Page 263 of Reign

“We work on it daily.”

“It looks like someone started telling a story and stopped halfway through.”

“I haven’t decided how I want it to end.”

“I can envision it.”

I look at her.

She shrugs, but something quieter enters the movement. “I’d probably make it look like my mother’s garden. That’s the one I remember best. We made it together.”

The fire cracks between us.

“At the summer house,” she adds.

“Santo’s estate.”

She nods.

“My father sent us there when I was little because some rival family wouldn’t leave him alone.” Her mouth twists. “Always sending the women away.”

Her voice becomes steadier when she speaks about her mother. Careful, as if each memory is something fragile she has learned to protect alone.

“She brought cuttings from the garden at Papa’s house,” Elena continues. “Daisies first. Then herbs. There were these little white flowers that only looked pretty at night. I used to think that was magic.”

I remember Santo’s estate. The gardens outside are too carefully maintained and too specific to be accidental.

“We’ll take cuttings from there.”

Her attention snaps back to me.

A laugh escapes her, but there’s no humor behind it. “Good luck. Santo won’t even give me my mother’s journals. He definitely isn’t letting us dig up his garden.”

“He will.”

“You sound very confident.”

“I am.”

“You don’t understand. My brothers don’t share.”

“They’re going to learn.”

Something in my voice arrests her. She searches my face for a moment before turning back toward the garden.

“We can design this one around the cuttings,” I say. “Whatever you remember.”

Her lips part.

“We?”

“Yes.”

“You would garden?”

“I would garden with you.”

Color warms her cheeks, and she looks down at the s’more in her hand as though it has become unusually interesting.