Alessandro rides ahead, his laughter carrying back to us on the breeze. He’s fearless, and he has no idea that someone came to kill him because of who his father is.
And because of what I’ve done.
My phone is burning a hole in my back pocket, and my chest tightens as I think about Nico’s choice for me.
I was never given a specific timeline, but I know that there isn’t enough time.
The weight of Gia’s necklace against my collarbone feels heavier suddenly, and I know that I have to keep her son safe.
But I can’t just give up Anthony either. Whatever sins his father may have committed, he’s still my nephew and an innocent child.
I have to find a way to keep both of them safe. But how?
Damn Nico! Damn him for forcing me to choose.
And damn myself for being foolish enough to think I can jump into the middle of this conflict and emerge somehow unscathed.
“Loosen your grip on the reins,” Slava’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts as he slows down slightly until we’re riding side by side. “You’re choking her.”
“I’m not choking her, I’m just—” The mare tosses her head. “Okay, maybe I’m choking her just a little.”
“Here.” He reaches over and adjusts my hands, his fingers brushing mine in the process. “Guide her. Don’t fight her.”
I flinch from the heat of his fingers and it takes a moment before my breath and heartbeat return to normal. Slava’s hand tightens slightly. He rides closer, and I try not to glance over at the way his hips are thrusting as he rides.
My heart races. Heat rushes up my face, and my clothes now feel too tight and itchy on my skin.
“Shh,” Slava soothes the horse, but I’m the one who hears. “I have you, girl.”
Up ahead, Alessandro has stopped. He sees the two of us riding side by side, his face splits into a wide smile, and he doubles back.
“Papa, can we show Bella the waterfall?”
“We’ll see,” Slava says, but his tone is warm and indulgent. He looks over to the left. “The waterfall is too far, and there are clouds on the horizon.”
My eyes follow his gaze. Sure enough, in the distance, fat billowing clouds are rising like cotton balls, pregnant with rain.
The wind seems to still. The air around us grows just a little hotter and heavier. The clouds don’t look like they’re moving.
Slava’s hands are still on my reins, still touching my fingers with an impossible tenderness.
He’s still protecting me, even as I practically contemplate how to destroy what’s his.
We ride on, and the sun moves in a lazy arc over the sky. Slava’s hand is still wrapped around my reins, and it stays there until we arrive at a small clearing near a stream
shaded by ancient oaks that must have been growing here for decades. He helps me down, and then spreads a blanket. Alessandro starts pointing out where everything should go with the confidence of a tiny king.
“The cheese goes here,” he says. “And the bread has to be near the cheese because they’re friends.”
“Naturally,” I say, settling onto the blanket. My thighs are already protesting the ride, though not from the exertion. “What about peanut butter and jelly?”
He giggles. “American usurpers to the throne.”
He’s sonormal. So sweet. But sooner or later, the demands of his father’s life will slowly wipe the smile away. The sweetness will fade after, until one day, he sits just like his father.
It’s heartbreaking.
Slava pours a glass of wine for me, and then one for himself. For a moment, I can pretend like we’re almost like a family on a well-earned vacation in the French countryside, passing bread and cheese, and listening to a seven-year-old explain his very strong opinions about which dinosaurs could beat which other dinosaurs in a fight.
