Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Well, I, for one, must say that I’m glad that that bloody beast is finally gone. Good riddance. It was only a matter of time before that filly was going to get you hurt –“

“Papa, stop!” Belle French whirled around at her father, who was leaning against her stable’s white awning beam behind her. “Can’t you at least wait until the trailer is out of the driveway?”

The heavyset man gave a quick glance at the large semi-truck lumbering out of the busy stable yard and shrugged. “Petal, you must admit that that mare–“

“Stop!” she yelled, feeling the last strand of her patience fray. “Just stop. I’m not doing this right now. I sold her for you. For us. If it wasn’t for that, I never would have agreed to the deal.”

Her father had at least the decency to show a flicker of shame at that, especially considering the fact that Belle had given him half the money from the sale, so he could avoid bankruptcy. If it weren't for that, Belle doubted that she would have even entertained offers for the filly.

Belle sighed, feeling exhausted and in no mood to argue a now mute point with her father. "It doesn’t matter. She’s gone now. You got your wish. But, Papa, know that even if you hated Allie, she was still the best horse that I’ve ever trained and I –“ Belle sucked in a breath, feeling her chest clench suddenly. “I loved that filly,” she finished, her voice cracking. “And, I’ll miss her.”

"Belle –"

“No. Just…please,” she said, waving him off. “Not now.”

Her father took a step towards her. “Petal, I didn't mean-”

“Not now, Papa,” Belle said again, wiping away the tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Anyways, I have work. I have to go fill out some entry forms for next week and call some owners," she said, gesturing to her office, located down at the end of the long barn aisle. "I’ll stop by your shop later if I have time."

Her father opened his mouth to reply, but Belle ignored him, turning on her heel and walking away before he could do so. She had nothing more to say to him, especially since all she wanted to do now was to escape to her office before she lost her composure in front of her employees.

Thankfully, her office was only a short walk down the flowerpot-lined shed row. Several of her charges suck their heads out, ears pricked, watching her go by. All except for the last stall by her office, which Belle pointedly ignored.

Once inside her small office, Belle locked the door behind her. She needed a moment of peace to herself. The past three days felt like a blur. From the initial phone call proposing the sale, to the subsequent negotiations, vet checks, and shipping arrangements, Belle hadn’t been allowed a moment to sit down and process everything going on.

Her office, though, did provide her with a little sanctuary for the moment. While not big, it was a quaint and cozy space. In the two years since she had started her BF Racing stable, Belle had adorned the walls and bookshelves with a treasure trove of mementos, photos, and trophies from her charges’ successes.

Placed most prominently in the room was a blanket wreath of pink carnations in a large wooden box, lying across the two leather chairs opposite her desk against the back wall; the pink flowers were still bright, not yet dry from Alexandraie’s win a few days prior.

Allie, Belle sighed, feeling the tears prick her eyes again as she caressed the delicate petals. She tried to smile, knowing that her prize filly was headed to stardom in America, but she couldn’t stop her lips from quivering at the thought that she was gone.

She sucked in a breath, trying to hold it together, but her vision blurred once again with hot tears. She wiped them away, catching the strong whiff of the peppermint candy as she did so. She had fed Alexandraie nearly an entire bag of the candy that morning, wanting to spoil her filly one last time.

One last time…

Without warning, Belle felt her control slip and all of her emotions overwhelm her. She sunk to the sofa beside the wreath, and began to sob.

 

~+~

 

Two weeks passed, and Belle found herself stillgetting daily phone calls about Alexandraie’s sale from colleagues, reporters, and miffed prospective buyers alike, each offering either congratulations on the sale, or demands as to why she had chosen to sell the filly to Rumford Gold, instead of selling the filly to them.

And it wasn’t just phone calls. Belle couldn’t open her computer, or read a newspaper, without reading some new article about her greed overwhelming her love of the sport and horse. It seemed as if the entire country was angry at her for selling “the next Black Caviar” to America and not keeping her in Australia. They accused her of “selling out” to America’s preeminent horse conglomerate owner – Rumford Gold.

