“We’ll either do this for ourselves and for each other, or we’ll both go under, but I won’t ever be the one to pull you down.” She turned and took in the sight of Vic sitting up, bold and beautiful, if broken, in her canopy bed.

Then she walked away.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Vic dressed herself as best she could in slacks and a polo she hoped came across as business casual instead of revealing the truth that she’d grabbed clothes at random since she could barely see through her own tears. She wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, hide under the covers, and curse the fates for this fresh round of hell, but what was the American phrase Sophia used when describing her ability to sneak out of the castle undetected? Something about this not being her first rodeo? She supposed the same held true for grief, unfortunately. She’d had entirely too much practice burying her own pain in order to focus on the details of her obligations.

Still, her vast and varied experience didn’t keep her from slinking down the servants’ stairway and keeping her head low as she skulked across the courtyard to the business area of the estate. Her staff either read her mood or were too busy cleaning up the messes of the day before to pay her any mind as she barricaded herself in her private office.

The effort exhausted her. She rested her head, face down, on her desk and just listened to the sounds outside her door. A phone rang, muffled voices conversed, somewhere a chair squeaked. She tried to anchor herself to anything other than the dull throb in her chest, but her mind wandered. Where was Sophia now? Wardrobe? On set? Filming?

She shook her head. She didn’t need to know. It was probably better if she didn’t, but as her mind drifted back to their last conversation, she suspected Sophia wouldn’t be the only one watching from afar. She would probably always do the same, and she would not have the mercy that came from having to make a conscious effort. Sophia would be on every screen and billboard when the movie premiered. Would each one feel like a knife to her chest? And for how long? Could time heal all wounds if circumstance kept ripping them open again?

The castle would undoubtedly publicise their connection to the film. People in the tourism office were designing mock-ups of new brochures or adverts featuring Sophia’s likeness right now. They would no doubt make their way to her desk eventually, the desk she was currently pressing her face into in an attempt to brace herself against something stable.

She tried to focus once more on the moment, on the tangible, her ear seeking out sounds beyond her inner turmoil. There were new voices outside her door now, and she lifted her head to try to follow the conversation.