The car turned into the drive and slowed before the ironwork. Security had already stepped out from the kiosk, half in a stance that said Ma'am? and half in a stance that said we were not warned about this.
Sophia sat on her suitcase like it was a throne, another case upright at her knee. Big sunglasses at dusk, red mouth, chin tilted in defiance that didn't quite cover the wobble under it.
Ashley's stomach did the small, familiar drop mixed with a sprinkle of embarrassment. "Oh, Soph…"
Julian's glance was quick, steady. "We'll handle it." He tapped the console. "Let her in, please," he told the guard. "Escort her to the house."
The gates swung. The car rolled forward. By the time they reached the front steps, Sophia had rallied, hopping up to straighten her skirt like she'd meant to be discovered in the most inconvenient place possible.
