21. Georgina
— ? —
Georgina
The meadow opens ahead of us, wide and gold in the late afternoon light.
I bring Sovrano to a halt at the edge of the grass and let him look. He raises his head, ears pricked forward, already anticipating what I haven’t asked for yet. Beside me, Max steadies the gray and waits.
“A week ago, I was bargaining with myself over three strides of canter.” I keep my eyes on the field, watching the way the grass moves in the breeze. “I believe I’ve collected several.”
“You have.” Max follows my gaze across the meadow. “You stopped looking at me after each one to see whether I was counting too.”
“You were counting too.” I think of that first attempt, the day after the roses, when I asked for three strides and got five before I remembered to breathe.
Then the second try, and the third, until by the end of the week I could circle the arena without my hands shaking afterward. “I had to stop myself from counting.”
“I want to go faster.” I say it before I can talk myself out of it. “Not all the way across. Just enough to feel it.”
Max looks at the meadow again, then back at me. “The footing’s good. Deus had this stretch cut, and we checked it on the walk out.”
“I know.” I’ve ridden this field a hundred times, back when faster meant nothing more than the pleasure of asking for it. “I want to take the left side, along the tree line. It’s flat all the way to the old gate.”
“I remember.” He doesn’t ask whether I’m sure. He just nods and gathers his reins. “I can stay back if you’d rather have the field to yourself.”
“Stay beside me.” I hear the words come out and realize I mean them. “Leave a little space between us, but I want you there.”
Something shifts in his face. He doesn’t make it larger than it needs to be, just inclines his head and brings the gray level, several yards to our right.
“Then I’ll be there.” He meets my eyes. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I take a breath and turn Sovrano toward the tree line. The grass is dry beneath his hooves, the turf even along the stretch we have just walked. I can feel him waiting, gathered and alert, ready to give me whatever I ask for.
We walk the first hundred meters, letting the horses settle into the new terrain. Then I close my legs and ask for trot, feeling Sovrano lift beneath me. The rhythm is familiar now, steady and sure, and I let myself enjoy it for a few strides before I think about what comes next.
“Canter first.” I say it as much to myself as to Max. “Then we’ll see.”
I sit deeper, shift my weight, and ask. Sovrano responds instantly, his stride lengthening into the rolling three-beat gait I’ve missed for so long. The flutter rises and I breathe through it, keeping my hands soft, letting him carry me.
Max canters beside me on the gray, close enough that I can hear the rhythm of his horse’s hooves against the grass. I don’t look at him. I look at the tree line ahead, at the space opening up before us, at the way the light falls golden across the field.
“Elle.” His voice carries across the space between us. “Whenever you want.”
I want it now.
I close my legs and lean forward, asking for more. Sovrano surges beneath me, his stride lengthening, his hooves pounding against the grass as he opens into a gallop. The wind rushes past my face, pulling at my braid, and I feel something crack open in my chest that I didn’t know was still closed.
This. This is what I’ve been missing.
The gray matches our pace, Max keeping him half a length behind so I have room to steer. I can hear the thunder of hooves, feel the power of my horse beneath me, and for one perfect moment there is nothing else. No fear. No counting. No waiting for something to go wrong.
Just speed, and sunlight, and the wild joy of moving through the world on a horse who loves to run.
I let out a sound that might be a laugh. It tears from my throat before I can stop it, carried away by the wind. Sovrano’s ears flick back at the noise, then forward again as he stretches into the gallop.
Before we reach the last stretch toward the old gate, I begin to sit back, asking him to slow. He responds reluctantly, his stride shortening by degrees until we’re cantering again, then trotting, then finally walking.
My heart is pounding against my ribs, my breath coming fast, and I realize I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
Max brings the gray alongside us, and when I turn to look at him, he’s smiling too. Not the careful smile he’s worn so often these past weeks, the one that asks whether I’m all right. This is something else entirely. This is joy.
“Elle.” He shakes his head, still smiling. “That was beautiful.”
“That was terrifying.” I’m laughing now, the sound bubbling up from somewhere I’d forgotten existed. “And wonderful. And I want to do it again.”
“You did say a short stretch.” Max glances toward the path, then back at my face. “Although I’m willing to hear an appeal.”
