Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Sage’s mouth dropped open in obvious outrage just as we passed through a wrought-iron gate and arrived at the very stately long driveway to Golden Oaks. “As my best friend and nonblood sister, I am appalled that you’re not on my side.”
“Sage, I am on your side. You need a getaway driver? I’m there. You need help moving a body? I’m your girl. Need money? I’ll rob a damn bank for you. But for the love of God, can we please just have one day where you don’t mention Atticus Knighto—”
Sage’s hand slapped over my mouth, cutting off my words. “Hals. I love you. But do not speak his name in my presence. I’ll be forced to hurt you if you do.”
I bit down on Sage’s palm, causing her to rip her hand away on a pained hiss. “Bitch,” she snarled, shaking her injured appendage. I smirked and caught Sage’s responding smile in my periphery. Sage Miller. My best friend, the finest show jumper I knew, and certifiably insane.
I couldn’t love a person more.
Two more ornate iron gates later, we stopped at a large castle-keep-looking building. Sage and I stared up at it through the town car’s window. “It has columns, Hallie. Columns. I feel like we’re at the entrance to a fancy horse-themed Disney World.” I nodded, too lost in wonder to use actual words. “And just like Disney movies, this one has a megavillain . . .”
“And I’m done!” I said, ignoring the rest of Sage’s tirade, opening the door before the driver could get there. I could not take Sage’s hate-filled diatribe about Atticus Knighton one more time. Endless years of ear-torture was long enough.
Sage got out of the car and stood beside me, the ice-cold wind whipping around us. We stared up at the entrance to the building, all gray stone and old-world English architecture. “That was rude,” she said, nudging me in the arm.
“Sage, why did you agree to ride Knighton horses when you hate Atticus this much? You’re gonna see him here. All the time. He lives here. This is his family estate. His DNA is in every brick in the million-dollar stables and in every blade of grass we just passed on their gazillion acres. This”—I gestured to the incredible equine setup around us—“is his empire. The Knightons are royalty in the horse world, you know this. They’re a powerful dynasty. But that’s especially true in their home country. They’re the gods in the horse world here in England. You’re the interloper.”
“Damn right I am,” she said, her Tennessee accent thickening and a sadistic kind of smirk spreading on her stunning face. She looked like an angel but had the spirit of a hellion. With platinum blond hair, olive skin, and the darkest of eyes, Sage Miller turned heads everywhere she went. As well as being a natural beauty, she was the most loyal person I’d ever met. Growing up in the same competitive circuits in the US had brought us close, even closer when she came to board at Silvercrest as a teen, but the respect and love we had for one another was what made us truly inseparable. So much so that most jumping fans saw us as a pair, a twosome. As did sponsors. Hence, we were here in England together.
When you got to know her, Sage was a total sweetheart, but she had a wicked streak that only one man had ever been able to stir in her. And God help Atticus Knighton, because he had no idea what monster he’d awakened back when Sage was only eighteen. “I’m gonna destroy him in the arenas he believes he owns, on the horses his family has bought or bred for millions of dollars.” She smirked triumphantly. “Internal destruction.”
I sighed and rubbed a throbbing pain at the center of my forehead. We’d been awake for over twenty-four hours at this point. I was exhausted.
Eric—the driver of the town car that picked us up from the airport—placed our luggage beside us. “The estate manager will be here to greet you soon, madams,” Eric said, then: “Oh, here she is now.”
A lady with a severe blond bob approached us with two young men in tow. The men were dressed in navy-blue breeches, Knighton Equestrian–branded navy-blue polo shirts, and insulated, waterproof jackets, with ball caps to match. I was in my favorite cowboy boots and barn coat. I might be an equestrian now, but I was still a cowgirl through and through. The way I dressed and talked made good fodder for my rivals, but I didn’t give a shit. This was who I was. Nothing would change that.
“Sage Miller and Hallie Oakley, lovely to meet you,” the lady said when she reached us. Her delicate English accent was in stark contrast to her forest-green power suit and shrewd eyes. “Victoria Smith, Golden Oaks’ estate and event manager. Basically, I run this place, so if you need anything, it’s probably me who will fix it for you.” Victoria held out her hand to me.