Page 77 of My Queendom for a Horse

“Of course,” I say. “I’m actually starving. This stable isn’t going anywhere. I can traipse back and poke around more later.”

“Just promise me this,” he says.

“What?”

“You won’t steal any of my horses.” He’s grinning.

“I can’t make any promises I may not keep.”

The conversation stays easy and light the entire walk back to the house. It’s much farther than the distance separating my house from my babies, but I suppose it’s something you can get used to. A little extra exercise isn’t so bad.

I hope we haven’t kept his mother and father waiting. All the flirtatious joking about staying in the barn aside, I really want them to like me. If they’re already annoyed at how late I am when we walk through those doors, it would be a real shame.

Before we can even walk up the steps, a bright red sports car roars down the private drive. It’s a beautiful car, but it almost looks like it’s trying too hard. The shaping around the front headlights reminds me of huge nostrils or something. “Who’s that?” I ask. “Were you expecting someone else?” For a split second, I’m terribly nervous he’s invited more than one girl.

But Sean’s brow furrows. “No, and I don’t think I know anyone who drives a McLaren 720. My friend Abbott was looking at one, but he bought a Ferrari instead.”

Ah, to have such friends. I’ve never even heard of a McLaren, and I certainly don’t know what the model numbers mean.

The car rolls to a stop in front of us, but the windows are tinted. Sean’s squinting, and his butler, whose tuxedo actually has tails, I notice from here, comes sprinting out the front door as if he may be needed to take a bullet or something. The driver must have retired after taking my truck.

“Hello.” He’s huffing a bit, but as the car door opens, he bows to welcome the new guest. “And who might you be, sir?”

When the driver stands up, I realize that I know him.

His black hair is cut and combed differently than it was, and he’s wearing what looks a lot like designer clothing, but the man who’s smiling at Sean and me is definitely Aleksandr Volkonsky.

16

“What are you doing here?” I can’t help hissing. I’m just so shocked. How did he even know where Sean lives?

“Your father gave me the address,” Aleks says.

“He can speak English?” Sean glances between Aleks and me the same way I’d stare at my dad if I found out he was running a cabal of alien-worshipping masseuses.

Why is Aleks speaking English all of a sudden?

And then it hits me. I asked him the question in English. I can’t really be upset with him for responding in the same language that I initiated the conversation in.

“I learned,” Aleks says. Then he smiles.

“How did you get a car?” I ask.

Aleks jingles the key fob. “Oh, this?”

“Isn’t he working for board in the hopes of making a name for himself?” Sean asks. “John told me he was sitting this race out, because his training methods haven’t been working well.”

I practically choke.

Aleks’ eyes widen, and then his lips twist.

This is not going well. But I really do want to know where he got a car. I have a sneaking suspicion he buried the real owner six feet under. Or knowing Aleks, more. Ten. Fifteen feet. Ugh.

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Sean asks. “I feel like we’ve stepped out of the real world and into some kind of twilight zone.”

“Here you all are.” A woman who must be in her early sixties but doesn’t look a day over fifty steps out the front door and onto the top step. “Dinner’s ready, and unlike me, soufflés aren’t very forgiving.”

“So you did get the cheese soufflé worked out,” Sean says. “That’s great.”

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