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Annabelle tried to hide her emotion beneath sarcasm. “So you’re comparing me to a horse?”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Let me help you,” he whispered. “Let me at least try.”
Pressing her lips together, she looked up into his gleaming dark eyes. “But what if I fail?” He gave a low snicker. “Fail? You’ve already failed.”
She choked out a laugh. “You have a funny way of trying to reassure someone.”
“Failure is liberating. It sets you free. If you are brave enough to fail and still do not quit, you will prevail,” he said softly. “And I do not take you for a coward, querida”
A breathless, almost painful hope filled her.
“You don’t?”
He shook his head.
“In fact,” he said huskily, moving closer, “I think you are a woman who would rather die before you’d give up—on anything.”
Their eyes locked. She swallowed, feeling prickles of fire spreading down her body.
“You just need to remember,” he said, touching her cheek.
“Remember what?” she breathed.
“Who you were before your heart was broken.” He lifted her chin. “And who you were born to be.”
Chapter Seven
“Where are we going?” Annabelle asked as he led her across the courtyard.
As they walked, Stefano smiled down at her, looking confident and completely irresistible as he pushed open the door to the old stables. “To the paddock on the upper slope.
It’s where we train the colts.”
She halted inside the door, looking with trepidation at the monstrous-size horses inside the wooden stalls.
“You should change your clothes,” he said yet again, looking down as her designer pantsuit and glossy black heels.
“If I leave now, I’ll lose my nerve,” she breathed.
It had been nearly twenty years since Annabelle had last ridden a horse. The same August day she’d decided to sneak out to the party in the village. She’d felt so powerful that day. Fearless. Free.
But by the end of that night, she had been in the hospital, and Jacob arrested for their father’s murder. Her brother was acquitted, the verdict being accidental death in self-defense, but their family—and Annabelle—had never been the same.
She swallowed. The last time she’d ridden a horse, she’d been so innocent. So unafraid. So young.
Coming up behind her, Stefano put his hands on her shoulders. She felt his warmth and strength like a burst of sunshine through rain. “Do you know how to ride?”
“I used to.” She slowly reached up to stroke the horse’s nose. “I used to race to keep up with my older brothers.” She stopped her hand in midair, not quite touching the animal.
She whispered, “I used to be fearless.”
“You can be again.”
She swallowed, then looked back at him. “Can I? Can I ever be that girl again?”
“Yes,” Stefano said steadily.
With a deep breath, Annabelle turned back toward the horse. Then she hesitated. “But what do I do? How do I start?”
