POV: Eliza Ashbourne
The champagne has gone flat an hour ago, but no one seems to notice.
I stand at the edge of the Savoy's River Room, watching London's elite circle one another like well-dressed sharks. Charity galas always have this quality. Beautiful people doing beautiful things while pretending the money doesn't matter.
"You're doing it again."
I turn. Sebastian appears at my elbow, two fresh glasses in hand. My husband looks unfairly good in black tie, his dark hair slightly disheveled from whatever political conversation he just extracted himself from.
"Doing what?"
"Observing instead of participating." He hands me a glass, his fingers brushing mine. "You get this look. Like you're cataloging everyone for a novel you'll never write."
I smile. "Maybe I am."
"Then I should warn you. Your mother's heading this way, and she has that expression."
"Which expression?"
"The one that means she's about to introduce you to someone terribly important."
He's right. Helena Ashbourne moves through the crowd with the practiced grace of someone who has been navigating society functions for thirty years. Her champagne-colored gown catches the light, and her smile is perfectly calibrated. Warm but not overeager.
"Darling, there you are." Mother kisses my cheek, then Sebastian's. "I need to steal you both for just a moment. There's someone your father wants Sebastian to meet."
Sebastian catches my eye. "Duty calls."
"Go." I squeeze his hand. "I'll survive."
I watch them disappear into the crowd, Mother's hand on Sebastian's arm as she guides him toward a cluster of men in expensive suits. This is the pattern of our lives now. Public appearances, strategic introductions, the careful cultivation of alliances that will matter when Sebastian announces his candidacy.
I don't mind. I knew what I was marrying into. What surprises me is how much I've come to enjoy it. Not the politics itself, but watching Sebastian come alive in these spaces. He's good at this. Better than good.
"Mrs. Ashbourne."
The voice comes from behind me, low and perfectly modulated. I turn.
Lucien de Montfort stands three feet away, holding a glass of red wine that looks untouched. He's tall. I'd forgotten quite how tall. Dressed with the kind of understated perfection that only serious money can buy. His dark hair is swept back from a face that belongs in a museum, all elegant bone structure and pale skin that somehow never looks unhealthy.
"Mr. de Montfort." I extend my hand. "I didn't realize you'd be here tonight."
He takes my hand briefly. His skin is cool, his grip exactly calibrated. "Your mother invited me. Montfort Global is one of the foundation's major donors."
"Of course."
There is a pause. Lucien's eyes remain fixed on my face with an intensity that feels slightly excessive for a casual conversation. They're pale gray, almost colorless in certain lights.
"Congratulations on your marriage," he says. "I don't believe I've said so properly. Your husband is an impressive man."
"Thank you. Sebastian and I are very happy."
"I can see that."
Something in his tone makes me look at him more carefully. We've met perhaps half a dozen times over the years, always at events like this, always briefly. Lucien is my father's associate. A business connection who has proven useful in various ventures. Daddy speaks of him with respect, occasionally admiration. A brilliant mind, my father says. Utterly reliable.
But there is something about the way Lucien is looking at me now that feels different. Not inappropriate exactly. Just focused.
"Your father mentioned you'd be spending more time in London," I say, filling the silence.
"Yes. I've taken a residence in Belgravia. The European markets require more direct oversight."
"That must be quite a change. Weren't you based in Geneva?"
"Among other places."
His answers are always like this. Precise but revealing nothing. I've noticed it before but never really thought about it. Lucien de Montfort is one of those men who exists in the upper atmosphere of global finance, the kind whose actual worth is impossible to calculate because so much of it is tied up in holdings and investments that span continents.
"Eliza."
My father's voice cuts through the crowd noise. Alastair Ashbourne is moving toward us, Sebastian at his side. Daddy looks pleased about something, which usually means a deal has just been struck or is about to be.
"Lucien, there you are." My father claps Lucien on the shoulder with the ease of long familiarity. "I see you've found my daughter."
"We were just catching up," Lucien says.
"Good, good. Sebastian, you remember Lucien de Montfort? We've been working together on the infrastructure project I mentioned."
Sebastian extends his hand. "Of course. It's good to see you again."
They shake. I watch Lucien's expression remain perfectly neutral, perfectly pleasant. But something flickers in those pale eyes as he looks at Sebastian. Something I can't quite name.
"Your father tells me you're considering a run for Parliament," Lucien says.
"Considering is the right word. Nothing's decided yet."
"Sebastian's being modest," Daddy cuts in. "The party leadership has been courting him for months. He'd be a shoo-in for the seat."
"I have no doubt." Lucien's gaze shifts back to me, then away. "Politics is about timing as much as talent. And strategic alliances, of course."
"Which is actually what I wanted to discuss," my father says. "Lucien, would you have time next week to meet at the club? I'd like Sebastian to hear your perspective on the infrastructure bill. Your insights would be invaluable."
"Of course. Tuesday afternoon?"
"Perfect."
I feel Sebastian's hand find the small of my back, a subtle gesture of connection. He does this sometimes at these events, as if reminding himself I'm there. I lean into him slightly.
