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CHAPTER1
Ella Snow
Beep. Beep. Beep.
My alarm was going off already. It felt like I’d just closed my eyes only a second ago.
I groaned, knowing the sun hadn’t even risen yet, but getting up early was the only way for me to enjoy some time to myself with the horses in the stable without being seen. I yawned and stretched before I threw on a pair of blue jeans, a soft cotton tank top, and my favorite fleece-lined hoodie. By the time I brushed my teeth and rushed out the backdoor to the barn, the sun was just beginning its upward trek into the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. It was going to be a beautiful day.
It was the last week in May, and summer was just breaking over eastern Long Island. The light of dawn cast Hampton Manor Stables in a soft glow, every flower and blade of grass sparkling with glistening morning dew. Summer had finally arrived, and it was looking like it was going to be a truly beautiful season. I took a deep breath, the fresh air giving me a sense of renewed vigor and chasing the last dredges of sleep away.
Today was my twenty-first birthday. I was the only one that would celebrate it, but it was certainly starting off well with a sunrise like this.
Dark red, vibrant orange, and bright pink started to tint the horizon, casting the whole sky in an otherworldly light. I stopped for a moment just to appreciate the magnificent beauty in the quiet of the morning, before I slipped into the stables. I stopped in the feed room first, putting a few apples and carrots into my pockets for the horses before the hired staff arrived.
My work was usually back in the house. My stepmother would probably have a coronary if she found out that I spent each morning in the stables, and then she’d forbid me from ever doing it again. The people that boarded their horses here were some of richest people in the world. They paid for the best trainers, the finest stable hands, the works. Each horse had a strict diet meant to keep them in peak physical condition. She’d probably say something like the horses deserved better than a lowlife like me.
I was the house maid. I was nothing more than that.
I stole into the back of the stables to visit my favorite horse, Misty Dawn, an elegant, dappled gray mare that was as sweet as she was sassy. Her soft whinny echoed through the stables once her dusky eyes settled on me. I always spent the most time with her in the mornings. Her black mane was braided and interwoven with beautiful violet beads, giving her a sophisticated touch. She pranced in her stall like she knew she looked good, and I reached into my pocket, breaking off a piece of carrot and offering it to her in the seat of my palm.
When she was much younger, she used to nip at my fingers like a young, spirited, and somewhat spoiled filly. In the months since I’d been visiting her in the mornings, she’d turned into a graceful mare with every toss of her head.
Her lips closed deftly around the carrot, just grazing against my skin, and I smiled. She neighed quietly, funneled it into her mouth, and bit down with a noisy crunch. I cocked my head and scratched the side of her neck. She nuzzled my shoulder and I sighed happily, running my fingers up and down her snout.
“Hey there, Misty. It’s lovely this morning,” I whispered.
She neighed, seemingly agreeing with me. Her neighbor, Shadow Dancer, was a dark grey Arabian stallion that had an extraordinary show record, but was also exceptionally sweet and gentle. Rumor had it that he’d cost upwards of one hundred thousand dollars. There were a great many people that paid for his use as a stud horse too, so his diet was especially important, or so I’d heard.
I gave him a piece of carrot too, and his neigh of thanks made my heart swell. There were other horses in the stables that were most certainly spoiled, but there were several like Misty Dawn and Shadow Dancer that were very sweet when shown a gentle hand. Every horse in this stable was fed the best food, trained with world-renowned trainers, cared for by stable hands that made more in a year than most people could comprehend, yet they were all missing one vital thing.
The love of someone that cared for them. So, I gave them that whenever I could.
I spent as long as I dared with the horses, slipping down the lines of stalls and treating each one with a piece of apple or a carrot, depending on which was their favorite. I knew them all by heart. When the first of the stable hands opened the front door, I’d already slipped out the back to the main house. I crept in through the servants’ quarters to see that the chef was already in the kitchen preparing for breakfast.
My stepmother and stepsisters probably wouldn’t be up for another hour. They often slept in late and woke up grumpy. Cranky was essentially their calling card, so I avoided them as much as possible, but I had a feeling today was going to be far more difficult than usual.
My family was hosting a massive charity gala for the East Hampton Historical Society. The whole house had been preparing for weeks, and my stepsisters, Bentley and Mackenzie, had been obsessing over their dresses for what felt like worlds longer. Mackenzie had chosen a soft pink gown that had needed several alterations to fit her frame since she’d gotten a breast augmentation a week after she’d bought it. Bentley was hands down the pickiest person I’d ever had the misfortune of meeting, but I think she’d finally settled on a tangerine-colored dress, though she kept going back and forth between that one and a pale lavender number. It was maddening.
Their alterations always took a lot more work than necessary, mostly because they insisted on buying a size or two smaller than they actually needed, which meant I had to work magic with a sewing machine time and time again to make their dresses actually fit their bodies.
My stepmother, Aurora, was something else entirely. She had chosen a pale blue gown with tons of glitter and tulle and layers of lace. If it had been white, it would have rivaled Kate Middleton’s wedding dress. It would have probably cost just as much too, but she was making me do all her alterations. Her dress was to size at least, really only needing to be brought in around her hips to make it a perfect fit. Her fittings always went miserably because she was kind of an evil witch, but at least her needs were pretty easy to meet overall when compared to my stepsisters.
The three of them left me alone to do my work for the most part, but the final fittings for each of them were happening this afternoon, and I was dreading them all, especially my stepmother’s who would be last on the agenda for the day.
I busied myself dusting and sweeping the main floor before my stepmother made her way down the grand staircase. Her steps were always particularly noisy, so I could always tell it was her before she emerged into the kitchen.
I plastered a smile on my face and kept my eyes on the dirt I’d swept into a small pile on the tiles, hoping she’d turn her gaze on someone else for the time being.
My luck had run out.
“Ella, I’m going to need you upstairs right away. Bentley ripped the hem of her dress, and you need to fix it. And wear something decent. I can’t have my clients seeing you in dusty blue jeans. Do I have to tell you everything? Worthless,” she announced, muttering the last part under her breath.
She’d always hated me. I wasn’t her blood.
My father had another wife before her, and she was insanely jealous of her very existence because he had loved her deeply. My mother had died while giving birth to me, and my dad still talked about her like she was the love of his life, which made Aurora hate her even more. In front of him, she was the ever-doting wife, but when he wasn’t around, she was a spiteful bitch that usually took her wrath out on me.
Unfortunately, my dad wasn’t around much. He was one of the most talented heart surgeons in the country, which meant he worked long hours and traveled even more. When he was gone, Aurora had dictated that I was part of the staff, and I didn’t have the heart to ruin my father’s time when he was actually around by telling him what my life was really like when he wasn’t there.
