Page 68 of Wicked

“No!” Dante says, stepping towards me. “And pump the brakes, princess. I will not tie you up and fuck you.” Our eyes hold. “Not this week, anyway.”

I smile, yell and charge straight toward the cliff path. As I get closer, I remember it’s extremely dangerous,like him.

It will be a complex way down, even if slow, and a fall will mess up all of my plans. I circle and search for another option. I eye an ancient four-foot-high wall, and I make a quick calculation.

“Don’t!” Dante yells. “It’s too high!”

At my riding peak in Virginia, I’d have cleared it. It’s been five years, but five years of no real riding. As adrenaline pumps through me, I calculate the odds, spin, andcharge.

As we thunder towards the rock wall, my chest tightens.

“Raven, NO!” comes from somewhere, and I ignore the loud distraction.

“Come on, Olive,” I whisper before I time our attack and also my rise.

At the exact push off point, I rise from the stirrups, and I make sure Olive doesn’t carry my weight. I’m also telling her when she needs to jump, not that she’s blind.

As we sail towards and over the rock wall, I look down.

Olive’s hooves are incredibly close, and the rear almost clips the rock. We clear the wall by half an inch, and we land and charge away.

I ride low and peek behind us. Through my wild blonde hair, I see Dante shake his head. I raise a fist and scream loudly.

I’m alive!

29

DANTE

As I clear out another room in the castle, I think of ways to keep the castle. Memories flood back of my family time here. The best times of my youth.

As I push on, I find an old oak chest with ornate detail. Inside are my old childhood trinkets. Books, a train set and medals for winning various sports.

As I kneel, I’m lost in memories. When I left Italy to make it in the world, I’d not taken a single thing.

My grandfather, my friend and inspiration, must have placed them here for me, knowing I’d find the chest one day. I pause, noticing a letter on top.

I walk below to the room I’m using, and fireside, I open it. It’s in my grandfather’s handwriting, and in his gentle way, so different than my father’s dictatorial voice, he tells me he enjoyed the time we spent when we were last together.

He explains he was proud of me and proud of my business accomplishments. He also says he valued our friendship and that life races by. It’s a difficult read, but I push on, full of emotion.

He tells me to follow my own path in life and that it is wise to question everything and remain curious.

He then tells me finding his wife, my grandmother, enriched his own life. And that, one day, he hopes I meet that someone special. That person that sets me alight and matches my energy. And that if I do, to never let them go.

I wipe an eye, and it’s the first tear I’ve shed since his funeral and the second in my life.

I slide the letter back into the envelope, and I put it in my jacket. After walking to the family cemetery behind the castle, I find my grandfather’s grave.

I apologize to him for not being around much after leaving, and I look around at the family land and beach. As a warm wind blows, I try to put it all together.

Maybe I’m supposed to be doing something more, and that may include carrying some of the family’s weight on my shoulders.

I thank my grandfather for things as I grew up and for helping me become a young man.

He always knew I was a freethinker, and I was not good at being pounded into shape like a sword is: with heat, hammers, and brute force.

I thank him for accepting me for who I am, and for understanding how hard it was in the snobby elite private schools where it was complex to want to know more.

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