In the end, all of the accusations made Belle’s lingering sadness over Alexandraie’s sale only worse, because the articles were, in the end, telling the truth. Money had indeed been the only reason that Belle had agreed to sell Alexandraie. If it hadn’t been for her father being on the verge on bankruptcy due to his large gambling debts, she never would have considered entertaining an offer of any figure. But as the cosigner on their family ranch, and with little money of her own to offer up as payment, Belle had been left with no choice, but to let her filly go. The three million dollars that Gold had offered her was simply too large of a figure to turn down, especially with bookies and credit collectors pounding on their door each night.

The lone bright spot in her life was still her horses though, as it had been since she was a little girl. Despite all of the drama, the horses that she had in training didn’t care – they still needed her to be at the barn at 5:00 a.m. each morning to check in on them and get them ready for work each day.

“Hey, boss!”

Belle stepped out of her car and gave her security guard a wave. “Morning, Leroy!” she said, locking her car. She tucked her small bag in her arm and walked up to him. “How was it last night? All quiet?”

The short, sturdy man adjusted his belt and tipped his head toward her office. “You got a delivery last night, around eight, from a courier that stopped by – some small package. I put on your desk, but besides that…” He shrugged and shook his head. “Not a peep, sister.”

“Perfect.” Belle smiled. “Have you seen Philip anywhere, by chance?”

Leroy leaned back to look down the barn aisle. “I thought I saw him walk down there with a saddle. Looked like he was going to go saddle one down on the end.”

Belle gave the guard’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks, Leroy. You’re the best,” she said, walking away.

“Hey, you got any tips for today?”

Belle turned on her heel, and continued to walk backwards. “Bet on the fastest one,” she said with a wink.

Leroy groaned and threw up his hands. “That’s easy for you to say! Come on – help a guy out. I have a reputation to hold up.”

“Fine. Fine. I heard that Freedman has a sleeper in the 4^th – the word around here is that he’s the real deal.”

Leroy pointed at Belle. “You’re the best, boss.”

“Anytime, Leroy,” she said, turning back around and chuckling to herself at their daily routine. Every morning Leroy would ask Belle for “inside” information which he would then use to impress his friends after work, when they would meet up with at the local pub to watch the races. While watching, Leroy would just “happen” to pick the winner.

Her mood buoyed, Belle smiled and walked by each of her charges’ stalls, checking in on each of them. Once she reached Lucky’s stall at the end, she stopped. Her assistant, Phillip, was inside, adjusting the five-year-old stallion’s saddle pad, while their exercise rider, Mulan, waited patiently off to the side.

“Good morning,” Belle said to the duo, stepping into the stall.

Mulan smiled and tipped her head in greeting. “G’day, boss.”

“Morning,” Phillip grunted, as he pulled the girth tight. He pulled the flap down and gave it a satisfactory pat. “How are you this morning, Belle?”

“I’m good.” Belle smiled. “How about yourselves?”

“Good. Good.” He nodded. “’Bout to have Mulan take ol’ Lucky out for a mile gallop. I have Risky and Bleu getting saddled and brought up next – do you want them to get anyone else out before the break?”

“No,” Belle said. “We’ll do Onyx and the rest of the two-year-olds after the renovation break. I want to work them when the track is fresh.”

Phillip nodded and unlatched the chestnut stallion’s halter from the wall, and turned him around. Both Belle and Mulan stepped aside as he led the horse out of the stall, and then followed him out, with Mulan leading the way, holding her whip and helmet in the crook of her arm.

Bzzzzz! Bzzzzz!

Belle stopped and pulled her vibrating cell out of her pocket. She frowned, not recognizing the number.

“Another reporter?” Phillip asked.

“Probably,” Belle agreed, hesitating to swipe her finger over the green answer button. Can’t they at least have the decency to wait until the sun’s up? She sighed, grumbling to herself. “I should take care of this now,” she said. “I’ll only be a minute. I don’t know what else they could ask. I’ll meet you two out there in a few.”

Phillip nodded. “We’ll wait on the rail for you. Greg’s got Chip all saddled up and ready for you whenever you ready.”

“Thanks, Phillip,” Belle said with a smile, swiping the “answer” button and lifting the phone to her ear. “Hello? This is Belle French speaking.”

“Ah, yes. Ms. French. My name is Mallie Ficanté with LeMal and Associates. I represent Rumford Gold,” an American-accented woman said. “I’m calling to confirm the delivery of our papers.”

