Page 25

EMORY

I can barely see where we’re going as Luxor and I hit the bridle path at a run. He’s a lovely pony, black and sleek and clearly thrilled to be sprinting as fast as he can. I wish he and I could trade places right now.

Adrenaline makes my hands shake on the reins, so I lean over and twist my fingers into his mane. He’ll tire himself out before the path ends. I should be scared, probably, but all I feel is relief.

I looked for him.

My breath chokes out of me, and I drag it back in, then duck another branch as Luxor slows to a mere canter from a flat-out run.

“Good boy,” I soothe. My voice wavers.

Amy’s pony lunged for mine. Intentionally or not, I don’t know, and I don’t care. What matters is that I only have myself to blame.

My first instinct was to look for Aiden.

I looked.

He wasn’t looking back.

I twisted around to find him when I should have been focused on my pony. I barely had a second to draw in breath—to say Aiden’s name, damn him—and then I fell.

I take another shuddering breath and lean over Luxor’s neck, trying to take some of my weight off his back.

My eyes are hot. I’m either crying or it’s the wind, and fuck , I would love for it to be the wind because crying over him?

God. I swallow the tears down, my throat tight, betraying me and the composure I so desperately want to keep.

My shoulder burns with each pounding stride, a searing reminder that matches the recriminations in my head.

What was I thinking trying to play polo?

Trying to be one of them?

I learned my lesson with Harrison. I don’t want to be part of their world. I can’t believe I forgot.

Of course you forgot.

When Aiden looked like that in his tight breeches and sleek black boots and clinging black shirt.

When Amy made comments that echoed the ones my classmates made in school—nothing rude, nothing overt.

Just subtle reminders that she belongs and I don’t.

I don’t think she even realized she was doing it.

I suck in another unsteady breath. Aiden played like a god today.

As good as Mateo. He and Amy were a lovely matching pair.

I refuse to dislike her for it. None of this is her fault.

She has a huge family, and I know they lost a bunch of money last year on some bad investments.

She’s probably doing this for them, just like I am.

In another world, we could have commiserated over drinks about how this world is made of hard choices for women.

After all, she must be as desperate as I am if she’s willing to marry in to this family.

No, not desperate. With the way Aiden looked and the way he played today, any woman would want him. I wanted him. I wanted him to turn one of those rare smiles on me. I wanted to see him mouth an insult and compete with me, not treat me like I was a liability.

I squeeze my eyes shut with misery for one brief second. Behind my lids are the smiles she tossed his way, the glares he gave me, the way they wouldn’t stop reminding me that I’m not part of their world.

The way he agreed with her when she suggested I stop playing.

That one hurt the most. Like a knife through the ribs.

Did you think he was different?

Because he defended you with Harrison?

It’s fake. Aiden is just like them. Just like he was in school.

She’ll never be one of us.

Fuck Aiden Prince.

The path blurs in front of me. Don’t fucking cry. My fingers tighten in Luxor’s mane as he dodges a puddle. I won’t cry. Not over him . Never over him.

I need to focus on what matters. Get the land and build something so big that none of them can look away. Prove myself to my family and the rest of the world.

When people say a girl like her , it will mean something different.

Aiden can divorce me and marry Amy on the same day. I don’t care. They can have a million perfect babies and a frigid, loveless marriage. He can play polo every day until, hopefully, some horse tramples him and spares us all.

Hooves sound on the path behind me, and then Aiden shouts my name.

Hell no. “Come on, boy.” I lean farther over Luxor’s neck and give him the reins. He picks up speed, and only the steadiness of my seat and my low profile on his neck save me from falling off as the forest thickens around us.

Aiden is gaining on me, but I refuse to look.

We careen around turns, and I slip to the side, my stomach dipping and the ground rushing toward me before I right myself.

Luxor seems to sense something is wrong, because he slows back to a canter and then to a trot.

“Come on,” I urge. My breaths are coming short. My chest is unaccountably tight and my eyes blurry and hot. “Come on,” I plead.

Aiden is nearly on me. Each hoofbeat is a dreadful refrain. He’s going to find me, and if I cry in front of him, I’ll never forgive myself.

“Please.” I’m begging and nudging Luxor with my heels, but his sides heave as he slows to a walk.

I slump in the saddle before I slide off. I have to keep going. If I stop, I’m going to break down. I loop the reins over the pony’s head and walk him into the grass. An ivy-covered wall rises in front of me.

