Olive wasn’t a lonely little girl anymore, nor an eager-eyed young lady hoping for a magical debut into society.
The fairy tale wasn’t being chosen.
The fairy tale was doing the choosing.
Deciding for herself what she wanted, and then taking it, or walking away.
It had taken ten long years, but she’d finally realized her life could be up to her.
She could choose when to say yes.
She could choose when to say no.
Her life was exactly what she wanted. She’d made it that way herself. Olive wasn’t about to ruin it now.
Not for Elijah Weston.
It didn’t matter if a foolish part of her wished his proposal had been in earnest. They both knew that it was not.
He had been frank from the first that his motives had nothing to do with her. When she’d told him their kisses meant nothing either, he’d agreed without hesitation. She’d expected no less.
Olive hadn’t needed Elijah’s warning that he couldn’t be trusted. Olive had learned that detail the day they met. It was a lesson she would never forget.
She would keep her eyes trained firmly on her target: the family farm. Land was something one could hold onto forever. Something that wouldn’t let her down.
Duke flew under branches and over tree roots. When they burst from the forest into a wide-open field, she gave him his head and let him race as fast as he pleased. She laughed as they flew.
Olive felt alive in moments like these. Truly and utterly free.
Even if that tiny, cursed part of her still wished Elijah’s proposal had been real. Wished that her father hadn’t manipulated him into coming. Wished it had been Papa who offered to put the farm into a legal trust in her name. Wished her father trusted her to make her own decisions about her life.
Wished she could have everything she wanted, instead of picking one thing over another.
At last, she turned Duke back toward the farm. They had been riding all day and the sun set early in midwinter. Already, swaths of orange and pink streaked the sky.
When they broke from the evergreens, a lone figure was visible between the house and the stables.
Despite her best effort to remain indifferent, her heart did a preposterous little dance.
She didn’t trust Elijah Weston, but that didn’t stop Olive from wanting to throw herself into his arms and let him kiss her anywhere he pleased.
Who cared if his intentions were dishonorable? So were hers.
All she wanted from him were three more days of kisses and caresses, followed by a firm and lasting goodbye.
She leaped Duke over the fence and up to Elijah. “Fancy another ride?”
“I knew he could jump that fence.” Elijah narrowed his eyes at Duke accusingly. “I’ll never leave the safety of the house again.”
Olive grinned. She couldn’t help it.
Elijah was a knave, but a strangely honest, surprisingly funny one. No matter how hard she tried not to, she liked him a little more every day.
“No ride?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “How about practicing mounts and dismounts, then?”
He sent her a look filled with such heat, it was clear the scene he was imagining had nothing to do with saddles and everything to do with Olive.
She flushed in response. She didn’t need him to tell her what he was thinking. She wanted to experience it firsthand.
Managing the horses was safer.
She turned Duke back toward the fence. “Come with me.”
Managing the horses was an excuse.
After Olive had got over her shock that Elijah disliked horses—and after feeling smugly superior had lost its allure—she’d discovered that she enjoyed teaching.
It turned out that helping someone else learn a skill was just as satisfying as trouncing the competition.
Watching a reluctant student mastering a technique she’d taught him filled her with more warmth and pride than any of her past victories.
Not that Elijah needed much help. For all his disinclination to ride the horses, he was clearly well trained. What he lacked wasn’t instruction, but confidence. A few more days of exposure might not cure his hesitancy completely, but should help a little.
It wasn’t just a matter of showing him a few tricks he didn’t know, but rather convincing him such skills were worth knowing.
Horses were delightful. Her farm was paradise. He should want this.
Duke jumped over the fence, and she slid from his back to allow him to mix with the other horses.
“Why even have a fence?” Elijah grumbled as he reached the barrier.
When he placed his hands on the topmost log, the knuckles were white. He took a visible breath and vaulted over the fence.
Olive frowned.
He didn’t want this.
Not the farm, not her lessons... he had no inclination to improve his proficiency with horses at all.
Elijah was plucking up and persevering for her, not for him.
Her heart gave a little flip. It felt as though he was courting her. Not with poetry and peonies but with the one thing she adored above all else: her horses.
It was working, blast him.
Each day when she came out to the stables, her first thoughts were of what she and Elijah might do together. Moments with him were better than moments without him. He had put in the effort and now felt like part of her world.
She had not spent half as much time seeing if she might fit into his.
“Forget the horses.” She walked up to meet Elijah at the fence.
He gaped as though he no longer recognized her. “Forget... horses?”
She gave him a peck on the cheek and climbed over the fence before one peck became twenty minutes of kissing.
“Let’s do something you like,” she told him. “You must have a botany book you can fascinate me with.”
“I do have fascinating botany books,” he agreed. “All botany books are fascinating. This is a very easy request.”
“Is it?” she said doubtfully.
He was over the fence in seconds. This time, his knuckles weren’t white, and his gait held a certain swagger.
She should not find overconfident botanists attractive.
She should not.
But when he caught her and claimed her mouth with his, she melted into his embrace willingly. Forget the horses. For three more days, she had Elijah.
Somehow, they managed to get through the house and into his guest chamber without bumping into her father. Tomorrow, the servants would return from their holiday, and the chances of sneaking about unnoticed would become far less likely.
Olive wasn’t certain if this was good news or bad.
“Botany first,” she informed him. “You must impress me if you want to earn more kisses.”
His response was the most arrogant, toe-curling grin she had ever seen.
“Prepare to be thoroughly kissed,” he assured her. “I shall be the one in desperate need of a chastity belt to fight off your amorous advances once I display my intimate knowledge of Nelumbo nucifera. And then, if you behave yourself, we’ll move on to Olea sylvestris.”
Olive had no idea what any of that meant, but anticipatory gooseflesh tickled along her skin all the same.
She pulled off her boots and coat, and settled cross-legged on one side of his bed rather than use the stool at his dressing table. Olive pretended she hadn’t done so just to make herself more available for the forthcoming kisses.
She gave her fingers a regal wave. “Ply me with botany.”