“Papers?” Belle frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I received a notification that the package from our office was signed and delivered to your office last night. I am calling to confirm this.”

“One moment,” Belle said, remembering Leroy’s mention of a package. “Can you hold on for second?”

“I suppose,” the woman replied.

Belle walked quickly to her office. On her desk, as Leroy had said, was a tan manila padded envelope, covered with postage and marked with a prominent LeMal and Associates address label.

She brought her phone up to her ear again. “Hi, Ms. Ficanté? I, uh…I see it right here. May I ask what this is about? I thought that all of the paperwork on Alexandraie was complete?” she asked, tearing open the package.

“I don’t know anything about that,” the lawyer remarked. “I’m simply calling to confirm that you have received the serving papers – “

“Serving papers? As in a lawsuit serving papers?” Belle asked.

“Yes, that is what serving papers are generally used for,” Ficanté answered flatly. “Mr. Gold has filed a suit against you, accusing you of fraudulent representation regarding the sale of Alexandraie. He has also requested me to tell you that –“

“Fraud? I don’t understand,” Belle said, shaking her head. “What exactly is Mr. Gold accusing me of being fraudulent about?”

“Of falsely representing the racehorse that you sold him.”

“I didn’t falsely represent anything!”

“Ms. French, did you receive the paperwork?” the lawyer asked, cutting her off.

“Yes. But–”

“Then, my job is done.”

“But, Ms. Fica–“

“Ms. French, I’d suggest that you stop talking and go get yourself a good lawyer, because you’re going to need it. We’ve never lost a case for Mr. Gold, especially for people who have broke deals with him.”

“But, I haven’t– “

“Stop talking,” the woman repeated. “Save yourself any more trouble. Now, do you have the papers in your hand?”

Belle nodded. “Yes.”

“Then, have a nice day, Ms. French. Good bye.”

With that, the phone clicked off, leaving Belle staring at her phone bewildered. What the hell just happened?

She sat down in her chair behind her desk, trying to calm herself. She couldn’t call anyone. No one was even awake at this early hour for her to call for advice. And fraud? How could he possibly accuse me of being a fraud? Gold had requested, and had been granted, the most thorough pre-purchase examination that Belle had ever heard of being done on a horse and Alexandraie had passed with flying colors. There was nothing that he could possibly accuse her of hiding, because he had literally thought of everything beforehand.

Not knowing what else to do, Belle finished opening up the package and pulled out the thick stack of legal serving papers, detailing the suit. She figured that she could at least find out what Mr. Gold was accusing her of being fraudulent about, before she started calling anyone for help.

It took her all of five minutes for Belle to read through the thirty page filing to find out what that was…and then another ten minutes for her to read them again, not believing that Gold was really accusing her of what it said he was.

Alexandraie, represented as a champion racehorse, by the defendant, Belle French, will not, after numerous attempts by various trainers, in fact, run, or show any of the ability as claimed by the defendant.

Belle paused…and then read through the papers again. Surely, this has to be some sort of joke, she thought. Won’t run? 

She had heard of trainers falsifying vet pre-purchase checks, or masking soundness problems with various drug concoctions, but Alexandraie had vetted completely clean, passing every drug culture that Mr. Gold had asked for. Plus, since Belle had never given her any drugs, except for the occasional Bute when she was muscle sore, she knew that she was clean.

Won’t run? Belle laughed and shook her head again. Gold had bought Alexandraie hours after she had been assigned with the fastest Timeform figure of any horse in Australia that year. In her last race, she had broken a course record held for nearly sixty years. How can he possibly accuse me of selling a horse that won’t run?

Becoming more and more miffed as the minutes passed, Belle decided finally that the easiest thing to do was to simply call up Mr. Gold herself. It was 1 p.m. in New York now. Maybe if she talked to him, she could see what the problem was, and hopefully deal with whatever problem he was having with the filly in a more professional manner.

It only took her a couple minutes of searching to find Mr. Gold’s number on a bill of sale form. She hesitated for only a moment before dialing it, hoping that it wasn’t the number to another one of his lawyers, as she had never talked to the man herself.

Do the brave thing.

Belle sucked in a breath, and pushed the send button. The phone rang for nearly a dozen times, before a click sounded. “Hello?” a heavily Scottish-accented voice answered.