I look down at Sovrano, still walking forward eagerly beneath me, and stroke his neck. A few minutes ago, I wondered whether I would manage it at all. Now I am inventing reasons to turn around.
“Tomorrow,” I decide, easing my fingers on the reins. “I want to finish while I can still pretend I was dignified.”
“You laughed halfway across the field.”
“Very elegantly.”
“Naturally.” His smile widens as I look at him. “I could hear you over both horses.”
I laugh again, quieter this time, and look toward the meadow.
I want to remember how it felt to ask for that last change of pace and have Sovrano answer.
I rode him forward. I brought him back. In between, there was a stretch of sunlit grass where I wasn’t trying to persuade myself I could do it. I was simply doing it.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” I ask Max as we turn toward the lane.
“Very much.” He keeps the gray beside us where the track is wide enough. “Though the company is becoming difficult to impress.”
“You could start by admitting I was ahead.”
“It wasn’t a race.” He gives me a look that makes it impossible to keep my face straight.
“That’s what people usually say when they’re behind.”
“Then I’ll remember to ask for the rules before we leave the yard next time.” He falls in behind me as the path narrows. “I like to know when my reputation is at stake.”
We walk the horses back slowly, letting them cool in the evening air.
The yard is quiet when we arrive, the groom waiting by the gate. I halt at the mounting block, free my feet from the stirrups, and lower myself onto the top step before handing Sovrano’s reins to her. Once I’m on the ground, I stand for a moment watching her lead him toward the stable.
“He was wonderful.” I call after her, unable to resist saying it to someone else. “Thank you for getting him ready.”
She nods and disappears into the aisle. Max dismounts beside me and pulls off his helmet, running a hand through his hair.
He steps closer, still holding the gray’s reins, and his expression softens. “I’m very happy for you, Elle.”
There is no joke ready when I look up at him. I wanted that ride for myself, but I wanted to be able to turn afterward and share the pleasure of it with him, too. Today I had both.
“So am I.” My smile returns slowly. “I don’t think I’m going to stop talking about it for some time.”
“I was counting on that.” He lifts a hand to tuck a loose strand behind my ear. “I’d like to hear your version. Apparently I was too far behind to see properly.”
The groom comes back for the gray, and we step apart to let her pass. Max watches until both horses are settled, then turns back to me.
“I should let you go wash up.” He says it reluctantly, like he’s not quite ready for the evening to end. “Rosa mentioned something about dinner.”
“On the terrace?” I take off my helmet, freeing a strand caught beneath the strap. “If it stays warm enough.”
“I’ll find another blanket.” He glances toward the garden. “And move the last of the roses so we can fit the plates on the table.”
“Leave the little vase between us.” I like those few blooms best, the ones that have opened almost too far, their petals softening at the edges. “I haven’t finished admiring your work.”
“A week is a very good return on flowers.” He smiles, and I feel the answer to it in my own face.
At the garden gate, he takes my helmet to carry back to the bench. I let my fingers rest against his for a moment before releasing it.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” I tell him.
“I’ll be there.” He gives my hand a brief squeeze, then turns toward the yard to put mine beside his on the bench.
I watch him walk toward the stable yard, still turning to smile at me before he rounds the corner. Then I go inside to wash and change, already thinking about what comes next.
***
The loft stairs are narrow, but steady.
I climb them slowly, holding the rail. The evening has grown cool, and I’ve changed into soft trousers and a sweater, my hair still damp from washing.
At dinner, I told him about the ride until he accused me of adding another length to my lead every time I described it.
I laughed, helped him carry the empty plates to the kitchen door, and kissed him goodnight by the garden gate.
Then I went upstairs and realized I had no wish for the evening to be over.
The door at the top is slightly open. I knock against the frame and wait until he calls for me to come in before pushing it wider.
It’s simpler than I expected. A narrow cot against the far wall, made up with a wool blanket and a single pillow. A wooden crate beside it serves as a table, holding a book and a glass of water. An old chair sits beneath the window, and an electric lamp on the crate provides the only light.
His few belongings are arranged neatly along the windowsill, a small bag, a watch, the charger for his phone.
Max is sitting in the chair, reading. He looks up when I enter, and I watch his expression shift from surprise to something warmer.
“Elle.” He sets the book aside and stands. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine.” I ease the door closed behind me. “Am I interrupting?”