4. Georgina
— ? —
Georgina
Days pass by quickly.
The kitchen is warm with the smell of coffee when I come downstairs, and Max is already there, leaning against the counter with a cup in his hand.
Three weeks since Giselle arrived, and finding him still in the house feels like getting away with something. I wish it didn’t. I wish this were just an ordinary morning.
“You’re up early.” He reaches for the second cup he’s poured and holds it out to me. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Couldn’t let you drink all the good coffee.
” I take the cup and lean against the counter beside him, close enough that our shoulders touch.
Through the window, the sky is just starting to lighten, the first pale gray of dawn creeping over the hills.
“Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t leave the house looking like you dressed in the dark. ”
He glances down at himself, frowning. “What’s wrong with how I look?”
“Your shirt is inside out.” I take a sip of my coffee to hide my smile. “The seams are showing.”
“Merda.” He sets his cup down and pulls the shirt over his head, turning it right side out with the practiced efficiency of a man who has done this before. I watch the muscles in his back shift as he moves, and when he catches me looking, his grin turns smug. “See something you like, princess?”
Rolling my eyes, I glare at him.
“I see a man who can’t dress himself without supervision.” I reach over and help him get the shirt back on, letting my fingers linger against his neck. “What would you do without me?”
“Wear my shirts inside out, apparently.” He catches my hand and presses a kiss to my palm, then checks his watch. “I should go. Giselle will be waiting.”
The name lands between us, familiar now after weeks of morning lessons.
My sister, who came to help me recover and has instead become my husband’s dawn appointment. I take another sip of coffee and don’t let my expression change.
“She’s getting better?” I turn the cup between my palms.
At lunch yesterday, Giselle brought her plate over to sit beside me, then spent most of the meal telling me what Max had taught her that morning. She asked whether I remembered how difficult it was to learn. I couldn’t bring myself to answer.
“She is, actually.” He rinses his cup and sets it in the sink, moving with the efficient energy of someone whose day has already started in his head. “Still tentative, but she’s finding her balance. Another few weeks and she might actually enjoy it.”
Another few weeks. I hadn’t understood there was already a next part to this, more things for them to work toward together. Her helping me still seems to mean asking whether I need anything on her way out. She means the offer, perhaps. I never know what to ask for.
“That’s quite a commitment.” I reach for the coffee pot, then put it back. My cup is still half full. “Every morning, on top of your own training.”
“It’s no trouble.” He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, pressing a kiss to my hair. “I’ll see you at lunch?”
“If you’re lucky.” I lean back into him for a moment, letting myself have this. His arms around me, his breath warm against my temple, the solid familiar weight of him. Then I step away. “Go on. Don’t keep her waiting.”
He leaves through the kitchen door, and I listen to his footsteps cross the yard until they fade into the sounds of the stable coming awake. The coffee is still warm in my hands. The morning stretches ahead of me, empty and quiet.
I set the cup down and go upstairs to change.
***
The riding clothes feel strange against my skin, unfamiliar after so many months of avoiding them. I found them in the back of my closet, pushed behind the dresses and the everyday clothes I’ve been wearing instead.
The breeches still fit, the boots still zip. I take the spare helmet from the top shelf and wipe the dust from it with my sleeve.
I look at myself in the mirror and try to see the woman who used to wear these clothes every day. She’s in there somewhere, buried under a year of fear and careful distance. I’m going to find her.
The walk to the old stable is easier now than it was weeks ago. Some mornings I’ve reached the doorway and gone straight back to the house.
On better days I’ve stayed, arguing with myself over the latch until opening it seemed less exhausting than standing there afraid of it. Last week I touched Sovrano’s face for the first time since the accident. He pushed his muzzle into my palm, looking for something to eat, and I almost laughed.
At least one of us had reasonable priorities.
Today I’m going to try to get in the saddle.
Marco is in the feed room when I arrive, measuring grain into buckets with the methodical precision of someone who has done this job for years. He looks up when I knock on the doorframe.
“Signora.” He sets down the scoop, his gaze moving from my boots to the helmet in my hand. Whatever he was about to ask, he decides against it. I could kiss him for that.
