Page 105 of My Queendom for a Horse

It’s the weirdest, and quite possibly the saddest, proposal of all time.

I open my mouth to talk, but he cuts me off. Again.

“I know this might seem strange.” He stands up, but he’s still holding the box open. “I should explain. I know it’s my fault we’re in this spot. When I was younger, I let my parents dictate to me—pick the ‘right’ girl for me. I was too stupid to see that they had no idea what would make me happy. I was too weak to fight for you, then. But I’ve come to the conclusion that I can fight anyone and everyone in the world for you. . .except you.”

Sean has always been very, very bright. And what he says hits me as exceptionally profound.

That’s what I’ve been doing.

I’ve been fighting myself for him, trying to force myself to love him.

But it will never work, because I love Aleksandr.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I think you’re right. I think the feelings I have for you are leftovers.” I sigh. “If what we had then wasn’t so special, neither of us would want to find it again so badly.” I reach forward and gently close the box. “But I think we’re both fighting too hard for something that isn’t ever going to be the same.”

Sean looks like he wants to argue with me. Maybe he wants to tell me that he’s not fighting, and that being with me again is easy. But he’s pragmatic enough to know that he has his answer, even if it’s not the one he wants.

He hops up and hugs me abruptly, holding me tighter and longer than he ever has. And when he pulls back, a single tear rolls down his cheek.

Then he gets in his car and leaves.

It’s such a British breakup. That thought makes me laugh, and then I start to cry. Because I should love him. It would be so easy! Even if his family’s annoying and even if we fight over where to live or how many children to have, life with Sean would be effortless, relatively speaking. He’s supportive, and kind, and sensible, and he works hard.

But I can’t change how I feel.

And what I want is a bullheaded, supercilious, brash, powerful, breathtakingly handsome Russian shapeshifter.

Who doesn’t happen to want me.

And that’s why I can’t stop crying.

22

Certified letters are never good news.

In fact, I can’t think of a single time in my entire life I’ve gotten a certified letter that wasn’t bad news.

I’ve had more than my share of bad news the past twelve months, and I’m not keen on dealing with anything else. I stare at the letter addressed to Kristiana Liepa for way too long without opening it. But finally I march into my dad’s bedroom, where he’s still asleep, and poke him awake.

“Dad.”

“What?” He sits up and rubs his eyes.

“Be honest.”

He blinks. “About what?”

“Did you gamble again? Is someone else suing me for the house?”

He splutters. “Milu, what are you saying?”

“This.” I thrust the letter at him.

He rubs his eyes and squints. “Who’s it from?”

“A law office in England.” Which is why I’m so suspicious. He and John spent a lot of time ‘out’ when we were there a few months back. Could he have snuck off?

“Don’t you think it’s more likely that it has to do with Sean?”

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