Page 154 of Reign

“Listen to her.”

He moves the tray farther from the path.

“You don’t have to listen to everything I say. It isn’t my garden.”

“The way you’ve been ordering my men around, I assumed ownership had transferred.”

“I’m opinionated, not a professional.”

“That’s true.”

She tries not to smile.

Then she catches sight of the hydrangeas waiting near the fountain.

“No, no. Those can’t go there either.”

She sets her notebook on the stone and crouches beside the nearest plant. Instead of explaining the problem from a safe distance, she presses her fingers into the soil around the base and angles the hydrangea toward the shaded side of the terrace.

“They’ll burn there by the afternoon,” she tells the gardener. “Put them closer to the wall. They’ll still get enough morning light.”

Dirt collects beneath her nails and streaks across her palms.

She doesn’t notice.

Or she doesn’t care.

I watch her loosen the soil around the root ball, working beside the gardener instead of merely directing him.

I assumed she would direct the work from a safe distance, polished hands wrapped around her notebook.

Elena gives orders, then puts both hands in the dirt to make certain they’re followed correctly.

She adjusts the plant one final time before standing and brushing her palms together.

“There. Better.”

She retrieves her notebook from the stone.

The gardener looks at me.

“She was right.”

Elena’s brows lift. “Careful. That sounded like agreement.”

“It was.”

“Are you ill?”

“Frequently, around you.”

She smiles before she can contain it—bright, unwilling, reaching her eyes.

She turns away, but the sight of it stays with me.

I look at the dirt beneath her nails and the hydrangea she recognized needed shade before anyone else did.

“Your mother taught you all of this?”