The accent caught her off-guard for a moment. “Mr. Gold?”

“Yes. Were you expecting someone else?”

“No. I –“

“Who is this? How did you get my number?”

“This is Belle French. I –“

“Oh, Ms. French,” Gold said, his angry tone dissolving at the sound of her name into something quieter, and far more menacing. “I understand that you’ve received my papers. My lawyer just texted me a minute ago that she talked to you.”

“She did, but I –“

“The question, Ms. French, is why are you calling me? On my personal number nonetheless?”

Belle flinched. “My apologies, Mr. Gold, but this is the only number that I had for you.”

“Well, in that case, I suggest that you find a different, more appropriate, number for my office, and then make an appointment with my secretary, where she will schedule you to call at a more convenient time.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Belle said, feeling her anger rise at his condescending tone, “but, I was served papers from you at the rather ‘inconvenient’ hour of 5 a.m. this morning, so I –”

“Don’t see how that is my concern,” he said, cutting her off once again.

“If you would let me finish,” Belle shot back, earning a rare moment of silence from the man at last. “I read through your suit, and it states that you’re accusing me of perpetuating fraud in Alexandraie’s sale.”

“Yes. That is what it says. Thank you for that rather succinct summary.”

Belle huffed and dug her nails into her palms. “Mr. Gold, before this goes any further, why don’t you just tell me what the problem is that you’re having with her, and I’ll try to help you figure out what’s wrong?” 

“What’s wrong, dearie, is that you’ve made me the laughingstock of the racing industry by selling me a three million dollar filly that even I could outrun. Have you seen me run, Ms. French?”

“No.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter in any case, because I can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle said, not knowing what to say to that. “But, Mr. Gold, forgive me, but I just don’t understand. Alexandraie was the fastest horse that I’ve ever trained. I didn’t falsely represent that to you - she still has the highest Timeform rating in all of Australia. There must be something wrong with her. For you to say that she won’t run…” Belle trailed off, thinking. “Have you had a vet look at her? Perhaps, there’s - ”

“Of course, I’ve had a vet look at her. Several, in fact. And no, there’s nothing wrong with her that they can find.”

“Then, maybe it’s simply a training issue? Perhaps, if you find a new trainer for her, you’ll have more success, because, I assure you that that filly will most certainly run.”

“Why, what a brilliant idea, Ms. French,” Gold said airily. “How is it that I’ve never thought of that myself?...Oh right, that’s because I already have,” he spat. “Ms. French, I’ve had three of the nation’s top trainers and jockeys try to get that filly to run, and none have been able to make her to go faster than a rundown stable pony. Now, tell me, Ms. French, what other brilliant ideas would you like to propose next?”

Well, the next idea had even Belle cringing inside, but it had to be asked. “Sir, I’m going to ask you a very silly question, but are you sure that we’re talking about the same horse? Allie’s pure black with the white Woodland Stud brand on her left shoulder. It’s a ‘W’ with a crown –”

“Do you take me for an idiot, as well as a fool, Ms. French?”

“No, of course not, but I didn’t know what else to ask,” Belle said, shrugging to herself. “I’m as confused as you are as to what the problem is.”

“Well, then, I believe that you should have your lawyer contact me at your earliest convenience.”

“No – wait!” Belle said, trying to think of what else to say.

“Yes, Ms. French?”

“What if I came and saw her myself – tried to see if I could fix whatever the problem is?”

Her question was met with a long beat of silence. “Go on.”

“I’ll fly into Los Angeles and spend the week working with her, and do whatever’s necessary to prove to you that she can indeed run.”

“You’ll stay until she wins.”

Belle balked. “Mr. Gold, I have a full training operation I’m running down here.”

“And I have an entire legal team on retainer, ready to do whatever is necessary.”

Belle glanced over at the calendar. It was only January 6th. It would be at least a month before Alexandraie raced again.

“Ms. French?” Gold asked, interrupting her train of thought.

“If I do this, you’ll agree to drop your lawsuit and not to pursue any further litigation against myself, or my father?”

“If you can prove to me that she can indeed run, and win.”

“I can’t guarantee a win, sir. I will, though, guarantee that I will get her to run.”