The secret garden.

Maybe it will open for me and save me from Aiden.

My mouth twists. Unlikely. If the garden won’t open for the golden prince, it’s sure as hell not opening for me. I lean against the cool stone and let Luxor graze while I wait for Aiden. His lordship arrives mere seconds later, pulling Andromeda up short and vaulting off.

Show-off.

His face is a thundercloud. He rips his helmet off and tosses it into the grass. My stomach does a slow, uncomfortable roll. He looks mad as hell and hot as sin as he strides through the grass. I freeze, my heart thudding.

“What were you thinking?” He growls the words as he approaches, smacking plants out of his way like they’ve personally offended him.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Of course I’m mad,” he exclaims. “You could have hurt yourself. You could have hurt him .” He jerks his head toward the happily grazing pony.

Bitterness rises. “Right. Well, I’m sorry for endangering your investment.”

“Are you hurt?” He scans me, eyes wild, like he actually cares.

I snort. “As you can see, your pony is fine. You can leave now.”

“So you are hurt.” He steps closer, and I back against the wall of the garden. “Show me.” His voice is low and commanding and causes something to clench deep inside me. His eyes aren’t cut gems anymore, they’re blazing pools of gold.

“Absolutely not.” My shoulder hurts like hell, but I’m not showing him.

“Fuck, Emory. I can’t believe you ran off.

You could have been seriously injured.” He shoves a hand through his hair.

He should be sweaty and disgusting. He should smell terrible, but instead, he glistens with health and he’s never looked better.

The sweat makes his shirt stick to him in all the right places, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and the flatness of his stomach. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” I tip my chin up. “You are putting this arrangement at risk with your antics. Snapping at Mateo. Insulting me.”

He invades my space, smelling like horse and clean, sweaty man. “He had his hands all over you.”

A shocked laugh bursts from me. “And what? You’re jealous?”

His jaw clenches, and he looks away. “He shouldn’t be feeling you up.”

“Didn’t look like you had a problem with it,” I say snidely.

His eyes fly back to mine. “What does that mean?”

“Looked like you were nicely occupied, is all.”

I see the second he understands. His eyes soften. He steps forward, forcing my back against the garden wall. I barely control my wince as my shoulder hits the stone. “Grandfather is throwing her at me. She’s a friend. Nothing more.”

I give him a frosty glare. “I don’t care. I just want our relationship to look real.”

His mouth hitches up. “You sure about that?” He braces an arm overhead and sets his lips to my ear.

Close, my body screams. Way too fucking close.

“Because it seems like you were jealous.” His words tickle the shell of my ear, raising goose bumps on my neck and sending shivers down my back. Lower too.

Don’t think about lower.

“I wasn’t.”

His teeth grasp the lobe of my ear and tug. “You have nothing to worry about,” he murmurs. “You’re my wife. Not her.” His lips linger, his breath gusting over my neck.

I’m frozen, waiting for him to pull away. I should snap at him for yelling at me, but all I can think is please, don’t move.

Instead, his tongue tastes my pulse. The breath leaves my chest. I feel like prey being nosed by a lion, who might decide we’re friends or might decide to gut me with a single swipe. My legs are shaky.

Hoofbeats sound from my left.

“Everything okay?” Mateo’s voice comes from behind Aiden.

I open eyes I didn’t realize I’d shut. Aiden sighs before he presses his forehead to the stone, trapping me between his big body and the wall.

I raise my hands to push him away, but instead, my traitorous fingers curl into his shirt.

His chest is a firm wall of muscle beneath my hands.

There’s an unfamiliar tug low inside me.

I want to dig my nails into his skin. I want to tear at his shirt.

I want Mateo to leave so Aiden will lick my neck again.

If this is what happens when I fight with my husband, I’ll fight with him every day.

The sound of Mateo’s boots hitting the ground draws a growl from Aiden’s throat. He pulls back, his eyes flickering with irritation.

“Emory?” Mateo asks.

“Fuck this,” Aiden mutters. He slides his palm under my chin. My hand fists his shirt. “Kiss me,” he says, even as his lips hover over mine. That soft demand kindles sparks inside me.

“You first.”

He responds with the hard press of his lips to mine. I kiss him back, my teeth finding purchase on his bottom lip, pulling a soft grunt from his throat.