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"Count on it," Lucy winked, backing away toward the door with an easy swagger.

The farewells with Nate were brief and driven by pure exhaustion. Once the front door finally clicked shut behind them, Chloe lingered by the hallway for a second, a small, distracted smirk still playing on her lips, before she stretched her arms over her head and yawned loudly.

"I am going to pass out," Chloe announced, grabbing her phone from the table. She looked at Emma, then cast a very deliberate, lingering look at Victoria. "Try not to break anything else in the house tonight. Goodnight."

She disappeared up the staircase before Victoria could throw a cushion at her head.

The silence settled over the parlor, thick and comfortable. The only sound was the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Victoria leaned her head back, closing her eyes as the adrenaline of the day finally drained out of her system. Her entire body ached. Her feet felt like they were made of lead after standing behind the wooden stall for hours.

She felt Emma shift beside her. The sofa creaked.

"Let me take these," Emma murmured, her voice rough with sleep.

Victoria opened her eyes to see Emma reaching for the plates on the coffee table. "Leave them. The kitchen is clean, and they can wait until the morning."

Emma paused, setting the plates back down. She turned on the cushion, pulling her legs up beneath her so she was facing Victoria fully. The dim light from the floor lamp cast long shadows across her face, highlighting the exhaustion around her eyes, but her gaze was incredibly focused.

Victoria leaned back against the cushions, reaching down to unbuckle her designer flats. The moment she slipped the first shoe off, an involuntary, sharp wince escaped her lips as her heel met the rug.

Emma noticed immediately, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Rough day on cobblestones, Sterling?"

"I am merely adjusting to manual labor," Victoria deflected tightly, pressing two fingers against the bridge of her nose. "My arches were not designed for six hours on stone paths."

Emma didn't mock her this time. Instead, she shifted sideways on the sofa and without waiting for permission, she reached down, took hold of Victoria’s now shoeless foot, and lifted it right onto her own lap. She then took the other one and did the same.

Victoria went rigid, her breath catching as Emma’s warm fingers settled around her ankle. "Emma, what are you doing?"

"Taking care of you," Emma answered simply. She unbuckled the strap of Victoria’s shoe, slipping the leather off her heel and tossing it onto the floor, leaving Victoria barefoot with both legs resting across Emma’s thighs.

Victoria stared at her, her pulse jumped visibly at the base of her throat. She was unaccustomed to being tended to. She had spent a lifetime relying solely on herself, keeping everyone at an arm’s length. Having someone quietly step into her space just to offer comfort—without expecting anything in return—was completely foreign.

Emma wrapped both hands around Victoria’s right foot, pressing her thumbs firmly into the arch.

A quiet gasp escaped Victoria’s lips. The pressure was intense, striking the exact center of the ache, sending a rush of relief straight up her leg. She let her head fall back against the sofa, squeezing her eyes shut as all the tension she had been carrying simply melted into the upholstery.

"Better?" Emma whispered in the dim room.

"Yes," Victoria managed to reply, the word coming out slightly breathless.

Emma kept her touch slow and deliberate. She worked her thumbs along the sole, kneading the sore muscles with a rhythmic pressure that lulled Victoria into a dangerous state of vulnerability. The parlor felt incredibly warm.

The massage was innocent for the first few minutes. But as Emma’s hands moved from the arch of the foot to the curve of the ankle, the atmosphere in the room began to shift. The comfortable domesticity evaporated, replaced by a heavy, magnetic tension that seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the space.

Emma’s fingers slid upward, tracing the line of Victoria’s calf. Her touch was no longer just therapeutic; it was exploratory, trailing lightly over the bare skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Victoria opened her eyes, finding Emma already watching her. The warmth in Emma’s gaze had darkened into something much sharper.

The air between them crackled. Emma’s hands continued their slow ascent, moving past the calf to rest in the sensitive dip behind Victoria’s knee. The friction of her palms against the skin was intoxicating. Victoria felt her composure cracking, the iron-clad discipline she relied on shattering under the sheer weight of her desire.

When Emma’s hands slid higher, her thumbs pressing gently into the lower curve of Victoria’s thigh, the last thread of control snapped.

Victoria let out a ragged moan, her head dropping forward as she grabbed Emma’s wrists to stop the agonizingly slow movement. Her fingers dug into Emma’s skin, desperate and trembling.

"Emma," Victoria gasped. The sound came out wrecked and thin, without any professional polish, unrecognizable even to herself.

Emma looked down at the hands gripping her wrists, then slowly brought her eyes back up. "Should I stop?"

Victoria stared at her mouth. "No." She dragged a desperate breath into her lungs, trying to anchor herself to the reality of the parlor, the open hallway, the sleeping guests upstairs. "But we cannot do this down here."

A slow, wicked smile spread across Emma’s face. She gently pulled her hands free from Victoria’s grip, sliding off the sofa to stand in front of her. She reached out, offering a hand that Victoria took without a second of hesitation.