Chapter 2 — A Lesson She Didn’t Need

At ten minutes to two, Mara discovered that she had changed her clothes for a riding lesson she did not need.

Mrs. Russo had lent her a pair of sturdy boots and found a jacket in the staff closet. Both fit. Mara had gone back to her room to put on her own dark jeans as well. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she looked less like a housekeeper and more like the woman who used to close Bennett Cycles on Friday evenings with grease on her cheek.

She nearly took the jacket off.

Instead, she went outside.

Nico stood beside two motorcycles in the courtyard. One was his black bike. The other was smaller, blue, and fitted with a lower seat. A new helmet rested on it.

Mara slowed. “You arranged all this?”

“I said I would.”

“People say things.”

“I try not to.”

He held out the helmet. Mara took it, turning it in her hands. It was the right size, or close enough that someone had made an educated guess.

“You didn’t have to buy me one,” she said.

“I didn’t. There are several in the garage.”

She put it on and checked the strap. Nico watched her fingers.

Mara made herself fumble with the fastening.

“You’ve worn a helmet before,” he said.

“Once or twice.”

“Not recently,” he said, returning her answer from yesterday.

She could have ended the pretense then. She could have told him she had been riding since she was sixteen, that she had rebuilt a carburetor before she was old enough to vote, and that he should stop trying to teach her how to sit.

But she wanted to hear the black bike start again. Admitting that would invite questions she did not want to answer.

Nico began with the controls. Mara listened. When he pointed to the clutch, she kept her expression attentive.

He demonstrated how to release it. His explanation was clear. After a minute, it became thorough. After three, Mara realized he enjoyed having an audience.

“Do you give this speech to everyone?” she asked.

“Only people who sit on a bike before asking permission.”

“That seems like a small audience.”

“It has been.”

Nico stepped aside. “Your turn.”

Mara swung onto the blue bike and placed her feet carefully. She could feel him studying her. So she gripped the bars a little too tightly and asked which control he wanted her to use first.

He answered, then watched as she followed his instructions.

The blue motorcycle was forgiving. Mara rolled forward a few feet and stopped. On the second attempt, she went farther. She made a turn wide enough to look inexperienced without dropping the bike.

Nico folded his arms.

“What?” she asked.

“You corrected that turn before I told you to.”

“I have good instincts.”

“You do.”

His tone said more than the words.

Mara tried another pass. She made a small, deliberate mistake with the clutch, then felt foolish for doing it. Nico crouched beside the bike.

“Look ahead,” he said. “You keep checking the front wheel.”

She stared at him. She had been checking the black motorcycle across the courtyard, waiting for someone to start it.

“All right,” she said.

A guard emerged from the garage, walked over to Nico’s bike, and picked up a cloth from its seat. Mara sat straighter.

“Could you start that one?” she asked.

The guard stopped. “Why?”

“I heard something yesterday.”

Nico turned. “What did you hear?”

“A light rattle when you accelerated. I couldn’t tell where it came from.”

For a second, no one moved. Mara wished she had found a better way to bring it up.

Nico nodded to the guard. “Start it.”

The engine came to life.

Mara listened through the steady idle. No rattle. She asked the guard to give it a little throttle while keeping the bike stationary. He looked to Nico for permission, got it, and tried twice.

Nothing.

“I may have heard something else,” Mara admitted.

“Or it only happens on the road,” Nico said.

She was surprised he had offered that possibility. “Maybe.”

Nico switched off the engine himself. “I’ll have the mechanic check it before I ride again.”

“You believe me?”

“I believe you heard something.”

It was a careful answer. Mara appreciated it.

They returned to the blue bike, but the lesson had changed. Nico no longer talked through each movement. He gave Mara a route around the paved courtyard and stood where he could watch her return.

She completed it cleanly.

“Again,” he said.

This time he added a narrow turn between two planted beds. Mara approached slowly. Halfway through, a groundskeeper stepped out with a wheelbarrow.

She adjusted her line without thinking, gave him room, and brought the bike to a smooth stop beside Nico.

He looked at the space she had passed through, then at her.

“Was that wrong?” Mara asked.

“No.”

“I can do it again.”

“I’m sure you can.”

The groundskeeper hurried on. Mara took off the helmet.

Nico held out his hand for it, but she kept it against her hip. “You’re going to say something.”

“You already know what it is.”

“I’m a fast learner.”

“You were preparing for that wheelbarrow before he entered the path.”

“Then I’m also observant.”

“You’re both. You’re a terrible beginner.”

Mara looked away, caught between laughter and a memory she had worked hard to avoid. Her father had taught her on a blue motorcycle, too. Smaller than this one, louder, and forever needing a repair. She had not ridden it after the shop closed.

Nico’s voice softened. “You can tell me how much you know.”

“I know enough to tell you when a lesson is over.”

She handed him the helmet and started toward the house. She expected him to call her back.

He did not.

At the door, she turned. “Thank you for having your bike checked.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

Mara nodded and went inside.

That evening, she passed his study on her way to the upstairs linen closet. The door was open. Nico stood at a desk, speaking to a man in a charcoal suit. Mara knew him as Adrian Vale, the deputy who oversaw much of the estate’s security.

Nico saw her in the hall. He ended the conversation before she reached the door.

“The mechanic checked the motorcycle,” he told her. “He couldn’t reproduce the sound. He found a loose cover and secured it.”

“That may have been it.”

“Does that put your mind at ease?”

“A little.”

Adrian turned to look at her. His gaze lingered on the helmet she was carrying back to the garage.

Mara continued upstairs. At the end of the corridor, she heard Adrian ask Nico how the lesson had gone. She did not hear the answer.

The next morning, a folded note waited on top of her laundry cart.

Private drive. Two o’clock. Bring the helmet.

There was no signature.

Mara read it twice, then slipped it into her pocket. If Nico wanted to know whether she could ride, she was tired of making them both pretend otherwise.