ELODIE’S POV~
The thing is, I actually know how to ride.
Most people assu I don’t. They see being quiet, and reserved, always hovering on the edges of things and assu I’m the type who watches from the sidelines. The kind of woman who holds purses and takes photos while everyone else has fun.
But I learned years ago. Before Dante. Before all of this.
When Liora was younger, I used to bring her here all the ti. She was obsessed with horses for a while, the way kids get obsessed with things, completely and all-consumingly. So every weekend, I’d drive her out here and spend hours watching her learn to trot, to canter, to sit up straight in the saddle.
I never rode much myself back then.
My attention was always on her. Making sure she was safe. Making sure she was happy. Making sure her helt was strapped on right and her instructor was paying attention and she had water when she got thirsty.
That’s what mothers do, right? We disappear into the background so our children can shine.
It’s been three or four years since I’ve ridden seriously.
But the body rembers.
_________
The instructor assigned to was young. Mid-twenties, maybe. Polite in that slightly nervous way people get when they’re dealing with soone connected to the Bellini na.
He started explaining the basics, how to hold the reins, how to mount, and the proper posture.
I let him talk for about thirty seconds.
Then I put my foot in the stirrup and swung myself onto the horse in one smooth motion.
He stopped mid-sentence.
"So... Miss Miller can ride?"
I gathered the reins in my hands, adjusting my grip. The leather was smooth and familiar against my palms. "Yes."
He blinked.
I let him guide for a few minutes anyway, just to shake off the rust, get a feel for the horse beneath . She was a white mare, calm and well-trained, and responsive to the slightest shift in weight.
Then I took the reins myself.
One light flick of the whip, and she neighed and started to run.
God, I’d forgotten how this felt.
The wind in my face. The rhythm of hooves against packed earth. The way everything else fell away. Dante, Sienna, the cold looks from his family, the daughter who didn’t want anymore, all of it was gone, replaced by nothing but speed and motion and the simple, primal joy of moving.
I rode lap after lap, pushing faster, leaning into the turns.
For a few minutes, I wasn’t Elodie Bellini, the unwanted wife, the forgotten mother. The woman who had sohow beco a ghost in her own life.
I was just... .
_____________
Eventually, I slowed down.
My heart was pounding, my cheeks flushed from the wind. I patted the mare’s neck, murmuring a quiet thank you, and turned her toward the other field.
Toward Liora.
I wanted to see how she was doing. Maybe watch her ride for a bit before suggesting we get lunch. There was a café nearby that served decent pasta, that she used to love their carbonara, back when she still loved things I introduced her to.
I was about ten ters away when I stopped.
Just... stopped.
Like soone had grabbed my reins and yanked.
It was them. Dante and Sienna.
They were here.
I don’t know how I didn’t notice before, maybe I’d been too focused on riding, too lost in that brief mont of freedom. But there they were, standing by the fence, and Liora was with them.
She was hugging Sienna’s leg.
Both arms wrapped around it, her face tilted up, laughing at sothing Sienna had said. That bright, happy laugh I’d heard when I first arrived at the estate. The one that was never directed at anymore.
Sienna was warmly smiling down at her. Her hand resting on Liora’s head like it belonged there.
And Dante... of course Dante was watching them with an expression I barely recognized.
It was soft and content. As though he was content with the scene he was seeing.
The way he used to look at , once. Before I beca furniture. Before I beca a na on legal docunts and nothing more.
I sat frozen on my horse, watching them from a distance.
They hadn’t noticed .
Why would they? I was just a figure in the background, another rider in the crowded club. Nobody important. Nobody worth looking at.
Sienna then mounted a horse. And I watched her.
Liora climbed up in front of her, her small body fitting perfectly against Sienna’s, and Sienna wrapped one arm around her waist to keep her steady.
Dante mounted another horse beside them.
And then they started riding.
Side by side. The two horses were moving in easy rhythm, and matching pace. Liora was saying sothing, I couldn’t hear what and both Dante and Sienna laughed.
All three of them were laughing together.
From where I sat, they looked exactly like a family.
Father. Mother. Daughter.
Like a complete, happy family.
The picture I had spent years trying to create and never could.
I watched them ride away, their figures growing smaller, the sound of their laughter fading into the distance. They turned a corner and disappeared behind a grove of trees, and I was left sitting there alone, my mare shifting restlessly beneath .
I don’t know how long I stayed like that.
A minute. Maybe two.
Then I turned the horse around and headed back toward the stables.
---
The changing room was quiet.
I stripped off the riding clothes chanically.
I pulled on my regular clothes, which was just jeans and a soft sweater.
Then I sat down on the bench and took a sip of water.
The bottle was cold against my lips. I focused on the temperature, the faint plastic taste, the way my throat moved when I swallowed.
Trying so hard to not let my brain wander back to Dante and Sienna.
My phone suddenly rang. I glanced at the screen and saw it was Dante.
For a mont, I just stared at his na. The letters glowing white against the dark background. Then before I hesitantly answered.
"Hello."
"I’m at the equestrian center." Dante’s tone was flat. Businesslike. The sa voice he used for employees and service staff. "I’ll take Liora with ."
"Okay," I said.
The line went dead.
No goodbye. No pause. Just the sharp click of disconnection, and then silence.
I lowered the phone and stared at the screen until it went dark.
I’d been waiting for that call, anyway.
So part of had known, from the mont I saw them together, that this was how it would end.
That was my role.
I grabbed my bag and stood up.
My legs felt strange. Hollow. Like they belonged to soone else. But they carried out of the changing room, through the lobby, past the reception desk where a woman smiled and said "Have a nice day, Miss Miller!" in a voice that was too bright, too cheerful, too unaware.
I smiled back.
"Thank you."
And then I walked out into the afternoon sun, got into my car, and sat there for a long mont with my hands on the steering wheel.
Not crying.
I wasn’t going to cry.
I’d made that decision years ago, and I was sticking to it.
But I sat there anyway. Breathing hardly. Letting the silence settle around .
Then I started the engine and drove away.
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