Page 201 of Wild Then Wed
I blink at her, trying not to smile too hard.
She’s clearly a talker—one of those people who fills every gap in conversation without ever making it feel forced. Who can hug a stranger and make it feel like you’ve been friends since kindergarten. Who probably makes friends at the grocery store and remembers their birthdays.
She’s the opposite of me in every way, and I kind of already love her for it.
Nova’s eyes shift from me to Sawyer, then back again, and she tilts her head like she’s putting the final piece into a puzzle.
“You two make sense,” she says, her voice matter-of-fact. “Like offensively good-looking sense. It’s honestly a little unfair.”
Before I can respond—or figure out if I’m supposed to say thank you—she loops her arm through mine like we’ve been doing this for years.
“I’m stealing your wife!” she calls back over her shoulder.
I glance at Sawyer, panic blooming in my chest. He just grins and winks.
Asshole.
Nova pulls me through the room, knowing exactly where she’s going, weaving between tables and servers. She finally stops at one of the front tables—close enough to the dance floor to see the band, but far enough to not get roped into anything right away.
The table is stunning. Creamy linens with tiny gold beads stitched into the borders. Low glass vases filled with floating candles and pale roses. Name cards in perfect script tucked into little gold holders. Even the plates look expensive, ones that seem like belong behind glass, not under food.
Joel and Nova’s cards are right next to ours. Of course.
Nova sinks into the chair next to mine and looks around the ballroom. “God, this is gorgeous,” she says, resting her chinon her hand. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m here for the animals, and for Joel, of course—but I’mreallyhere for this bread basket.”
I laugh before I can stop myself.
She keeps talking—about the florals, and the band, and how last year’s gala had these weird fish appetizers that made Joel gag—but then she cuts herself off mid-sentence and turns toward me.
“Sorry,” she says, letting out a breath. “I’m a yapper. I want to know aboutyou.”
My fingers find the edge of the thick cloth napkin in my lap, tracing the seam. I shrug, trying not to look as awkward as I feel. “What do you want to know?”
She leans in. “Everything. Sawyer says you train horses?”
I nod. “Yeah. I run a training program out of my family’s ranch. Mostly high-performance horses—off-track Thoroughbreds, sometimes warmbloods. A few jumpers, a few dressage prospects. I do rehab work too, help retrain them for second careers. And I teach lessons in the afternoons—mostly kids and teenagers.”
Nova blinks at me like I just told her I casually lasso stars for a living. “Wait. So you’re hotandyou train horsesandyou teach kids? Are you going to leave anything for the rest of us? Have you ever trained for, like…famous people?”
I huff out a laugh and lift a shoulder. “A few.”
Her jaw drops. “Okay, so you’re also a boss-ass bitch. What else?”
She tucks a loose curl behind her ear and I grin despite myself.
“I wouldn’t really say that.”
“Well, you should,” she says, matter-of-fact, just as a waiter glides past our table with a tray of champagne. “Because that’s what you are.”
I let her words sit with me for a second. It’s not something I’m used to hearing. And definitely not the kind of thing I’m used to believing. But Nova says it so easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
She grabs champagne from the tray and looks at me expectantly, so I follow suit.
She holds her flute high in the air. “To bad bitches everywhere—may we raise horses and maybe a little hell.”
I snort, clinking my glass to hers. “That’s oddly motivational.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, shrugging as she takes a sip. “I’m nothing if not motivational.”
