He nods.
I only have a moment in the lavish hallway the stairs brought us to—it’s at least two-stories tall, decorated by elaborate woven rugs, a wall adorned with knight-like armor, and a bunch of animal heads—before he tugs me toward a little enclave where I see a big, worn leather backpack propped against a small door.
Liam drops my hand, throws the pack over his shoulder, and opens the door for me. And then we’re outside in the light, cool air, the sunlight making me squint. Liam’s hand is at the small of my back.
“Forget your sunglasses?”
“I did. I guess I left them in my rental car.”
His fingers rub my back. “I’ve got an extra pair.”
“Do you really?” I ask as he kneels and opens his pack.
He pulls out two cases, handing me a pair of what turn out to be Ray-Ban Aviators. He’s wearing his own pair.
“Are these your booty call Aviators?”
“My what?”
“You know, for your lady friends,” I tell him as I follow him through the bright green grass.
He gives me a serious look. “You’re not a booty call, Lucille.”
“I can’t believe you used that awful, ugly name.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Hell no I don’t. It’s an old woman name. It reminds me of Lucille Bluth. Do you know who that is?”
“Of course.” He smiles.
“You do?”
“I watch TV, Lucille.”
“You better watch yourself, or I’ll start calling you Willahelm.”
“You know my name.”
“I totally do.”
“You’re making fun of it.” He wraps an arm around me, pulling me close as we approach a little bridge over the stream.
“Lucille and Willahelm.” I lean into him as we walk. “I think it fits.”
He gives my shoulder a squeeze, then nods ahead, to a huge, stone building shaped like a box. “We’re headed to the stables. That okay with you?”
“Of course.”
“I thought we could ride down to the beach.”
“Perfect,” I tell him, even as my stomach somersaults up through my head, then plummets down into my thighs somewhere.
“I had the staff pack food and wet suits.”
“Wow—is it that cold?”
He nods. “The water here is always cold.”
We’re met at the entrance to the stable by a middle-aged woman in a pale gray uniform. She wears her hair in dreads and has a friendly smile.
“I’ve got Peg and Eeyore ready for you.”
“Thanks, Sara.”
She nods, and disappears behind a big, wood door.
“Does she manage the stables?” I ask as I follow Liam down a hay-scattered hallway.
“Yeah. Her father did before her.”
I’m going to ask more questions, but I’m mesmerized by all the horses we’re passing.
“You have a beautiful stable. One of every kind almost,” I marvel.
“You know we breed them.”
“Yeah. I heard that.”
“My horse, Pegasus, is a white—well, gray—Arabian. You’ll be riding Eeyore, an Anglo-Arab.”
“Is that a cross between an Arabian and…a Thoroughbred?”
He nods.
“What color is—”
I stop as we reach a holding pen where I see a large white-gray Arabian with an eventing-style saddle and a gorgeous, chestnut brown horse that must be Eeyore; he’s saddled similarly.
“Wow. I feel like that’s all I say here.” I laugh.
“They’re both mine. And Sara’s. I have a crew of people overseeing the breeding. Sara is everyone’s grandmum. I guess that makes me the weird uncle.”
I laugh. “Yeah—you’re not the dad, I guess.”
“Definitely not. So Eeyore is a little lazy, needs to be pushed sometimes. But he’s got a steady temper. And he’s fast. Peg is fast for an Arabian, but I think Eey is a nose faster.”
We lead the horses out of the barn, and Liam watches while I mount Eeyore before climbing up on Pegasus.
As soon as I’m up on Eeyore, I start feeling queasy and a little dizzy.
You can do this, Lucy. At the beach, just tell him.
I tell myself he won’t freak out too much. He won’t lash out at me or say mean things.
Remember how he was that night. How nice he was.
When I was a kid, I thought well-bred men would never hurt a woman. Bryce changed all that. I suck a big breath back, noting that we’re walking now. We’re moving through a vibrant field. The woods frame us in, not a forest, more like lots of smaller groves. I hear birds caw, the clomp of the horses’ shoes on mud and fluffy grass. Liam, I realize with a start, is riding slightly behind me.
I turn back to him.
“What are you doing back there?”
“Watching you.” He grins.
“Does my riding meet your standards?”
He smirks. “That’s not what I’m watching.”
I feel my face heat up.
“Are you blushing, Lucy Rhodes?”
“I’m embarrassed for you.”
He laughs. “For me? And why’s that?”
“You’re so…forward.”
“Did you just call me ‘forward’?” He’s grinning.
“Maybe. That’s a Lucille-ism.”
He gets another good chuckle out of that.
“How did you know my clothes size, anyway?”
“How do you think?”
“I’m going to guess it’s not your good eye.”
He puts a hand to his thick chest, as if I’ve wounded him.
“Did you ask someone?”
He smiles. “I have a friend at Balmain. The fashion house.”
“Which location?”
“Paris.”
“I was there a few years back.”
“I heard,” he says.
“Who’s your friend there?”
“Olivier.” He says it almost ruefully.
“Rousteing?”
He nods.
Olivier Rousteing is the head of the French fashion house, which is notable in part because he’s only about our age. “How did you meet him?”
“At a party a couple years back.”
“Is he nice?”
“Yeah. Driven.”
He comes up so we’re riding side-by-side and points at a shady grove ahead of us. “The beach is through those trees and down a little trail.”
Liam lets me go first, which I don’t mind, because I’m not nervous about traversing the rocky shore on horseback.
The beach is gorgeous, with amber and almost black grains of sand. The shore is strewn with big, brown-black boulders. The ocean crashes to the sand in frantic waves, sending up a spray that makes the air taste salty.
If I squint, I think I can see an island out ahead of here.
“Sheep Island,” Liam offers.
“Lots of sheep?”
“No sheep. Not anymore. Generations ago, if the island—Gael—was under threat, the family would be shuttled there and hidden with the sheep. Woman and children, anyway.”
“What happened to the sheep?”
“The families who raised them—or rather, one family—they moved inland.”
“So it’s deserted now?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s really neat. How much history your family has.” I feel light-headed as I think about the relevance of my statement. I know I should tell him. Tell him now!
I wonder how many mistresses other princes and kings had. I wonder if any of them got knocked up. I wonder what he’ll say when I tell him.
“Lucy?”
His horse moves closer to mine, and his hand grazes my arm. “Hey—you okay?”
I nod, gasping. Damn me, I can’t breathe.
“You want to get down off that horse?”