Page 169 of Forbidden Forget-Me-Not

I sat back down and picked up my water.

Remain. Not stay. Remain.

What the fuck was that?

Julian motioned to my untouched wine glass.

“Are you not having any? I promise it’s some of the best in the world.”

“I don’t drink.”

His brows drew together. “But…”

“I’m on a clean diet for training purposes. My coach’s orders,” I lied, unsure where I had come up with such a reasonable excuse so quickly.

“Oh. Very well.”

He lifted my glass and took a sip.

“Are you really going to let your wife travel the world, riding horses?”

I fixed Luca with a hard stare, but he ignored me. The question had been aimed at his brother.

“There will be adjustments, of course. Public optics matter. But I’m confident we can reach a mutually beneficial agreement.”

Optics. Mutually beneficial agreement. Are you kidding me?

“I think what you’re trying not to say is that I have limited freedom, and competing will only fall under that umbrella when it suits you. Does that just about cover it?”

I kept my voice sweet and calm, though all I wanted to do was dump the glass of wine over his head and walk out.

Julian chuckled, but it sounded nervous.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“Oh, really? And how would you put it?”

I leaned back, watching him closely.

“Representing your country in any sport is admirable. But it requires a great amount of commitment, energy, and sacrifice. Those are hard to juggle with starting a family.”

My eyebrows shot up as if I were shocked, but in reality, Julian had handed me the perfect protection for Goran’s child. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, and that I would be long gone before then, but I had to think of every possibility.

“I see…well, I’ve always enjoyed being underestimated.”

Matteo laughed, cheeks flushed from the bottle of wine he had consumed himself.

“She has teeth,” Luca drawled.

Adriano leaned forward, almost flirtatiously.

“Will you stay in Spain after the wedding?”

“That will depend on my training schedule.”

Julian’s hand covered mine on the table. Not a squeeze, but a reminder to choose my words carefully. His thumb brushed my ring finger, asserting his ownership.

“What is your timeline, Julian,” Arturo asked.