Chapter 117 The Mare, the Barn, and the Stirring of Something New
POV Maya:
Judging by the surprise on Sebastian’s face, he truly thought I knew how to ride a horse. I wish. I’ve dreamed of horseback riding ever since I was a little girl and watched The Adventures of Lolly, a clever little girl who lived on a farm with her grandparents. She had a horse—her best friend—named Thunder. Together they helped the other animals on the farm deal with everyday situations. Lolly had the gift of talking to them, and I dreamed of having that same gift she did.
I remember the day I asked my parents for a horse to be my best friend, so I would never be alone again. They laughed at me and said, “Rich people don’t have time to deal with that. Our lives are too busy to give attention to irrational animals that don’t make our money double.” I was six years old. I didn’t fully understand those words, but I never forgot them.
“I swore that if I saddled a horse for you to ride, you’d go galloping across the farm,” he says, and I smile, nostalgia tightening my heart.
“No, but I wish I could,” I swallow hard, remembering my parents’ words. “I only ride men,” I joke, trying to ease the ache in my chest.
When I glance to the side, I see Sebastian with flushed cheeks. I frown, not understanding why. I didn’t say anything outrageous. If we’re analyzing everything I’ve ever said to the Moretti brothers, that was, without a doubt, the mildest thing I’ve ever said. Sebastian clears his throat and goes back to brushing the horse. I bite back a smile, liking this shy side of him. He’s different from his brothers.
Dominic is a caveman brute.
Luca is a bossy brute.
The twins… well, I still haven’t spent enough time with them to know.
That’s one of the reasons I want to get closer to Sebastian. I need to know more about each of them if I want to be the chosen one.
“What’s his name?” I stroke the horse’s mane, admiring how imposing and majestic he is.
“Actually, it’s she,” Sebastian replies, breaking into a smile that leaves me speechless with his beauty. “Her name is Sapeca. She’s my mare. She’s been a bit clingy these past few days.”
“Why?” The question jumps out of my mouth.
“Because she’s pregnant,” he answers, planting a kiss on Sapeca.
My eyes shine at the information, the six-year-old girl inside me jumping up and down with excitement.
“I’m so happy to hear that. How far along is she?” I ask, eager to be here when she gives birth to her foal.
“She’s still early. It’ll take a few good months. A mare’s gestation varies a lot, but we’re confident about November.”
I pout. It’s still January, and I’m not sure I’ll still be here by November. Because if they don’t choose me as the bride, I don’t know if I’m mature enough to keep living in El Soledad. Most likely, I’ll leave and put someone else in charge of my branch.
“If I’m still around, will you call me to watch her give birth?” Sebastian weighs my question for a few seconds, then breaks into a wide smile.
“Of course. You’re very welcome. Sapeca will love it.”
I caress the beautiful spotted mare and notice the looks Sebastian gives me over her back as he continues brushing her. I try to hide it, but I end up seeking his eyes a few times, and I feel shy when I realize Sebastian does the same. I feel my heart pounding wildly in my chest, unsure of what this new, strange sensation is.
...
When Sebastian and I return to the house, Norah is already waiting for us to have lunch. I hadn’t noticed time passing. Talking with Sebastian felt so natural and welcome that I didn’t care about anything else. He made me forget everything, while at the same time making me remember so much. Being with him in that barn, while he brushed Sapeca and I stroked her, brought back the six-year-old Maya who dreamed of having a horse as her best friend. It reminded me of the little girl who didn’t want to be alone anymore, even with a house full of employees.
“So, is it good or not?” Norah asks me expectantly, and all eyes turn to me.
Mrs. Moretti told me she’d make her homemade pasta for me to try. She guaranteed I would love it. It’s an old family recipe, passed from mother to daughter when she gets married. Mrs. Moretti confided that since she didn’t have a daughter, she would pass the recipe on to the woman who marries her sons. Subtly, without words, Norah made it clear with her look that she was more than willing to pass the recipe on to me—and I’m more than willing to accept it.
“It’s delicious,” I moan with my mouth full, not caring about etiquette.
The pasta is extraordinary.
“Isn’t that sauce incredible?”
The question coming from Sebastian seems to surprise the others, but not me. After the time we spent together, I feel like we’ve created a bit of intimacy. Nothing that guarantees his choice of me as the bride for him and his brothers, but enough intimacy for me to know he wants to get to know me better.
“I need to eat, please don’t make me answer,” I plead, making him laugh.
Everyone’s eyes widen, and I decide not to ask what’s wrong. Dominic and Luca I understand—they’re annoying and probably don’t want me so close to their brother—but I don’t understand the surprise on the faces of their parents and the twins. I go back to eating my wonderful pasta, not wanting to think too much about it right now.
...
I’m savoring the strawberry compote with white cream for dessert when Norah appears and sits across from me. The men are gathered in the living room trying to teach Louis a few tricks. He pretends they don’t exist—my baby is so antisocial—while I remain at the table, eating everything I can and shouldn’t. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten such delicious homemade food that I feel compelled not to miss this opportunity.
“I see you really liked the compote,” Norah says with an affectionate smile.
Is it even possible not to like this woman? Besides bringing gorgeous, handsome men into the world, she also cooks divinely.
“I actually loved it,” I say, dipping my finger into the bowl and bringing it to my mouth. “Can I have more?”
Would it be rude to ask for a takeaway container?
“Of course, dear. Eat as much as you can.”
“And what I can’t handle, can I take with me?” I ask, putting on my most needy look. “You know, to eat tomorrow.” Norah smiles, and I smile back. I really am shameless.
I fill my bowl with more white cream and don’t take long to add generous spoonfuls of compote. If I become engaged to the sons of this woman with blessed hands, I need to ask for all these recipes—because if I can make an omelet, that’s already a lot. I’m a disaster in the kitchen. Better not reveal that for now.