Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
I feel a buzz of excitement at the thought of representing Paravel in front of an international audience. Even though I was raised in France, my mother was Paravanian, and all my tutors were from Paravel, too. I longed to meet my Paravanian father and know if he was proud of me.
Maybe if I do well in the dressage, it will bring Daddy and I closer. Training and discipline are things he can relate to and that’s what dressage is all about.
A few days later, I’m practicing on Cinnamon in the sun-drenched arena at Bellerose Stables. The morning is warm and cicadas are already singing in the woods. My shirt is clinging to my lower back as Cinnamon and I work through our routine.
I thought the place was deserted, but as I bring Cinnamon around, I see that we’re no longer alone. Cassian is leaning against the fence, watching us, his forearms crossed. The sun beats down on his golden head and his shoulders clad in a faded blue shirt.
I walk Cinnamon over to him, but stay mounted, and wait for him to speak.
“That was good,” he says finally, squinting up at me.
I search his face for mockery or disdain, but he seems sincere. “Can I help you with anything?”
He’d better not mention sex. I’m done sleeping with Cassian Bellerose. If he can walk away from me while I’m upset, then he doesn’t deserve to touch me.
“My mother Aimee built this arena.”
I watch him in silence, wondering why he’s telling me this. I remember his harsh words the other day. We’re not friends.
“She was a dressage rider. All the outbuildings on this property are because of her.”
I’ll make small talk about horses with him if that’s what he wants, but I sense that’s not what this is about. “If you’re trying to say sorry for being a jerk the other day, then you can just say sorry and I’ll accept it.”
Cassian gives me an appraising look. “I’m sorry.”
I blink. That was more forthcoming than I expect. “Thank you.” Then, because he seems like he’s not ready to walk away yet, I ask, “Was your mother any good?”
“I don’t know. She died when I was very young. I don’t remember her.” He looks up and down the expanse of sawdust. “Can I watch you for a while?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that he’s already been watching me, but the vulnerability in his expression stops me. “If you like.”
Cinnamon and I start our routine over. This is my favorite part of dressage. Some riders live for the competitions, but I love the soothing repetition of practice, switching from one move to the next and feeling Cinnamon respond beneath me.
We finish the routine, and I trot back to Cassian, slightly breathless.
I wait for him to tell me what he thinks, but he pushes away from the fence and heads into the shade by the stables, motioning for me to follow him. “Come on. Get out of the sun for a bit.”
Curious about his approachable mood, I swing my leg over Cinnamon and dismount, and lead her over to a patch of shade beneath an oak tree. Then I join Cassian at the back wall of the stables, and slide down until I’m sitting cross-legged next to him.
I search for something to say to start a conversation, but all I can think of is, “You don’t remember your mother at all?”
Cassian props his forearm on his raised knee and stares straight ahead, thinking. “Sometimes I think I can see flashes. Long hair and printed dresses. Holding her hand tightly while she introduced me to the horses. I think that must have been her. Muriel doesn’t like horses.”
I suppose Muriel is the older woman I’ve glimpsed. I wonder that he never asked her about this memory.
“What happened to your mother? The papers only talk about your father.”
A smile quirks my lips. “You read about me in the papers?”
“Hard not to, when you’re jumping on and off Varga’s horse all the time.” But he says it with a smile.
“My mother passed away when I was eleven. My Paravanian nanny took custody of me, and I lived in a sort of limbo in France. Not French, but not Paravanian either, though I speak the language and have the accent. It’s weird.”
Cassian gazes at the sky, watching a small bird of prey skim over the fields. It draws its wings in and hovers for a moment, as if it’s going to plunge toward the ground, but changes its mind and spreads them again. “Paravel is a weird place. I feel like we’ve all been living in limbo, one way or another. I wish the future was more certain.” His eyes come to rest on the stables, then the arena, then on me. Intensely blue and candid. “What about you?”