6. Aurelio
Why? Why did you do this to yourself, you idiot?
I stand beside the stables, checking the area for any sign of Alessia, but finding she’s still nowhere to be found. My foot taps the ground impatiently. I don’t know whether I’d prefer her to hurry up or take her time.
Why I asked her on that date so spontaneously in the first place is a mystery to me, too. It just slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. She looked incredibly attractive, pinning me down like that, a victorious grin on her stone-cold face. And yet, the longer she stared at me, the warmer her expression became, until her face was flushed a bright red, and not from exertion; that two-minute takedown time still stings.
For some reason, I feel the need to spend a moment alone with her, far outside the palace, where the prying eyes of gossiping servants won’t see us. I’ve only been here a couple days, and already I’m feeling claustrophobic being contained between these walls. Everywhere I look, there are walls, ceilings, and enclosed courtyards, but never an open field under a bright blue sky. It’s suffocating here. I don’t know how Alessia does it. I used to go horseback riding daily, and still, I’d feel trapped by the confines of my massive aristocratic home. I wonder how long I’ll take to get used to this royal life.
Ah, well. At least they have nice stables, I note, patting my horse.
I was allowed to house my horse in the palace stables once I married Alessia, so I planned on visiting the stables before I ever came up with this crazy idea to go on a date. I’m glad I managed a visit, because I think I’ve found yet another perfect quiet hiding spot.
The stables are located on the northwest corner of the palace, in a place where the ground naturally slopes down to the mainland. Perched right at the top of the hillside path, the stables are accessible by a long flight of spiral stairs in the northwest tower that exit into a tunnel directly attached to the back of the stables. It’s a huge building made of polished oak with a limestone foundation the height of my waist. Holding fifty horses in total, each stall is the size of a commoner’s bedroom, with state-of-the-art magic and technology working together to automate the cleaning and feeding processes. The only task that remains to be done by hand is brushing, but riders should do that for bonding purposes with their horses, anyway.
I brush my fingers down the side of an oak door frame, whistling at the smoothness of the wood. The wooden floorboards are perfectly level, and they don’t show a hint of rot. A skylight has been built into the vaulted ceiling above, stretching the length of the building. There are human-sized windows in every stall, filling the whole place to the brim with natural light. Even this late in the evening, the fiery red-orange of sunset washes the walls instead of long, stretching evening shadows.
I turn to my horse, Cricket, a brown thoroughbred mare, and lean my head against her nose. She doesn’t react, per usual. I can’t tell if she actually enjoys my companionship or if she just tolerates me, but either way, we’ve spent over a decade running the hills of Celestia together. I feed her a special diet enhanced with potion-grown grains, said to keep her healthier for longer, and I have to admit, she still acts like a foal at twelve years old. I’ve always wondered if her diet will prolong her aging, so I justify the extra cost of her food, hoping to keep my best friend around for longer.
Cricket rubs her head on my shirt, which I take as her sign of affection for the day, even if she’s probably just itchy. She almost knocks me over with a small toss of her head.
“Easy,” I mumble.
As if to spite me, Cricket takes a step forward and bumps me into her water bowl, spilling it all over my shoes. I look up at her with a deadpan expression.
“Look, Cricket, you’re not the only stubborn woman in my life now. Can you please give me a break?”
She suddenly spins and flicks her tail, catching me in the eye. To say it stings is an understatement.
“Thanks. Appreciate it. I feel so loved.”
“Sorry, but your first mistake was looking for affection from an animal.”
I whirl around, a sly comment about to fall from my lips, only for my brain to short circuit and lose the comment altogether.
Is it just me, or is Alessia trying to take advantage of the situation?
Her crop top and shorts reveal just as much as her training outfit, if not more. Her hair is tied back into a braid now, courtesy of Mina, I’m sure. With the sunlight filtering in through the skylight, Alessia glows like a celestial sent from heaven. The light catches the sapphire necklace around her neck and reflects the blue onto the walls, but it’s still not as bright blue as those beautiful eyes of hers.
Wait, beautiful? I meant boring. Wrong B word.
Still, my heart betrays me once again, thumping wildly in my chest like I’m being chased by a bear. This is ridiculous. I didn’t sign up for feelings when I married into the royal family. Actually, I didn’t sign up for anything at all—I just got volunteered against my will, then permanently stolen from my family, depending on how you look at it.
And yet, here I am, volunteering to spend extra time with the ice queen. What a smart idea, idiot!
Swallowing my self-hatred, I fold my arms over my chest, face Alessia, and nod at Cricket.
“It sounds to me like you’ve never had a genuine bond with an animal.”
“It sounds to me like you’re lonely enough to rely on animals for affection. Animals that don’t particularly return your affection,” Alessia muses, eyeing Cricket’s standoffish behavior.
I frown at my horse. “Thanks, Cricket. You’re so supportive.”
She snorts. I don’t know what to make of that. I don’t speak horse.
“Anyway, where are we headed?” Alessia asks.
“Just to the fields outside of the aristocrat neighborhood,” I reply, grabbing Cricket’s reins and leading her out of the stall. “You can ride with me, or you can saddle up your own horse.”
