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“I don’t understand.”
Konstantin stares up at the trees, but his gaze is far away, seeing something else. “Cypress oil is supposed to calm your soul. It relaxes you when you’re angry.”
“Sending you off to the trees … That’s one hell of a way to have a timeout.”
His tone shifts, taking on a crisper edge. “My grandmother had her methods.”
“Is this the grandmother that we need to convince?”
“The very same,” he nods. “Come.”
Staring at his tense shoulders as he rides in front of me away from the trees, I ponder what I learned. But once we crest over a hill and the trees disappear from view, I stop thinking about his childhood.
“Holy crap,” I gush.
We look down towards a deep valley. The rim of a massive trench is poised before me, the grass waving where it dangles into the air. Below us is a field of verdant green dotted by flowers in such a variety of colors I swear there are ones I’m seeing for the first time.
The sea licks at the outer edge of the valley, where it curves like a crescent around a flat section of stone. It’s a natural dais surrounded by curved rows of rock slabs that create benches for sitting. You can fit several hundred people here, and when I visualize marching down the aisle in front of them all, my stomach drops away.
Last night, when Konstantin put that dress on me, I know he felt the same thing I did.
That this fake marriage doesn’t feel as fake anymore.
I want to make myself not think about it. But it’s hard not too when I’m staring at the venue.
“There,” he says, pointing at a few areas where the grass has been leveled. “See the helicopter pads? The rest of the attendees who don’t come on horseback will arrive that way.”
“Not too many people can afford personal helicopters,” I sigh.
He arches a dense eyebrow. “You’ve seen where I live. Do you think my guests aren’t as wealthy?”
My stomach is back to wringing itself out.
Mom and Dad would go nuts for him if they ever find out about this.
“Great. Just … great.”
“Let’s get a closer look.” He taps Midas with his heels and clicks his tongue, heading over a slope that acts as a path into the valley. Hamlet follows behind, tugging at the reins in my hands as I try to make him stay at the rear.
When we reachthe deepest section of the valley, Hamlet grunts, trotting in front of Konstantin. I laugh in surprise, enjoying how the horse canters in the flower patches.
Maybe it’s the way that riding has chafed my thighs. Or how the bouncing motion shifts my hips. But suddenly, I’m seized by a dangerously tempting idea.
A way to provoke Konstantin.
The idea springs into existence so suddenly my mind is one step behind my body. Digging my heels into Hamlet’s sides, I lean over the saddle, my face in his thick mane, and we take off.
“Emily!”
Ignoring his shout, I bend tighter against the horse’s body.Go! Go! Go!Wind rushes through my hair, making my eyes water, but I don’t shut them. I need to see where I’m going.
More importantly, I need to be able to gofastso that Konstantin will chase.
Hamlet snorts, his breathing loud and heavy as I push him to his limit. He shakes beneath me like I’m hugging an earthquake. Riding is the closest to flying I’ll ever get.
I’ve never felt so alive.
The steep rocks that let us into the valley click under the horse’s hooves as he climbs upward. A few bits of rocks break free, bouncing up to scratch my face. I ignore the pain. Nothing can touch me, and nothing matters except goingfaster.
