Clara
The Ashford estate looked less like a home and more like something built to be photographed. Marble stretched in every direction, floor to ceiling windows framed gardens that had clearly never known an unplanned weed, and the staircase in the entrance hall curved upward with the kind of grandeur that made my footsteps sound too loud, like I was intruding somewhere I hadn't earned the right to be.
"It's a lot, I know," Sebastian said, watching me take it in. "I grew up here. I stopped seeing it after a while. I imagine it will take you longer."
"It's beautiful," I said, because it was true, even if beautiful wasn't the same as comfortable.
He gave me the tour himself, waving off the staff who hovered at a respectful distance, and I appreciated that more than I expected to. He didn