Alessia’s eyes fly wide. She uncharacteristically stutters as she asks, “Wait—Sad—Saddle up a horse? By myself?”
“Uh…yeah? Is that a problem?”
“No! Not at all!”
I smirk. “The small, squeaky voice and the ghostly white face tell me you’ve never ridden a horse before. Call me a liar.”
“I’ve never even been in the stables before,” Alessia admits.
I drop my head into my hands, groaning. Instead of teasing her, I offer her my hand, gesturing to Cricket.
“Come on. We’re wasting daylight. I’ll teach you to saddle up a horse another time.”
Alessia slaps my hand away and climbs up on Cricket herself. I can’t say I expected any different. Hopping up behind her, I find a comfortable place in the back of the saddle, tap Cricket’s sides, and lead her out of the stables.
As soon as we start descending the hillside path, Alessia tenses up in front of me. She grips the horn of the saddle with white knuckles and leans back until her shoulder blades are touching my chest. She tenses up even more at the contact.
“Alessia, relax. Cricket won’t slip. She’s done hills a million and one times,” I laugh.
“Don’t patronize me,” she snaps.
“Okay. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
Instead, I wrap an arm around her and pull her against my chest, where she’s completely secure. She tilts her head back to look up at me with a glare, but the gesture only has my heart rate spiking. She’s unbelievably adorable, looking up at me like that, even if she’s mad as hells.
“Don’t. Touch. Me,” she growls.
“You’re sharing a saddle with me. You’re going to have to deal with it,” I remind her.
“Don’t touch me more than we’re already touching!”
“What? You felt unsafe, so I’m making sure you’re completely safe. If we fall, I’ll be your cushion. Happy now?”
Alessia opens her mouth to protest, then shuts it, tilting her head back down to face forward. Her bottom lip sticks out ever so slightly in the most adorable pout I’ve ever seen in my life.
Why is she so cute when she’s angry?!
I hate this. My heart shouldn’t be soaring in the clouds right now. Alessia is the woman who’s ruined my life of solitude, peace, and quiet with a humiliating round of sparring. Right after that sparring match, though, I’m taking her on a date of my own accord, obsessing over every freckle on her face like it’s my destiny to memorize it. I forget about our arrangement altogether as I race toward the sunset with her in my arms.
This is the sappiest romance scene I’ve ever heard of. This is the type of book I’d toss in the “Ew, romance” pile back at home.
At least, that’s what I would have done before.
Now, I’m starting to understand why people are obsessed with these things. It’s amazing. I can’t look away. My body and mind are working in tandem to spite me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m helpless to this wild, unrestrained feeling coursing through me like a hurricane racing through a seaside village.
How have I never felt this before? Why has no woman made me feel this way? Why does a back-talking, angry, righteous woman have to come storming into my life, take all my time, and make me feel happy about it? Shouldn’t this make me miserable?
Even by the time we stop to rest under a lone apple tree at the top of a distant hill, my mind is racing with unanswered questions. Alessia sits at the foot of the tree, her eyes closed as she leans against the bark. I’m transfixed just by the sight of her resting. She’s doing nothing, and I’m still obsessed.
What am I doing?
As if my body is moving of its own accord, I walk around to the back of the apple tree, climb halfway up its trunk, and grab a ripe apple from its boughs. It’s early for apple season; this is the only mature apple on the tree, so for some reason, I feel the need to get it for Alessia. A smile works its way onto my face as I climb down from the tree, anticipating the surprised look on her face.
Oh, come on! This isn’t even realistic!
Still, I’m powerless to stop. I walk up to Alessia, tap her on the shoulder, and gently toss the apple into her lap. She stares at it for a moment, then looks up at me, her brows pinched together.
“Why are you being nice to me? I kicked your ass and took your freedom today.”
I’d like to know the same thing!I want to shout.
Instead, what comes out of my mouth is, “Because you’re my wife. Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”
I instantly wish to melt into my shoes and disappear from existence. This is embarrassing. This is the mushy-gushy feelings crap that I’ve been avoiding all my life, even when my friends moved on and got relationships of their own. I thought they were crazy to put up with another person just as stubborn, quirky, and demanding as they are.
And yet, here I am, married at twenty-five, and taking my wife out on a date to boot.
Again, what am I doing?
Then Alessia’s cheeks go pink, and all my thoughts melt away. The smile reappears on my face. My knees go weak as she takes a small bite of the apple, then turns to look at the sunset, the colors reflecting beautifully in her picture-perfect face.
I know exactly why I’m doing this now. There’s no question as to what’s going on. It would be plain as day to a man even slightly in touch with his feelings, but that man is not me. It took me a second to realize this.
I see something in her.
Something that goes beyond the surface, beyond skin-deep beauty. I’ve seen plenty of beautiful women in my life, and none of them have put me under quite so captivating of a spell.
I see something in Alessia worth waiting for, buried deep beneath the veneer of dignity and authority that she’s so carefully constructed over the years.
And for me to want to pursue something? That means it’s worth one hells of a lot.