20. Georgina #3
I look down at the jacket again. I had expected something to cross off our list, another practical detail settled before I could worry about it. Instead, I keep opening the lining to look at the letters, foolishly pleased by this small, private addition he chose for me.
“Help me with the cuffs?” I hold out my wrists, and he steps forward to adjust the sleeves.
His fingers are careful as he smooths the cuffs flat, freeing the edge caught against my shirt sleeve.
I watch his hands, the familiar shape of them, the way they move with such precision.
When he’s finished, he doesn’t step back.
He just stands there, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him through the jacket.
“Perfect.” He smooths the fabric over my shoulders. “You look perfect.”
“I look like someone who’s spent half an hour arguing about poles.” I tilt my head up to meet his eyes. “But the jacket is perfect.”
“I’ll take that.” His hands are still on my shoulders, and I realize I don’t want him to move them.
I reach up and take hold of the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His eyes widen slightly, and I feel his hands tighten on my shoulders.
“Elle?”
“Thank you.” I rise up on my toes and kiss him.
It’s not like the quick kisses we’ve exchanged over the past ten days, the brief touches that say hello and goodbye and I’m glad you’re here.
This is slower, deeper, and I feel him respond with a soft sound against my mouth.
His arms come around me, pulling me closer, and I let myself sink into the warmth of him.
When I finally pull back, we’re both breathing harder than we should be.
“That was quite a thank you.” His voice is rough.
“I felt the occasion warranted it.” I keep my fingers curled in his shirt, not ready to let go. “The roses were excessive.”
“The roses were romantic.” He’s smiling, his arms still around me. “I stand by them.”
“I said ridiculous.”
“And you haven’t stopped smiling.” He leans down and presses his forehead to mine. “I’m prepared to accept that as a favorable review.”
“A very selective review.” But I’m smiling too. “You only notice the parts that make you look good.”
“Those are the best parts.” He kisses my forehead, then my nose, then the corner of my mouth. “I’m very shallow that way.”
“Terribly shallow.” I turn my head and catch his lips again, and this time I let the kiss go on longer than I mean to.
The groom clears her throat somewhere behind us, and I straighten, suddenly conscious of how close we are to the doorway. Max’s ears have gone pink, which is so endearing that I almost kiss him again just to see if they’ll get pinker.
“I should go wash up.” I step back reluctantly, letting my hands slide down his chest before releasing him. “And you should help Rosa with the roses.”
“Should I?” He catches my hand before I can move away. “I thought she had that under control.”
“She does.” I squeeze his fingers. “But I want them on the terrace by the time I come down. All of them.”
“That’s a lot of roses.” He’s already reaching for me again. “It could take a while.”
“Then you’d better get started.” I pull my hand free and step back, still smiling at the way his fingers linger against mine. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”
“Half an hour.” He nods, but he’s still looking at me like he wants to close the distance I’ve created. “I’ll have the coffee waiting.”
“And the roses.”
“And the roses.” He smiles, and I feel it all the way down to my toes. “Anything else, principessa?”
“That’s enough for now.” I turn toward the house, then pause and look back at him. “Max?”
“Yes?”
“The jacket really is beautiful.” I touch the embroidered initials through the fabric. “I love it.”
“I’m glad.” His smile softens. “It looks good on you.”
I slip out of the jacket and return it to its bag, taking care with the sleeves. Max holds the top while I zip it, and for a moment we are both looking down at it, standing close enough that my arm rests against his.
“Half an hour,” he reminds me, his voice lower now. “Unless you get distracted admiring yourself.”
“You could have said that before you bought me such a good jacket.”
“Poor planning.” He bends to kiss me once more, briefly this time, though his hand stays at my waist after his mouth leaves mine.
I could stand here with him until the groom has to come past us again. Instead, I take the bag and start toward the house, glancing back at the garden gate. He’s still watching me. When I lift my free hand, he smiles and turns toward the lane to begin bringing in the roses.
There is nothing difficult about imagining the next half hour. I’ll wash the arena dust off my face, change my shirt, and find him on the terrace.
We will decide where to put the flowers, and I will move my chair closer to his because I want to. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll manage those first strides of canter. Perhaps it will take another day. Tonight, I have something to look forward to either way.
At the house, I pause with my hand on the door. Above the stable yard, the hayloft window stands open. I have grown used to that being where he goes when we say goodnight, close enough that I sometimes look out to see whether his light is still on.
For the first time, I catch myself wanting to follow him.