The following week, the house felt like it was shrinking. Victoria was there almost every day, and Mrs. Grant made sure I was the one assigned to her personal needs, a move that felt less like a job and more like a test of my endurance.
She was bitchy, draining and demanding but it was my job and not like I had anyone to complain to.
I was in the drawing room, setting out the heavy silver service for the afternoon tea. Victoria was draped over the armchair, her legs crossed, watching me with an expression of pure boredom.
"Is that how you were taught to polish the tray?" she asked, her voice cutting through the quiet.
I stopped, the cloth still in my hand. "Yes, Miss Sterling."
"Well, it's dull," she snapped. She reached out and flicked the edge of the silver with a manicured nail. "It's like everything else in this house lately faded. I expect things to be brighter when I'm mistress here."
I didn't look up. "I'll do it again."
"See that you do," she said, leaning back. "And get me some lemon. And don't take twenty minutes this time."
I gathered the tray and headed toward the kitchen, my face burning. I was halfway down the hall when the door to the library swung open. Ethan stepped out, looking like he'd been waiting for me. He glanced toward the drawing room, then at the tray in my hands.
"She's being a nightmare, isn't she?" he whispered, his voice low and raspy.
"She's your fiancée, Ethan," I said, trying to push past him. "I have to get her lemon."
He stepped into my path, his hand catching the edge of the tray to steady it. "Sasha, stop."
"I can not stop. If I am late, she'll tell your grandmother I'm incompetent. And we both know Mrs. Grant is just looking for a reason to get rid of me."
Ethan didn't move. He looked at me, and for a second, the frustration in his eyes mirrored my own. He reached out, his thumb grazing the back of my hand on the silver handle. The contact was electric, a sharp contrast to the cold way Victoria had just spoken to me.
"Meet me in the wine cellar tonight," he muttered. "After the house goes quiet. Eleven."
"Ethan, we can not continue doing this, it's risky"
"Eleven," he repeated, his eyes intense.
The sound of Victoria's heels clicking on the hardwood made us both jump. She appeared at the end of the hall, her eyes narrowing as she saw us standing together.
"Ethan? What are you doing out here?" she asked, her voice tightening with suspicion.
"Just telling the help to hurry up with your tea, Victoria," he said, his voice instantly switching to that bored, upper-class drawl. He didn't even look back at me as he walked toward her. "She's a bit slow today, isn't she?"
Victoria's face smoothed out into a smug smile. She hooked her arm through his, looking at me over her shoulder. "I told you, darling. She's distracted. Maybe we should find someone more... professional."
I stood there, clutching the heavy tray until my knuckles turned white, watching them walk away. He had insulted me to her face to save himself, and yet, my heart was already counting down the hours until eleven o'clock.
I was becoming a ghost during the day just so I could feel alive in the dark with him. It was a cycle that was starting to feel less like a romance and more like a trap, but I was too deep in to see the way out.