“You have quite the way with words, dearie,” Gold said.

“I’m not trying to be coy, Mr. Gold. I’ve simply been around horses long enough to know that there are no guarantees. I’ll promise you that I’ll get Alexandraie to run, but beyond that, it’s out of my hands.”

“We shall see about that, Ms. French. For your sake, I hope that you’re right.”

Belle glanced over at the large case enclosing Alexandraie’s winning wreath. “I am.”

“Confident. I like that,” Gold said. “Well, it sounds like we have a deal, Ms. French.”

“If you agree that you’ll drop this lawsuit,” Belle reiterated.

“You have my word,” Gold said, sounding sincere for the first time in the conversation.

Belle took a breath. “Then, you have mine.”

“Good. I’ll have my manager get in touch with you about travel arrangements. I’ll see you shortly, Ms. French.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

The phone clicked off without a response.

What just happened? Belle thought. It wasn’t even 5:30, and she had managed to upend her entire life in a single conversation.

No, she reminded herself, this will be just a simple week. Once she figured out what was wrong with Allie, and showed Gold that she could indeed run, she would be back here within a week. He didn’t need her to stay until she ran. Certainly, there were much better trainers that he could hire once she showed him that she could run. Right?

As for her own business, thankfully with the major spring Melbourne Racing Carnival over, she had only two horses running in races this week at Flemington. The rest would be in only minor prep races for the major stakes held in April, when the Sydney Racing Carnival commenced. Philip was more than qualified to step in and manage those for her while she was gone.

Reassured that she could indeed do this, Belle sat down at her desk to begin mapping out training outlines to leave with Philip.

Where’s a pen?

Belle shifted through the stacks of paper on the desk, until she stopped. At the bottom of the pile was a framed article from the Herald Sun with the title, “The Next Coming of Nelly?”, heralding Allie’s likeness to the recently retired all-time winningiest Australian racing mare, Black Caviar.

The photo made Belle smile, the warm memories of that day rushing back to her. Well, Belle thought, her smile widening, if it was proof that Gold wanted that Allie would run, then she wasn’t even going to have to be there for a week.

 

~+~

 

“How long are you staying with us?”

Belle huffed as she put her heavy bags down in front of the hotel concierge desk, taking a look around at the grand, beautiful space. The Langham was as striking on the inside as it was in the out, decorated with beautiful cream tones and stylized white molding, echoing back to the classic 1920’s art deco era.

“Miss?” the suited man asked again.

“Oh, sorry,” Belle said, shaking herself. “I…I don’t know yet. I believe that my reservation was booked under a Mr. Cogsworth? He gave me this confirmation number.”

Before she could reach into her purse to grab her phone to get the number from the email Gold’s man sent her, the concierge snapped his fingers at her. “Ah, yes. Ms. French, is it? My apologies. We were expecting you earlier.”

“My flight was delayed,” Belle explained. Ten hours to be exact. She had expected to arrive at 7 a.m., but after being grounded in Melbourne for a mechanical problem, she hadn’t landed at LAX until after 5 p.m..

“Not a problem at all,” he said brightly. “I was instructed to give you this note upon your arrival.” He handed across a small card envelope with her name written in an elegant script on the front. “We’ll handle your bags for you. You’ll be staying in our Tournament of Roses Suite. Our finest here.”

“Oh, wow, well…thank you,” Belle said, taken aback.

“Mr. Gold reserves only the finest for his guests,” the man said. He slid across another envelope. “Here are your keys. Your suite is on the top floor.”

“Thank you.”

“Welcome to the Langham, Ms. French. Enjoy your stay. If there is anything that you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Belle smiled. “Thank you,” she said again, before turning away and opening up the envelope left for her. Inside was a card with a note, written in clean, precise script, matching the one on the envelope.

Barn 12 – 4:45 a.m

R

All right, Belle thought, nodding to herself. She had been wondering where she was supposed to go. It had been the lone piece of information that Cogsworth had excluded from her extremely detailed travel itinerary.

With her keys and purse in hand, Belle walked over to the gilded elevator doors. After a fretful attempt at sleep on the plane, she was exhausted and the room’s bed was calling out to her.

 

~+~

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Belle yawned and smacked the clock’s snooze button. She glanced over at the glowing red digits - 4:01.

