spire, the turn for the village, the stone wall that marked the estate boundary. Two weeks ago she'd left, convinced she was doing the right thing. Convinced that walking away was kinder than forcing Victoria to choose between Sasha and the life she'd always wanted.
Now she just felt tired.
"She's got everything sorted," Sasha said quietly. "New job, fresh start, back to her perfect London life. I'm not going to be the complication that messes that up. I told you that."
Ambrose was quiet.
THE HOUSE LOOKED the same. Grand and slightly absurd, all that Gothic drama rising up against the sky. Sasha followed Ambrose inside, inhaling the familiar scent of old wood and furniture polish and the flowers that Lady Charlotte always kept in the entrance hall.
"Everyone's down at the barn," Ambrose said, already heading for the stairs with her suitcase. "Sophie's kittens have reached peak adorableness, apparently. I'll take this up, you go keep Grandmother company. She's in the drawing room having her pre-party gin."
"Ambrose…"
"It's fine. She likes you. Just don't mention the fake dating thing and you'll be golden."
He disappeared upstairs before Sasha could protest, leaving her standing in the entrance hall like an idiot. Through the open drawing room door, she could hear the clink of ice in a glass.
Right. She could do this. It was just Lady Alexandra. Terrifying, all-knowing Lady Alexandra who'd somehow tolerated two weeks of Sasha's terrible fake girlfriend performance without calling her out.
Sasha straightened her shoulders and walked in.
Lady Alexandra was settled in her usual chair by the window. She looked up as Sasha entered, one elegant eyebrow rising.
"Ah. The prodigal girlfriend returns."
"Lady Alexandra." Sasha managed what she hoped was a normal smile. "Lovely to see you again."
"Is it?" Lady Alexandra gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit down, dear. You look like a horse about to bolt."
Sasha sat, perching on the edge of the seat. This felt like walking into an exam she hadn't studied for.
"Gin?" Lady Alexandra offered.
"Bit early for me."
"Suit yourself." Lady Alexandra took a delicate sip of her drink, studying Sasha over the rim of the glass. "I was wondering if you'd come back."
"Wouldn't miss Ambrose's birthday."
"Mmm. How diplomatic." Lady Alexandra set down her glass with a decisive clink. "Did you really think an old woman like me couldn't tell the difference between love and performance, dear?"
Sasha opened her mouth, closed it again. "I—"
"Please. I've been watching people pretend for eighty-three years. You and Ambrose were rather sweet about it, I'll give you that. But sweet doesn't mean convincing."
Heat crept up Sasha's neck. "How long have you known?"