Lucien notices. Of course he notices. Those pale eyes track the movement, linger for half a second too long, then snap back to my father's face.
"If you'll excuse me," Lucien says. "I should pay my respects to the foundation chair before the evening ends."
"Of course, of course." My father is already scanning the room, looking for his next conversation. "We'll speak Tuesday."
Lucien inclines his head. "Mrs. Ashbourne. Mr. Ashbourne."
He walks away, moving through the crowd with a strange kind of grace. People step aside for him without seeming to realize they're doing it.
"Interesting man," Sebastian murmurs in my ear.
"That's one word for it."
"Your father swears by him. Says he's the smartest investor he's ever worked with."
"Mmm."
Sebastian turns me slightly so we're facing each other. "What is it?"
"Nothing. He just looks at people strangely."
"Strangely how?"
I try to find the words. "Like he's studying them. Cataloging them."
Sebastian grins. "So exactly what you were doing twenty minutes ago?"
I laugh despite myself. "Fair point."
"Dance with me." Sebastian is already pulling me toward the floor where a few couples are swaying to something classical and forgettable. "Before your mother finds another terribly important person for me to meet."
I let him lead me into the music. His hand is warm on my waist, solid and real. We fit together easily, the way we always have. Three years of marriage and it still feels new sometimes. Still feels chosen.
Over Sebastian's shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Lucien de Montfort standing near one of the tall windows. He's not talking to anyone. Not moving. Just standing there, perfectly still, with that untouched glass of wine in his hand.
He's watching us.
The moment I notice, he turns away, but not before I see his expression. It's blank. Completely blank. And somehow that's worse than if he'd been smiling.
"Eliza?"
I refocus on Sebastian. "Sorry. What?"
"I asked if you wanted to leave early. We've made our appearance. Your mother won't mind."
"Yes. Let's go home."
We make our excuses, collect our coats, and step out into the November cold. London spreads out before us, all lights and movement and noise. Sebastian hails a car, and I slide into the back seat, grateful for the warmth.
"Successful evening?" I ask as we pull into traffic.
"Your father's connections never cease to amaze me. Half the Shadow Cabinet was in that room."
"Daddy does have a talent for knowing useful people."
"Like de Montfort."
I glance at Sebastian. "You're really impressed by him."
"Aren't you? The man's built an empire from nothing. Well, not nothing. But he's completely self-made according to your father. No family money, no aristocratic connections. Just ruthless intelligence and perfect timing."
"Perfect timing," I repeat.
"Why? You don't like him?"
"I don't know him well enough to like or dislike him. He's just... intense."
Sebastian pulls me against his side. "Everyone in your father's world is intense, love. It's how they got there."
He's right, of course. I'm overthinking this. Lucien de Montfort is just another ambitious man in a city full of them. The fact that he looked at me strangely means nothing. People look at me strangely all the time. I'm Alastair Ashbourne's daughter and Sebastian Ashbourne's wife. I'm public property in a way I'll never quite get used to.
We reach our townhouse in Kensington just after midnight. Sebastian pays the driver while I unlock the door, stepping into the quiet warmth of home. Our home. The place we chose together, decorated together, learned to live in together.
"Nightcap?" Sebastian asks, already heading for the library.
"Just water for me."
I kick off my heels and follow him, grateful to be out of the performance. This is my favorite part of these evenings. The decompression. The return to being just us.
Sebastian pours himself two fingers of whiskey and hands me a glass of water. We settle onto the sofa, my feet in his lap, his hand absently rubbing my ankle.
"Your father wants to announce our support for the infrastructure bill next month," he says. "Publicly. He thinks it will position me well for the campaign."
"What do you think?"
"I think he's probably right. But it's a big commitment. Once I'm in, I'm in."
"You've been in since the moment you married me," I say gently. "You know that, don't you?"
He smiles. "I married you because I love you. Not because of your father's political connections."
"I know. But the connections came with the package."
"True." He sips his whiskey, thoughtful. "Do you ever regret it? The visibility? The scrutiny?"
"Never."
And I mean it. Whatever complications come with being an Ashbourne, they're worth it for this. For him. For the life we're building.
"Good." Sebastian sets down his glass and pulls me closer. "Because I have plans for us, Eliza Ashbourne. Big plans."
"Prime Minister-sized plans?"
"At least."
I kiss him, tasting whiskey and certainty and home. Outside, London continues its endless movement. Traffic and sirens and the low rumble of the city that never really sleeps.
Somewhere out there, Lucien de Montfort is returning to his Belgravia residence. Alone, I imagine. He seems like the type who would always be alone.
I push the thought away. It doesn't matter. He's just another player in my father's world of deals and alliances and carefully cultivated relationships. Useful but ultimately irrelevant to my actual life.
The storm is forecast for tomorrow night. I read it this morning over coffee. Unseasonable, the weather service said. Possibly severe.
I'm not worried. We're safe here. In our home, in our life, in our carefully constructed world where everything makes sense and love is enough.
I'm not worried at all.