Let’s do this, she thought, swinging her legs out of the bed, feeling alert at once, as adrenaline rushed through her veins.

It took her only a few minutes to get ready, finishing up by pulling her long brown locks into a loose ponytail and putting on her down riding jacket. Before leaving, she doubled-checked that she had all of her gear, and then left the large suite.

Along with the hotel room, Gold had also arranged for a rental car for Belle to use. With her iPhone’s app as her talking tour guide, she drove the short five miles from the hotel to racetrack in less than ten minutes, stopping for some hot tea at a drive-through Starbucks on the way.

Once at the track, it only took her a moment of driving around to locate the stable entrance signs, directing her to enter at Gate A, which she found easily enough with the large marked signs on every corner and driveway entrance. 

After giving her name to the gate guard and getting directions to Gold’s barn, Belle pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the white, green-roofed barn, marked with a prominent #12, along with a large black sign decorated with a gold RG insignia.

She stepped out of the car, grabbing her bag and tea, and checked her watch – 4:30 on the dot.

Pleased that she found the barn on time, and anxious to see Allie once again, Belle walked over to the barn’s shed row, nearly skipping in her excitement. She spotted her prize filly immediately – there was no mistaking her. Jet black and nearly 17 hands, she towered over almost every racehorse on the track. Not only that, Alexandraie was one of the most foul tempered horses she had ever met. Once Belle saw a hay bag go flying from a stall near the far end of the aisle, she knew that she had found her filly.

“Allie?” she called out softly as she reached the end of the row, putting down her tea so she could take out a peppermint out of her pocket – Alexandraie’s lone foil. She crackled the plastic wrapper and waited.

Immediately, a huge black horse rushed to the front of the stall nearest to her, nearly dislodging the webbed stall guard with the force of her impact.

Belle laughed at the filly’s antics. Some things certainly didn’t change.

“Hey, girl. I missed you,” she said, extending her palm towards the black filly. Alexandraie’s eyes bulged in recognition of the treat and she let out a low, rumbling whinny as she extended her upper lip as far as she could to reach Belle’s hand.

“Miss, STOP! Get back!” a French-accented man yelled.

Belle froze in place, and turned towards the tall, rail-thin man running at her.

“Miss! Watch out!” the man yelled again, pointing behind her.

Alexandraie was too quick for him though, snatching the sweet candy out of Belle’s palm.

Belle held up her hands up in apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. I just arrived and wanted to see her.”

The blonde-haired man shook his head. “You can’t be here. Only authorized personnel are allowed at this barn.”

“Mr. Gold asked me to be here,” she explained. “My name is Belle French. He said that you’d be expecting me,” she said, switching her bag to the opposite arm, so she could extend her clean hand at the man.

The man’s eyebrows rose to comical heights in recognition. “Miss French,” he said. “Of course, of course; my apologies. I’m so sorry. Mr. Gold said to expect you this morning.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Mr. –“

“Louis, “ he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Louis Mieneer.  I’m Mr. Gold’s barn manager.”

Belle smiled, and tipped her head at the man. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Mieneer.”

“Please–call me, Louis. So you are the one that trained that filly?”

“Owned her, too,” Belle said, glancing over at Alexandraie, who was extending her neck as far as possible to try and reach Belle’s palm again. “I got her as a yearling as payment from an owner,” she explained, holding out another peppermint. “Turned out to be the best paycheck I ever received.”

Alexandraie whinnied pitifully, begging for Belle to put her hand closer. Belle chuckled and slipped her palm under the greedy filly’s mouth.

“She likes you,” Louis said.

Belle shrugged, taking a step out of biting range. “I’d like to think that; though, between us, I’m pretty sure that she likes the peppermints more,” she laughed. She gave the filly another candy. “I discovered it by accident, thankfully, early on, or I doubt that we would’ve ever gotten a bit in her mouth.”

“I can’t imagine,” the manager said, giving the filly a long look. “She’s been quite the handful, to say the least.”

Belle wiped her sticky hand on her pants. “That’s just her. She’s always been like this,” she said, gesturing to the black filly. “Tough and extremely opinionated. She forced me to learn how to make her think that it was her idea to do things, instead of the other way around.”

