Sandro caught sight of Victoria lingering on the porch. She was backing him, facing the gates, her shoulders slumped, her lilac-colored dress trailing slightly as though she had nowhere else to go.
His brows drew together. Won't this woman give up? It was late—too late for anyone who wasn't family to be hovering in the mansion. What was her plan?
"What are you still doing here at this hour, Victoria?" His voice cut through the silence, even but firm.
Victoria turned, her face a portrait of fragile sorrow. She pressed her fingers to the corner of her eye, forcing out tears that glistened under the porch's bright light. Her lips trembled as she whispered, "My fiancé left me. His family too. They won't let go of some misconceptions."
Sandro's jaw tightened. Why wouldn't Cedric? he thought grimly. When she spends more energy dangling herself around Ewan than nurturing her own relationship. It would have been suspicious if the former hadn't noticed the play.
