“Thank you,” I say, aching with gratitude. “I don’t know why you’re being so nice, but thank you. I care so much about Andrew, Nick. And all of you, too.”
Nick smiles. “Even Jeffrey?”
“Jeffrey,” I echo with a flinch, the name reminding me of the rest of the fallout from our disastrous plan. “He already knows. He’s with my sister, with Elizabeth, and he knows he’s with Elizabeth. I spoke to him on the phone before the ceremony.”
“Really?” Nick’s brows shoot up. “Are you sure?”
I nod quickly, untangling Hero’s lead from the rest of the leather ropes. “He said she was safe, and then I heard her shouting. I don’t think she wanted him to call.” Cheeks heating, I hold my hand out for Hero to snuffle. “I’m also pretty sure she tricked me into coming here because she thought Andrew and I would be…” I trail off with a shrug.
“Good for each other?” Nick supplies. “Well, I can’t say I support her methods, but I agree. You and Andrew are good together. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you, Sabrina.” He smiles and nods toward the trail. “Go after him. Check the pub in the village about four miles north and a half mile west. He goes there sometimes when he needs to think. The farmers are kind enough to pretend they don’t know who he is and don’t make a big fuss.”
“Thank you, Nick.” I slide my boot into the stirrup and swing my leg over Hero’s back. “For understanding. And for not hating me.”
He waves me off. “I don’t hate anyone. There’s too much hate in the world already. Tell my brother that when you find him. And remind him that pride never kept anyone warm at night.”
I nod and dig my heels into Hero’s sides. He’s bigger than Death Wish, so I’m expecting to need to use greater force, but at the first nudge, he’s off at a brisk walk. Another nudge and a squeeze of my legs and he breaks into a canter so smooth it’s hard to believe the trail is as rough underfoot as it looks.
I clutch the reins and lean forward, the wind whipping through my hair and a few fat raindrops slapping my face as we race down the path. I can’t see Andrew on the horizon, but when the trail forks a few minutes in, I don’t hesitate to guide Hero to the east.
Nick said west, but my gut says Andrew isn’t in the mood for a crowded pub, where even the most conscientious farmers are bound to wonder what the hell he’s doing there on the night of his engagement ceremony.
If I know Andrew, he’ll want to be alone. He’ll want to hide out with his thoughts in a place where he feels safe.
I hope I’m right. I hope I know him as well as my heart insists I do.
And I hope I find him before the rain washes Hero off the trail.
It’s coming down like bullets from a machine gun now, stinging every bit of exposed skin and plastering my hair to my head and my thin shirt to my arms. By the time the silhouette of the small abandoned stable Andrew showed me on our first hike comes into view, I’m fell-in-a-lake drenched and everything more than a few feet away is blurry from the rain and dark.
The sunset light is gone now, leaving nothing but a pale gray glow that the storm will soon swallow.
I can’t tell if Andrew’s at the stable until I’m almost on top of it and spot his horse, standing in the shelter of the tin roof on the far side.
Heart pounding louder than the rain, I slide off Hero’s back and guide him next to Barcelona. There’s nowhere to tie him, but the two horses seem glad to see each other—and to find shelter—so I trust that he’ll stay put while I circle around the stable.
A foot from the shadowed entrance, I pause, leaning against the cool clay wall, tugging at my bottom lip with nervous fingers, searching for the perfect words.
But they don’t come.
I don’t have perfect words, or a perfect me, to give Andrew.
I am flawed, and I’ve made mistakes, but I love him.
I just hope that will be enough.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Andrew
I can’t hear a damn thing over the sound of the rain abusing the roof, but I know she’s found me.
I can sense her like a storm blowing in.
Like an earthquake about to shake my world apart.
But she’s already shaken me in ways I never imagined possible when I was plotting my way out of my arranged marriage two weeks ago. There’s not much more she can do at this point.
But then she steps into the doorway, soaked to the skin and shivering, but with that same fiery look in her eyes from that first day by the helicopter, and another seismic shift rocks my foundation. I want to tell her to leave and never come back, and I want to peel off her wet clothes with my teeth and make her come for me again—both in equal measure.