Page 211 of Boyfriend of the Hour

I turned to him, suddenly full of more determination than ever to help him out of this horrible situation, but also to help the girl I’d just met.

“She’s amazing,” I said. “And she deserves to be free from your parents. You both do. And we’re going to make it happen, no matter what it takes.”

FORTY-FOUR

BEST PARTS OF THE COUNTRY

#6 Sweet conversashuns and kisses by the pond

I’d never been on a horse before. No surprise there, considering I had grown up in a place where the only horses were either ridden by cops or carried tourists around Central Park. Neither of these things had any appeal for the average teenager and certainly weren’t things I could ever afford. So horses always seemed like one of those mythical creatures that were only accessible to the very rich or people who lived out in the middle of nowhere.

Nathan’s family seemed like both, even though they weren’t that far from the city. The vast expanse of their property made it feel like you were miles and miles from any civilization. And I supposed, in a way, we were. Fifteen hundred acres, Nathan told me, roughly converted to two and a half square miles. We could walk all day if we wanted to and never meet another soul.

For the time being, Lillian and Radford seemed content to pretend their son’s porn star girlfriend didn’t exist. After visiting Isla, we shared a dinner in their fancy dining room, whereneither of them even acknowledged my presence. Breakfast of coffee and toast the following morning was equally stunted.

I, for one, found I didn’t really care. In an ideal world, would I want my boyfriend’s parents to love me?

Sure.

Did I need or even expect that to be the case?

Never.

I was here for Nathan. And if that meant my support existed by doing PT in our bedroom while he tried to negotiate Isla’s guardianship, I was just fine with that. What I wasn’t all right with was the idea of his mother berating him when I wasn’t around. Or being manipulated by other family members. I knew what that felt like all too well. There was just no way I was going to let him go through this by himself.

The following morning, after sharing an awkward breakfast with his parents, Nathan took me out to the stables, about a ten-minute walk from the main house.

The stables matched the traditional architecture of the house but were constructed from a much smaller building that housed livestock when Huntwell was still a working farm. In the early part of the twentieth century, Nathan’s great-grandfather had apparently gotten the bug to race horses after the Preakness Stakes started in Baltimore. He was part of the contingent that began the steeplechase races in Fauquier County.

“Supposedly, he didn’t think flat races should get all the attention,” Nathan said as we walked.

I had no idea what that was, and so I spent the rest of the walk listening to Nathan nerd out about the differences between flat racing and steeple chasing, thoroughbreds versus other kinds of horses, and a bunch of other things I could barely understand because I was too lulled by the music of his deep, sonorous voice.

“I’m actually not much of an expert,” Nathan said as we finally got to the stables.

“Could have fooled me,” I said with a grin before I popped up to kiss his cheek. “I think I should call you my personal professor instead of doctor. You can teach me anytime.”

Nathan smiled, not quite able to hide his blush.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the prodigal son,” called a voice from the other end of the stable.

We turned to find Spencer Hunt emerging from one of the stalls, looking more like a dirty stable boy than the youngest son of some of the wealthiest people in the country. If it weren’t for the absurd glow of his golden hair and brilliant white of his teeth, I might have thought he was just another staff member. But he still had that gleam about him that only seemed to come from extreme wealth, I was starting to see.

“I’m only prodigal if I’ve done terrible things.” Nathan stiffly accepted his brother’s handshake, but not without obvious suspicion. “You weren’t at dinner last night.”

Spencer shook his head. “I only got back this morning. Kip ran the Preakness last night, so I stayed over in Baltimore.”

As if on cue, the head of an enormous black horse poked over the door of the stall next to me and nosed into my shoulder.

I jumped with a shriek, right into Nathan’s arms. My boyfriend, however, wasn’t quite able to keep a straight face.

“Kip, that wasn’t very nice to the pretty lady,” Spencer said as he strode over to the horse and rubbed its large nose.

The horse chuffed like it was laughing and eyed me with more intelligence than I would have imagined.

“Don’t race horses have weird names like Sunday Blues or Toothpaste Miracle?” I asked. Even I’d seenSecretariat.

“Oh, sure,” Spencer replied with a grin. “Technically, this guy’s formal name is Christy Climbing, but we call him Kip for luck.” He rolled his eyes. “It was Mom’s turn to name.”