The Girl That Love Forgot

Only one night left.

Swallowing, Annabelle pushed away from him, tucking her smallest digital camera into the back pocket of her oversize jeans. Trying to hide the emotion on her face, hiding her desire to cling to him forever, she said sadly, “I have to work today.”

“Forget work,” he commanded, stroking her cheek. “Stay in bed.”

She shivered with longing, staring up at his handsome face. “I’ve forgotten work too much already,” she said. She shook her head. “Equestrian will wonder what on earth I’ve been doing all week here.”

“Then let’s both give back their advance,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I would happily lose a hundred thousand euros for a single hour of having you in my arms.”

Annabelle sighed. Looking up at his handsome face, she was beyond tempted. She wanted nothing more than to stay here, in the warmth of his bedroom, with its rustic furniture and incredible view of the vast fields and horses outside. She wanted nothing more than to stay here in his arms forever.

No. No, she couldn’t give in to that feeling! I don’t love him, she told herself desperately. Absolutely not …

A loud bang came from outside the house. Crossing to the bedroom window, Stefano peeked through the blinds, then winced at the roar and hum of moving vans and the shouting of men outside.

“We’re under siege,” he said grimly, pulling away from the window.

She grinned. “You invited them here.”

“I hate this time of the year.”

“You only gave the party planners a single day to set up for tomorrow. What did you expect? What else could they do but send an army? And it is for charity.”

“I still hate it.” He scowled, then lifted a dark eyebrow with a wicked half smile.

“Come distract me …”

She tilted her head as if considering. “I suppose I could use your services today.”

“Aha—”

“.as my assistant,” she finished.

He pouted, then brightened. “Taking any photographs in the meadow today?” he suggested sweetly.

She snorted, then turned back to the mirror and reached for her simple diamond stud earrings, which she put on one at a time. Her makeup and toiletries had already taken up residence across his private bathroom counter. Grabbing her small collection of tiny brushes, she put on her makeup, carefully covering the scar on her face. “Sadly, no. I need to go to the village. For my story.”

“Go to Algares? Why?”

“You grew up there—many of the young stablehands you now employ came from there.”

“So?”

“It’s the first village you helped with your charity foundation, long ago. I want to see how it’s changed. The village is part of the story. I have to include it.”

Stefano looked irritated, and was just opening his mouth to argue when they heard another loud bang outside, and the sound of a truck’s loud, incessant beep as it backed up in the courtyard. Men started yelling in Spanish and they heard a woman’s loud voice in French telling them they were setting it up all wrong. The men answered angrily in Spanish, and the multilingual dispute had the ranch’s dogs barking in a cacophony of noise.

“On second thought,” Stefano growled, “I’ll come with you.”

“You will!” Annabelle said, thrilled she didn’t have to leave him in order to finish her work. So much for guarding her heart, she thought to herself sourly.

Stefano swiftly showered and put on a cotton shirt and jeans that fit him far better than they fit her. He didn’t need a belt to keep the jeans snug against his lean hips. After he pulled on his boots, they walked to his six-car garage, where he climbed into an old 1950s Willys Jeepster. Getting in beside him, Annabelle looked at the rare open-topped truck with appreciation. “Nice,” she said. “Not flashy. Real.”

“Glad you like it.” He started the engine. Maneuvering his truck around the vans and trucks sprawled all over his lawn, past people unloading supplies from food to flowers to polo equipment, Stefano drove past the chaos and down the peaceful tree-lined avenue. They passed the old stone gate, crenellated and covered with moss in the shade, and Annabelle realized it was the first time she’d left the ranch for almost a week.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to go back into the real world, to be honest. But the village was only a few miles away, down the slender road clinging to the edge of the rocky green hills. All too quickly, they arrived at Algares, a tiny, prosperous village of whitewashed houses tucked in the valley.

The moment they arrived, a crowd of children appeared, rushing from the houses, running in the dust behind the Jeepster. They joyfully shouted Stefano’s name.