Priya didn’t have a job yet, so I offered her one.
Nothing fancy—just temp help, weekly pay, cash if she wanted.
She showed up the next day in trainers and a ssy bun, then carried a massive steel table up the stairs by herself without breaking a sweat.
Yvaine watched her drag it into place and muttered, ‘How is she stronger than and you combined?’
The studio was big—too big for three people, even with Priya on beast mode.
‘We need to hire soone,’ I said.
Yvaine stuck out her hand. ‘Leave it to . I know people. I’ll find you soone competent, punctual, and preferably not creepy.’
‘Great. Don’t get scamd.’
I knew why she stuck around.
She’d had no ti to go ho this week, which ant she had not seen Emtt and, consequently, had not been yelled at all week.
‘I barely texted Cassian.’ She looked smug. ‘Being busy suits .’
‘Are you complaining or bragging?’
‘Neither. I like this. Real work. Once the cake shop’s redone and I’ve got proper staff, I might even turn it into one of those viral spots with the queues and the pastel walls.’
‘You will.’
She grinned at , then tilted her head. ‘Hey, do you want anything for your birthday?’
I blinked. I’d actually forgotten it was coming up.
I never made a big deal out of it.
When I was younger, Caroline used to get a cake, one of those plastic-box ones with piped roses and stiff frosting.
At so point, she stopped.
No one else noticed.
I doubted anyone in the Vance family still rembered the date.
Catherine’s birthday was 8 February.
Mine was 8 December.
Just two months apart. Easy to rember.
Every year, the Vance family threw her a party at the house.
Full guest list. Fancy catering. Gold balloons tied to the staircase.
Catherine always wore sothing pastel and glittery and spent the evening waltzing between complints.
Two months later, no one said a word.
Eventually, I stopped caring.
Half the ti, I forgot the date myself.
Only Yvaine rembered every year without fail, even when she was overseas.
She always picked out sothing with annoying precision, like she’d been spying on my browsing history.
‘I don’t want anything fancy,’ I told her, sorting shipping labels at the workbench. ‘Whatever you give , I promise I’ll like it.’
‘Noted,’ she said, and bumped my hip with hers.
We worked through the afternoon, arguing over which drawer should hold the burnisher set.
She laughed at how all the ring mandrels looked phallic.
‘They even co in different sizes.’
‘Wait till you see the sausage stuffers in your own shop,’ I said drily.
‘Sausage stuffers!’ She was rolling on the floor.
I shook my head.
Emtt had a point when he called his sister immature.
I started packing up around six.
Just as I was unplugging the stear, I noticed a black car idling outside the studio window.
The number plate looked familiar.
A second later, Ashton stepped out.
I opened the door and leaned out. ‘Passing by?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I ca to get you.’ His eyes swept the room. ‘Looks good.’
‘It is.’ I eyed the space like a proud mother eyeing her firstborn.
‘Ready to go? I made a reservation.’
‘I was just about to lock up.’ I turned to Yvaine. ‘You coming?’
‘And be the third wheel? No thanks. I’ve got a date of my own.’ Yvaine smiled ingratiatingly at Ashton, then sidled up to and whispered, ‘Your husband’s kind of scary.’
‘Only if you’ve done sothing wrong.’ I thought of Gary Maxwell and wondered how he was coping in prison.
‘He gives the sa vibes as Emtt. Also, my old headmaster.’
I turned to look at Ashton.
He was holding open the car door for .
‘He looks like a perfect gentleman,’ I said.
Yvaine rolled her eyes. ‘You’re so smitten.’
***
The restaurant he chose was quiet, white-walled, with pale wooden chairs and linen napkins folded like envelopes.
Piano music floated overhead, slow and loose, like whoever was playing didn’t care about tempo.
Ashton asked for a table by the window, slightly tucked away from the rest.
As soon as we sat, I caught a few people glancing over.
One woman at the bar tilted her head and stared for a beat too long.
I got up to use the ladies’.
When I ca back, I caught the end of it.
A girl—couldn’t have been more than nineteen—stood by our table, clutching her phone with both hands.
She was shaking so slightly I wouldn’t have noticed if the reflection in the window hadn’t given her away.
‘Hey, um... can I get your number?’ she asked, smiling like her mouth wasn’t sure what to do with itself.
Ashton looked up just once. His mouth stayed shut.
The girl hesitated, held her phone out anyway.
‘Just, you know... to get to know each other.’
Ashton raised his left hand and tilted it slightly.
The ring caught the overhead light.
She saw it.
Her eyes widened. Then she mumbled sothing and turned so fast her shoe slipped on the tile.
I stopped just around the corner, waited until she disappeared past the hostess stand, then circled back and slid into my seat.
The stern look on Ashton’s face vanished, replaced by an expectant one.
It looked almost as if he wanted to ask about the girl.
Suppressing a grin, I reached for my water. ‘You’re not swamped at the office today?’
‘Quiet enough.’ His face fell, just slightly. ‘How’s the studio coming along?’
‘Fine so far.’
‘Do you need more money?’
‘No, no. God, no.’ I almost choked. ‘The money I’m using now ca from you anyway. Technically, it’s your investnt.’
I must have said sothing wrong, because that stern look was back.
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