The oil lamp flickered in the breeze, the golden reflections dancing over the white-painted walls. My eyes became lost in the trance, so much so that I nearly missed Achille take a long breath, then softly say, “They said I was slow.”
My gut clenched. I stilled, every muscle in my body going rigid.
“They said that I was dumb and nothing would ever change that.”
I winced. My chest cracked in two at the embarrassment in his voice. I didn’t speak. I didn’t want to push him or say anything that would stop him from opening up.
He no longer had his father. No one to share in his pain.
I would be that person for him tonight. He needed this from me. I couldn’t give him my heart, so this would have to be enough.
When the sun rose, this would all be a distant dream.
So I prayed to God and begged him to keep the darkness at bay as long as he could. To keep our stars shining and the rain crashing down . . . so I would have time to say goodbye.
Chapter Nine
Achille
Caresa had become a statue in my arms. I was racked with nerves as I bared my shame. My father had always told me that I wasn’t dumb, that my weakness in academics did not define me or how intelligent I was. But I was sure he had only said that to make me feel better.
I wasn’t like everyone else. The teachers, even the king, had made sure I knew that. He is not meant for academia, but instead for the fields, King Santo had said to my father.
I always found it strange that I could use my hands to make the wine, yet the minute I tried to hold a pencil or pen, my fingers would fail.
I couldn’t even write my name.
“When I . . . when I look at the words on a page, they never make sense. The lines blur and the letters jump around.” My breath caught in my throat. “My eyes don’t see what other people see when they read. My brain doesn’t function the same way as everyone else’s.” I laughed a humorless laugh. “I talk of Plato and Tolkien’s books, yet I haven’t managed more than a few pages in my entire life. My eyes get tired from trying to decipher each word, and I get so frustrated that I have to walk away.” I sighed, my stomach sinking. “Maybe I am just dumb after all. Maybe the teachers and King Santo were right—academia isn’t for me.”
Caresa’s head snapped up at my words. Her skin was still flushed from when we had made love. But her soft expression had changed into one so severe it took me by surprise. “They were wrong,” she said. “They were all so wrong it incenses me.” I blinked at her in surprise. Caresa shuffled from under my arms, flipped onto her stomach and rested her folded arms on my torso. “Achille, you are not dumb. One only has to be in your presence for a few minutes to see that you are one of the brightest, most talented people walking this earth.” She closed her eyes, calming herself down. I didn’t take my eyes off her, her compliment seeping down deep into my bones.
She opened her eyes. “I am not fully qualified. I have no official papers to diagnose you. But I think you are dyslexic and maybe dyspraxic. The two commonly go hand in hand.” Her eyes narrowed. “So let’s get one thing straight. You are not dumb. Your vocabulary is extensive, your understanding of any given topic is vast and sound. You are not dumb, Achille, and you are selling yourself short by allowing that falsehood to take root.”
“What is dys . . . dysle . . .” I shook my head, not able to remember the names.
“Dyslexia is when your brain struggles to make connections to words. It is not uncommon and can be aided tremendously with specialized, personal programs. Dyspraxia has many forms. It is when some of your motor skills are not as strong as others. It may be why you struggle holding a pen yet you are able to easily hold reins and make wine. There is no blueprint. Everyone is different. Some tasks you think will be difficult come easily; other simple tasks may feel like the most impossible thing in the world.”
“I find bottling the wine difficult too. Nothing else, but I struggle when it comes to bottling,” I admitted shyly. “The small pieces that are used in the process are hard for me to control.” Caresa nodded as if it made perfect sense. Nothing about this had ever made sense to me, yet she understood my problem in mere seconds.
“It is a case of crossed wires. Picture it as the brain’s usually clear path being blocked with fallen branches. We simply have to find another route, but that route can be found, no matter how hopeless it seems.” She gritted her teeth, looking so adorably fierce. “I will not allow you to think of yourself as unworthy or subpar. You are not. I won’t accept that, and you should not accept that of yourself either.”
She abruptly stopped. Not even my father had fought for me that hard. Caresa slid her hand into mine and linked our fingers together. She appeared fascinated at the joining. She squeezed them once, twice, then said, “Let me help you.”
I froze.
The offer terrified me. Caresa seemed somehow fooled by me; she thought I was something more than I truly was. I knew she had experience with this type of thing. But I didn’t want her to see me that way, stumbling through books and scribbling on paper like a toddler. I wanted her to remember me as she saw me now.
I didn’t want her pity.
I opened my mouth to tell her thank you, but that I would decline. She seemed to anticipate my answer and brought my fingers to her lips. She brushed kiss after soft kiss to each of my knuckles and whispered, “Please, Achille. Please let me do this for you. You have given me so much. Please . . . please let me at least try.”
I leaned my head back against the pillow and closed my eyes. I thought of my father sitting by the fire, reading to me. I would hang on his every word, wishing I could track my eyes over the page with the same ease as he did. Wishing I could be transported to far-off lands and other worlds, sitting by the fire, a glass of wine by my side.
I wished it didn’t have to be so hard.
“Why does it have to be so hard?” I asked, flinching in embarrassment when I realized I had spoken my wish aloud. My voice held a tremor, and my throat was dry.
“What?” Caresa asked softly.
I shrugged, thinking of the last few weeks I had with my father, watching him fade before my eyes, my hero leaving me day by day. Watching him stare each night at the picture of the mother I loved but never knew. And I thought of all those nights he had tried to help me read, but grew helpless and sad when nothing he did ever worked.
Until he tried no more.
Until I had tried no more.
“Everything,” I said quietly. “Everything just always seems . . . difficult. Nothing comes easily.” My gaze drifted to Caresa, bare and with me in my bed, and I immediately wanted to refute my claim. Everything with her was confusing, yet came easily at the same time.
But our situation was not easy. She was marrying the prince. She had only returned to Italy to marry into House Savona, to take her place as the next “queen” in the so-called royal succession.
Our situation was complex, yet I knew that falling in love with her would be the simplest thing in the world.
“Achille,” Caresa murmured. She reached up and ran her hand down my cheek. “Let me try and ease some of this for you. Please . . . I’m begging you to let me try. You can read and write, we just have to find a way through the fog.”
I looked out of the window, seeing the rainclouds beginning to move away. The stormy sky parted, allowing stray beams of moonlight to flood the vines. Stars started to appear in the dark heavens, flecks of silver in a velvet sea of black.
“Even after tonight, you should still come and ride Rosa.” I focused back on Caresa. “I see the passion on your face when you practice your dressage. It lights you up. It makes your heart content.” A dull ache formed in my chest at the thought of walking away from her, from this night. But it was worse when I thought of her losing the joy she gained from riding my father’s treasured Andalusian. Losing the smile on her beautiful face as she danced around the arena, free from worry.
“Okay,” she replied. I could tell by the roughness of her voice that I had taken her by surprise. It was a selfish offer too. Because I didn’t know how it happened so hard, so fast, but I couldn’t imagine a week going by without seeing Caresa, her finding me amongst the vines . . . the sound of her trotting around the arena as I crushed the grapes.