“I need Sovrano tacked and brought to the small paddock.” I hold the helmet against my hip, hoping it gives me something of the authority I used to have here. “The one behind the cypress hedge. Can you do that for me?”
“Of course.” He wipes his hands on his trousers. “The usual tack?”
“Yes. And Marco?” I catch him before he turns toward the tack room. “I’d like some privacy for this. Once I have him, you can go back to your work.”
He nods without asking questions, and I’m grateful. Whatever he thinks about the signora suddenly wanting to ride after a year of avoiding the stables, he keeps it to himself.
I wait in the small paddock while he brings Sovrano around, pacing the perimeter to burn off some of the nervous energy building in my chest. The cypress trees screen this space from the main arena, from the house, from anyone who might see me fail.
That’s why I chose it. If I can’t do this, I want to be the only one who knows.
The gate creaks, and then Marco is leading Sovrano through, my horse moving with the easy grace I remember so well. He looks good. Healthy and well-cared-for, his coat gleaming in the morning light. The grooms have been taking excellent care of him, even without me.
“Here you are, Signora.” Marco hands me the reins and steps back. “He’s been calm this morning. Should be no trouble.”
“Thank you.” I take the reins in my left hand and rest my right against Sovrano’s neck. “That’s all I need.”
Marco leaves, the gate clicking shut behind him, and then it’s just me and my horse and the quiet morning air.
“Hey, boy.” I stroke his neck, feeling the familiar silk of his coat under my fingers. “Miss me?”
He turns his head and lips at my sleeve, and something in my chest loosens. He still knows me. After everything, after all these months, he still knows me.
I fasten my helmet and check the girth, letting the familiar task occupy my hands.
Then I lead Sovrano to the mounting block and bring him alongside it, his left shoulder beside me.
I climb the stone steps, gather the reins in my left hand and rest my right on the pommel.
From here I can see the empty seat of the saddle.
I used to belong there without having to think about it.
The stirrup is right there. All I have to do is lift my foot.
My leg won’t move.
I stand on the block, every muscle locked tight, and I can feel the panic starting to build.
My hands are trembling, making the reins shake, and Sovrano shifts beside the block. I ease my fingers on the leather before my grip can pull at his mouth. He hasn’t done anything wrong. I need him to know that, even if I can’t seem to tell my body the same thing.
Just lift your foot. Just put it in the stirrup. You know how to do this.
The leather shifts beneath my fingers, and I remember how tightly I held on that day.
“One more, Sovrano.”
His ear flicks back toward me. I settle my hands and let him move on, smiling at the eagerness beneath me. He always knows when we’re nearly finished. Sometimes I think he tries to make the last few minutes so good that I’ll change my mind about stopping.
The rhythm comes easily. My hips follow his stride without my having to think about it, and the breeze works a strand of hair loose beneath my helmet.
I leave it against my cheek. There’s nothing I need to fix, nothing I need to force.
He answers the smallest adjustment of my leg, and I feel that familiar pleasure of being understood without a word.
“Good boy. Just like that.”
Giselle stands ahead, off to one side of our path. I notice her watching and lift my chin in acknowledgment, already thinking about bringing him back to a walk once we’re past her.
Then she steps forward.
It’s sudden enough that I look straight at her. Her eyes are on me, and for an instant I expect her to say something, to explain why she’s moved so close.
“Giselle, stay…”
Sovrano jolts beneath me.
His head comes up, his stride breaking before he surges forward. I sit deeper and close my fingers on the reins, trying to steady him, but Giselle is in front of us now. Much too close. Her mouth opens, and whatever she meant to say disappears.
“Move!”
She doesn’t.
There is time to see her face change. Time to realize that she isn’t going to get out of the way.
I turn him.
There’s no thought beyond getting his body away from hers. I bring him around hard, feeling him scramble through the change of direction, and for one breath I think we’ve done it. She slips past the edge of my vision, still standing, untouched.
Then my balance goes.
I try to bring my weight back over the saddle. I know what to do; I’ve lost my seat before, recovered it before. But my foot has slipped free, and the movement that should bring me upright takes me farther sideways.
The saddle is no longer beneath me.
I reach for something that isn’t there, and the ground comes up so quickly that I can’t make myself turn.
The impact drives the breath out of me.