My grandfather tolerated my father, but it was clear from day one that he thought my dad was a loser who would never be worthy of my mom. And he was a loser and a crap dad. But maybe…” I trail off, gathering my thoughts before continuing. “I think my mother believes that if my father hadn’t been reminded of his perceived inferiority so often… If he’d had people rooting for him to make good instead of waiting for him to fail, he’d have been a better husband and father.”
Elizabeth studies me before she nods. “I’ve never thought about it that way, but I can see your point. Though, you could also make the argument that love marriages would be more successful if the extended family would just get on board with the match and be supportive.” She lifts a hand, fingers spread wide. “No offense to your grandfather, of course.”
“None taken.” I smile. “I worshipped him, but he wasn’t perfect. I know that.”
Her lips quirk. “I think all our gods are imperfect if you look at them too closely. It doesn’t mean they can’t inspire us to be better people, though.”
“Well said.” I narrow my eyes. “I had no idea my fiancée was a philosopher.”
She rolls her eyes with a self-conscious laugh. “Hardly. But wandering around in the woods alone gives a person a lot of time to think.” She flutters a hand in the air. “And sewing alone, too. It keeps your hands busy but gives your thoughts plenty of time to wander.”
“And where do yours wander most often?” I murmur, genuinely curious, and wondering why she’s never felt comfortable sharing this side of herself on the phone.
If she had…
I cut the thought short.
It doesn’t matter. It’s too late to start second-guessing things now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy getting to know Elizabeth before she goes. Between making her miserable in my company, of course.
She blinks faster. “Oh, I don’t know. I think about my family a lot. Worry about them. Hope for them. Meditate on the past and imagine how things might be better in the future.”
“And boys?” I ask with a grin, determined to coax more out of her. “You never answered my question about princess hunters.”
She shrugs uncomfortably, her focus falling to the dry earth between us. “Of course I thought about boys.” Her eyes lift, catching mine. “I also thought about you.”
I hold her gaze as awareness thickens the air between us. “You did?”
She nods. “I did. And dreaded your twenty-ninth birthday like a death sentence.”
The confession shocks me, though I suppose it shouldn’t. I’ve been dreading it, too, and so far, Elizabeth and I seem to have a lot in common.
“But now that it’s finally here,” she says in a softer voice, “I’m hopeful that things will work out better than I imagined. No matter what happens, I hope we’ll be friends. Good friends.”
“Me, too,” I say, meaning it. “I like you, Elizabeth.”
“I like you, too,” she says, what looks like sadness tensing her features. “And please, call me Lizzy.”
I don’t know why that made her sad, but I know I don’t want to make her feel that way any more than I absolutely have to. Lizzy isn’t the problem. It’s this archaic bargain we’re both caught up in that’s to blame for the mess we’re in.
“All right then, Lizzy,” I say, forcing an upbeat tone as I clap my hands. “What next? More hiking? Or home for a private, vineyard-side wine tasting? I know it’s not the most popular varietal, but the royal winemaker made a hell of a Gewurztraminer last year.”
“Is more hiking okay?” she asks, her shoulders hunching closer to her ears. “Am I crazy to choose hiking over drinking?”
“Not at all.” I shake my head. “I just don’t want to wear you out before dinner. My mother and brothers are usually fairly well behaved, but they’re awfully excited that you’re here. You might need a nap to prepare for the interrogation. They will want to know everything about you. Absolutely everything.”
“I probably should nap,” she says with a sigh, “but it’s just so beautiful out here.” She turns to gaze out across the softly rolling hills where vineyards, fruit trees, and farmhouses dot the landscape of the most beautiful place on earth. I’ve always felt that way—this yellow mud flows through my veins—but I like that she seems to appreciate the humble perfection almost as much as I do.
She turns back to me, her nose wrinkled and