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Victoria’s hand slid beneath the hem of Emma’s t-shirt, her fingertips mapping the bare skin of Emma’s stomach with deliberate, agonizing slowness. Emma gasped into her mouth, the sound carrying over the quiet water. She tangled her fingers deep into Victoria’s hair, pressing her back against the wool fabric.

Victoria parted Emma’s lips with her tongue, tasting tea and mint and the intoxicating warmth of her skin. When Emma shifted her hips, pressing her center against Victoria’s thigh, a low groan tore from Victoria’s throat.

The sound snapped whatever restraint they had left. Emma slid a hand down Victoria’s side, mapping the curve of her hip through her trousers, her thumb hooking into the waistband with urgent friction. Victoria arched into the touch, her breathing turning ragged, careless of the dirt, the grass, or the fact that they were out in the open.

Emma pulled back just an inch, breathless, her forehead resting against Victoria’s as her chest heaved. Victoria’s lipstick was smeared across the corner of Emma's mouth; Emma’s pupils were blown totally dark.

"We are outside," Emma whispered, a helpless, giddy laugh catching in her throat.

"I am aware," Victoria murmured, her palm resting flat against the rapid flutter of Emma’s ribs. "I find I do not care in the slightest."

Emma smiled, a radiant, unguarded expression that made Victoria’s entire world tilt on its axis.

Lying there beneath the canopy of willow branches, with the coarse wool under her shoulders and Emma’s weight half-pressed against her, Victoria looked past the leaves toward the golden water, an alarming clarity settling into her bones.

She had spent twenty years in Manhattan keeping everyone at a distance, building a life so insulated and fast that it didn't leave room for anything real. But looking at Emma, feeling the warm and steady pulse under her fingers, Victoria realized that her penthouse was just an expensive place to hide. She was done isolating herself. She had never felt more entirely herself than she did right now, sitting on a frayed blanket in the middle of nowhere.

She knew what Monday was. The twenty-one days of stolen time were officially up, and Harrison's five o'clock deadline was ticking away in her pocket. She knew the unsigned Vance files were sitting on her encrypted drive, and she knew Harrison’s patience wouldn't last past tonight. But with the coarse wool under her shoulders and Emma’s breath warm against her collarbone, Victoria simply let herself have Sunday.

The drive back to Rosebrook unfolded in a warm haze. The golden hour had descended upon the valley, painting the fields in deep shades of amber. Emma drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other tangled tightly with Victoria’s across the center console. On the drive back, Victoria did not think about Monday. She was very careful not to.

✽✽✽

Monday broke with a clear sky. At eight in the morning, an automated airline alert lit up the dark screen of Victoria’s phone upstairs, informing her that boarding for her flight to JFK had officially closed without her.

She let the plane take off.

She spent the entire day moving through the inn like a woman living with a death sentence hanging over her head. She helped Emma strip the beds from the weekend guests, balanced the weekly ledger at the butcher block, and drank tea on the patio as the afternoon heat settled over the garden. Every time her phone vibrated in her pocket with another furious call from New York, she ignored it. She had no plan. She only knew that if she told Emma the truth right now, Emma would march straight to Arthur Finch to file an injunction, and Harrison would freeze Victoria's equity before she could even figure out how to fight him. So she stayed quiet, holding Emma a little tighter in the dark that night, memorizing the steady rhythm of her breathing against her chest.

By Tuesday morning, the borrowed time ran out.

Victoria was standing in the kitchen at eight o'clock, holding a mug of black coffee, watching Emma pull a fresh tray of croissants from the oven, when the sound of tires crunching violently over the gravel driveway broke the morning quiet.

Emma stopped near the counter, frowning. "Did I mix up the dates? I swore we had no check-ins until Thursday."

Victoria set her coffee mug on the island. She walked toward the front hallway. Through the glass panels of the door, she saw a long black town car parked directly in front of the main entrance. The vehicle was foreign to Rosebrook, gleaming under the morning sun, radiating an aura of wealth.

Victoria turned to stone. The warmth that had filled her chest only seconds ago vanished, replaced by a rigid dread. The blood drained from her face, leaving her icy cold.

Emma stepped up behind her, wiping her hands on a towel.

The passenger door swung open. A man stepped out onto the gravel. He wore a perfectly tailored navy suit, holding a leather briefcase, inspecting the peeling paint on the porch railing with an expression of mild distaste.

The hallway went cold in an instant. Victoria went rigid, pulling her shoulders square as the lingering softness from the lake vanished. Her jaw locked, her gaze sharpening to winter ice as she stared through the glass.

Emma opened the front door, stepping out onto the porch with Victoria moving automatically beside her.

The man turned at the sound of the door, offering a thin smile that left his eyes dead.

"Victoria," he said. His voice was smooth, carrying the unmistakable cadence of authority.

Victoria stopped at the top of the porch steps, keeping her body angled slightly in front of Emma's. "Harrison. What are you doing here?"

Harrison tightened his hold on his leather case. A quick glance took in Emma’s stained bib, untamed curls, and scuffed boots. Finding nothing worth his time, he returned his focus to Victoria.

"Your three-week environmental stall tactic expired on Friday, Victoria," Harrison said. The cordial tone barely concealed the executioner's edge beneath the words. "You blew past Sunday's signing deadline, you didn't board your flight back to New York yesterday, and your phone appears to be malfunctioning. So I took the overnight to Heathrow myself. We have a timeline to maintain, Victoria. It is time to put this estate in order."

Behind her, Emma went still. She stared at the back of Victoria's head, waiting for a denial or a sharp retort to brush the man's words away.