AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Cayetano called out something that made the car begin to move, and then directed his attention to his call, stretching out his long legs before him as he sat back.
And Delaney could not understand a single word he said, rapid-fire, like poetry at top speed. French, she thought, though she’d only ever heard French spoken on television. Or no, possibly Italian. Because she sometimes watched cooking shows.
But she couldn’t help feeling, now that the urge to protest the loss of his attention was mostly gone, that his attention being directed elsewhere felt like a reprieve.
She needed that as the SUV turned around, then headed back down the lane. She needed to be herself again, even if it was for the last time.
Because this car—this man—was taking her away from everything she’d ever known.
You can’t really want to sell the farm, she had protested.
I would have sold it after your grandmother died, Catherine had replied with that steel that had reminded Delaney of when her mother hadn’t been the least bit fragile.It was all you had. But I want you to have more, Delaney. You deserve more.
It’s because I’m not yours, she had dared to say. Earlier this very morning, standing stiff and feeling unwelcome in the same kitchen that had once felt like an extension of herself.
You are mine, Catherine had replied fiercely.You will always be mine. But I will not let this cursed farm stand between you and an opportunity like this.
I have no interest in being some kind of trophy wife, Delaney had protested.You should know that.
Then don’t become one, Catherine had replied. She had even laughed, like a fist to Delaney’s heart.Be whatever and whoever you wish to be. Just promise me you will give this adventure a chance, Delaney. That’s all I ask.
She’d had no defense against that. Against her mother’s heartfelt plea—even if Catherine wasn’t technically her mother. In all the ways that mattered, she was and always would be. How could she say no? Until Cayetano had showed up here, she had assumed she would never leave the farm. And so she’d often been wistful, watching far-off places on television, trying to imagine what it would be like to sink her toes deep into exotic white sand beaches. Or climb distant mountains.
Or just...be somewhere else, where no one knew anything about her unless she told them.
And every time Catherine had caught her being wistful, Delaney had always assured her that she was all about the farm. Always and forever about the land. Because what good was wistfulness when there was a growing season to consider?
Someday, her mother had liked to say,you’re going to see the world, Delaney.
And they’d both laughed, because the only world Delaney had ever been likely to see was on television.
Until now.
Just promise me you’ll give it a chance, Catherine had said this morning.
I promise, Delaney had whispered, because how could she do anything else?
And then she’d sobbed when her mother had hugged her, as if it was the last time. As if this was a kind of funeral. Hers.
Giving up something when you don’t know what it is isn’t much of a sacrifice, Grandma Mabel had told her once in her usual crisp, knowing manner.And the truth is, it’s only the choices that hurt a little that make us any better.
Well, this hurt.
A lot.
Delaney could repeat those things to herself over and over. She could even accept, somewhere deep down, that they were true, and maybe—in time—the acceptance would bring her solace.
Maybe she was setting off on an adventure and the real reason she was so unnerved was because, deep down, she was as excited as she was apprehensive. Maybe she thought admitting that was a betrayal.
She didn’t know.
But the grief sat on her all the same, heavy and thick, until the farm was out of sight.
CHAPTER FOUR
THATTHELOSTPrincess of Ile d’Montagne might not wish to marry him after he had spent all this time tracking her down had never crossed Cayetano’s mind.
He found the very notion of her refusal preposterous. For it was normally he who was forced to crush expectations, maintain boundaries, and make certain that none of his lovers ever got the wrong idea. He had never intended to marry. He rarely intended to spend more than a night or two with a single woman—it was too tempting for some of them to imagine that it meant something it could not.
