Sam had claimed the east corner of the Pemberton Estate at sixteen and never given it back. Two rooms. Tall windows facing the back gardens. Early spring pressing up through the soil—wet green, bare branches, bulbs that didn't care the ground was still cold.
She handed Arianne a glass of wine. Arianne took it. Didn't drink.
"Relax." Sam settled into her chair, tucking one leg under herself. Silk—pale gold, loose at the shoulders. No shoes. "It's a party. Small one. Barely qualifies." She waved a hand. "I know you don't like fuss. This isn't fuss. This is three women drinking wine on a Tuesday because one of them had a birthday last week and nobody made enough of it."
Audrey was already on the small velvet sofa, her glass held in both hands like she wasn't sure what to do with it. Coat off, shoes still on. She looked slightly out of place—not uncomfortable, but aware. The way a person is aware when they've been invited into a room they haven't earned yet.
