Sophie (The Boss 8)

An accomplished polo player, El-Mudad was at ease on a horse and enjoyed taking Olivia for a ride while the girls practiced dressage with their instructor in another paddock.

I enjoyed not being on a horse at all. I was happy to sit on the grass beyond the fence and watch. Neil and I had brought a blanket to sit on and one to wrap up in. The mid-September weather had been up and down, and though it was a fine, sunny Friday evening, the wind was chilly to those of us not exerting ourselves at sport.

I tracked El-Mudad’s circle around the paddock, Olivia in the saddle in front of him. Her wispy blonde curls stuck out from her helmet, which made her head adorably twice its size. The setting sun gave El-Mudad’s deep black hair a tint of copper at the edges, and he gave me a smile and a wink as he and Olivia trotted past.

“Afi! Look at me!” Olivia called out.

Neil lifted his hand to his mouth to call back, “Wonderful, sweetheart!” He gave me a sideways glance and said, “You’re chewing your bottom lip, darling.”

I realized I was also playing with the end of my ponytail. I dropped it and pulled more of the soft cashmere throw over my lap. “I’m sorry. He’s doing all sorts of Prince Charming things to me on that horse.”

“I can ride, too,” Neil reminded me.

I laughed at the hint of jealousy in his tone. “I know, dear. And you’re very pretty, too.”

“Not as pretty as him,” he said with a sigh of admiration. “Though I’m not complaining.”

Rashida emerged from the stable and ran at us full-bore, the tails of her two fishbone braids bouncing behind her. “Neil! Did you see how good my on and back looked?”

“I did!” he said enthusiastically, though I wasn’t sure if he’d actually seen her practicing so far from us. But I also didn’t know what an “on and back” was, so for all I knew, he could have seen it from space.

She whipped off her helmet and dove onto the blanket in front of us, staring happily up at the sky. “Thanks for the stable. I missed Cobalt so much.”

“Well, it was your father who paid for it,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but you let us do it. And you’re letting us live here,” she said.

“We aren’t letting you live here,” Neil corrected her fondly. “We want you to live here.”

“We love having you live here,” I added.

Neil glanced over his shoulder and frowned, his body going into hyper-alert mode. There were only two reasons for such a dramatic change in him: dissociation from his PTSD or...

“Is that Valerie?”

I craned my neck in the direction of Neil’s gaze. Sure enough, Valerie’s white Porsche pulled up the narrow drive toward the stables. I frowned. “It’s not her weekend, is it?”

“Ah, damn it.” Neil pushed himself to his feet.

Rashida sat up and hurried away. She had a real knack for avoiding even a hint of conflict, though it troubled me that we hadn’t hidden the growing animosity between us and Valerie and Laurence.

“Please clarify your damn it,” I said with a frozen smile as we got up and walked toward the car. It rolled to a stop on the gravel in front of the open stable doors.

El-Mudad held the reins and swung down from the saddle, letting Olivia stay on the horse’s back as he walked it inside. He looked our way with a grim expression that I hoped Valerie and Laurence wouldn’t see.

I hoped Laurence wasn’t there, full stop, but when the passenger door opened, my cautious optimism faded, and my hackles immediately raised. Neil took my hand and squeezed it in sympathy and, presumably, as a reminder to hold my temper.

Not that I needed the reminder as much as he did. Maybe it was for himself.

I hated that we were locked in such a contentious situation. It wasn’t good for Olivia. Though she might not pick up on it now, she would, eventually; Rashida’s reaction was proof enough of that. And god alone knew what Laurence was filling Olivia’s head with when we were out of earshot.

Valerie’s expression was tight as she approached, and Laurence almost marched toward us. Neil lifted his unoccupied hand in a casual wave. “Valerie. Laurence. Forgive me. I completely forgot the date.”

“Easy to do when you don’t work,” Laurence said with a half-hearted attempt at faking a smile.

Neil tilted his head. “I consider raising a child a job in itself.”

“A part-time one for you, though,” Laurence replied.

“Neil’s inability to remember visitation weekends has nothing to do with his current employment status,” Valerie said. It wasn’t a defense but a jab at his involvement in their late daughter’s life.

We’ve developed a passive-aggressive code to cut each other down, a sure sign that this arrangement is healthy and sustainable.