But I never saw the lights or the ghosts again.
Further, the cats never acted weird or tripped me into being where they wanted me to be (though, they did trip me, just because they’re cats).
In fact, nothing weird or supernatural happened at all.
And call me crazy.
I was kind of bummed about that.
I used some more of my millions to buy myself some shit-hot riding breeches and boots.
Battle approved, though I thought he approved more of the fact that, after we rode, he got to peel them off me.
I got really good at riding.
So good, Battle and I rode frequently.
Sometimes we did it alone. Sometimes with Tempie and/or Hamish, Prue, Chassie and/or Christian (François didn’t ride).
I tried to shoot a shotgun, but that bitch put an angry bruise on my shoulder and nearly knocked me flat on my ass (Battle warned me about the kickback, but damn).
That bruise was visible for over a week.
No thank you.
Though, I enjoyed watching my guy decimate the clay pigeons flung through the air.
It was all kinds of hot.
An aside: François might not ride, but the dude was hell on wheels shooting clay pigeons.
It was almost as fun to watch Battle shoot them with the way Prue would cheer and clap every time her hubby hit the mark.
Seriously, they were so cute together.
Battle took me back home to The States repeatedly.
My grandparents loved him.
Solène loved him for me.
Alex thought he was the shit.
And Matty and Rayray absolutely adored their Uncle Battie.
They all came out for Battle’s and my wedding.
Another small affair in the gardens.
My gown was gorgeous.
My groom was way more beautiful.
Solène walked me down the aisle.
But Bartholomew went with us.
When the pastor told Battle he could kiss the bride, he did, twice.
