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When life gives you London, go find Blair

Lavinia always knew her family's untimely death would change things. But she hadn't expected it to rip her from the city she loved, force her into a role, and leave her standing at the edge of a life that suddenly felt unrecognizable. It was never part of the plan. But the Longhursts owned the Foundation, and now, as the only one left, all of it fell on her shoulders. No discussion. No choice. A responsibility she never asked for, yet couldn't escape.

She hated London. But if she had to trade the skyline of Manhattan for the gloom of Mayfair, at least there was Blair.

Her best friend. Her soulmate in crime. If there was anyone who could make that gray city bearable, it was her best friend who had been her lifeline even from thousands of miles away. They had spent years navigating their long-distance bond, sharing late-night secrets and indulging in every scandalous detail of their separate lives. They lived for the chaos, for the stories, for the nights that never ended. If Blair made it to New York, they would paint the city red. If Lavinia found herself in London, they would mourn her life with a bottle (or five, or seven). And soon, they'd be in the same city.

It had been too long since they'd shared a drink, let alone a good gossip session. No way was she going to wait weeks to see her. Blair needed a surprise. New York could wait. London could wait. Duty and grief and all the weight of expectation could wait. Because that night wasn't about any of that. It was all about bestie reunion.

And one glass wouldn't be enough for their night.