Page 107

“Well, that’s not very convincing, now, is it?”

She turns to face me. Her hands rest on her hips. The pose pulls the fabric tight across her chest. I can see the faint outlines of her nipples straining against the fabric. She must not be wearing a bra.

I force my eyes to her face. “Just planning our day,” I lie.

“Oh?” She tilts her head. “What did you have in mind?”

“I thought I’d take you on a walk through the vineyard. Then we can go to the village.” I force my shoulders to relax. “Unless you’d prefer to stay here?”

“No, that sounds nice.” She smiles, unguarded and pure. “I’d like that.”

We go sit on the veranda while she drinks her coffee and eats a croissant. I take the time to recalibrate myself, get a handle on things again. When she’s ready, we leave through the back door.

The morning air carries a damp chill off the Gironde, laced with sodden earth and the faint, lingering sweetness of grapes that have long since been harvested. Rae walks beside me, barefoot still, her sandals dangling from her fingers.

The vineyard stretches out before us in orderly rows. This time of year, with the harvest long past, the colors have faded and the vines have surrendered their leaves. Bare, scraggly branches jut out and mist weaves around the clustered roots.

“It’s breathtaking,” Rae says softly.

I watch her take it all in. She looks peaceful and content in a way that she never has back in New York.

The things that sight does to me are unspeakable. I’d give up every sunrise over the vineyard I’ve ever seen in exchange for one minute of seeinghersee it.

We’re halfway down the hill when Rae stops. Her attention has caught on something to the left.

“Is that a stable?”

I follow her line of sight. The old stone building sits at the edge of the property, half-hidden by a stand of oak trees. I’d forgotten it was visible from here.

“It is.”

“Do you have horses?”

“Three. They came with the property.”

Her whole face transforms. Eyes bright, lips parted. She looks like a child on Christmas morning. “Can we?—?”

I shake my head. “Not today. The stable boy has taken them into town to be re-shod.”

Her face falls. She catches it quickly and plasters on her normal smile instead, but I don’t miss the pang of disappointment.

“Oh. That’s okay. Maybe next time. Not that there will be another— Well, you know. Just, never mind.”

There won’t be a next time.We both know it, even if neither of us says it out loud.

“I’ve always wanted to ride,” she confesses as we start to walk again. “Ever since I was little. My mom used to promise she’d take me to one of those trail ride places, but we never had the money. And then after she died…” She trails off and shrugs. “Life got in the way.”

That could easily be the end of that. But watching that brightness dim in her eyes does something to me, something sharp and unwelcome. I fucking hate it. I hate that her disappointment wounds me.

This is exactly what I was afraid of.

Not the wanting—I’ve made peace with wanting to fuck her. That’s purely biological and easily explained away. But this? This need to make herhappy? To smooth away every wrinkle of displeasure from her face?

That’sdangerous.

I’ve been vulnerable before. It nearly destroyed me. I refuse to do it again.

And yet…