“Like run?”

Belle turned around at the unexpected question to see a slight man with long, shoulder-length brown hair standing in the middle of the aisle behind them. He impeccably dressed, though a little out of place, in his full 3-piece suit and long black dress coat. Thankfully, from their phone call, Belle knew immediately who it was. The accent was unmistakable. “Mr. Gold,” she said, smiling in recognition. “Good morning.”

He walked towards them, leaning heavily on his gold-handled cane. “Ms. French,” he replied evenly in greeting.

A small man following close behind him, whom Belle assumed was one of their exercise riders, but then once he stepped fully into the light, she recognized him as Victor Whale, the hall of fame jockey. “How are you both this morning?” she asked.

“Well enough,” Gold answered, giving a pointed glance at Alexandraie. “I do hope that I didn’t fly you around the world for you just to tell me that I should have been giving the horse candy to get it to run.”

"But, I was,” Belle deadpanned.

Her quip was met with a stony glare.

“No, obviously not,” she said. “But, a little bribery never hurt anyone now, did it?”

Silence.

Right. “Well, then,” she continued. “How about you tell me what she’s been doing, and then we can go from there?”

Gold turned to the jockey standing beside him. “Do you know, Mr. Whale, Ms. French?”

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Belle French,” she said, extending her hand.

The small man took her hand and shook it with an iron grip. “Victor.”

“Mr. Whale, here,” Gold continued, “has been attempting to get the filly to run - without any success, I might add.”

“What has she been doing?” Belle asked.

“I’ve been taking her out to the track each morning, Miss, and each time, she’ll act like she’s real ‘on the muscle,’ moving well, and pulling real hard on the bit, but when I ask her to open up and get going, she doesn’t have anything. They’ve given me different bits and tack to try, but nothing works. She doesn’t care about the whip either – just sulks and sucks back further.”

“Huh.” Belle frowned. “As I told, Mr. Gold, she’s never been easy to deal with on the ground, but on the track, she’s always been very professional – I’ve had to hold her back from overextending herself more than anything.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Miss French,” Whale said, shrugging. “I can bring her around, and you can check her out for yourself - see if you can spot if anything’s off.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to take her out myself this morning.”

“Excuse me?” Gold asked.

“That is, if you’ll let me,” Belle said, turning to him. “I used to work her back at home. I think that if I took her out myself, I might be able to feel if anything’s off.”

“You’re going to ride her?”

“Well, that is what you brought me here for, right?” Belle asked, unable to hold back a smile at his obvious disbelief.

Gold frowned. “No, that’s what I hired him for,” he said, pointing to Whale.

“I realize that, but you hired me to tell you why she won’t run, and the best way to at least begin to find an answer to that problem is for me to ride her myself. If something feels wrong or different than before, I’ll be able to tell. No offense, Mr. Whale,” she said to Victor.

The jockey waved her concern off. “None taken. It’s your horse, Miss."

“No,” Gold corrected. “It’s my horse.”

“Yes, she’s your horse,” Belle said, feeling her patience with the man begin to waver once again. Must he be so difficult? She tipped her head to the side, and spread her hands in defeat. “What would you like me to do, Mr. Gold? I’m here to do whatever you want.”

Gold held her eye for a long beat, before flicking his gaze over to Louis, who was standing quietly behind Belle. “Saddle the filly, Mr. Mieneer. We'll see if Ms. French, here, is as good as she thinks she is.”

"I never said that I was-"

"It seems that we won't be requiring your services this morning, Mr. Whale," Gold said to the jockey, talking over Belle.

"Not a problem, sir." He turned to Belle and tipped his head at her. "Miss French."

"Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Whale," Belle said.

"Good luck with your filly," he said, giving them both a little nod of dismissal, before striding off into the night.

As soon as Whale left, Louis returned with an army of workers in tow, who swarmed into Alexandraie’s stall. The tall Frenchman barked out commands into the well-organized chaos, getting the filly saddled as quickly as possible.

Gold, though, kept his attention squarely in Belle. No matter how much she tried to distract herself by watching the grooms, she could feel Gold's eyes on her. Finally, unable to deal with him boring holes in the back of her head, Belle took a step back so that she stood side-by-side with him,

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Ms. French," Gold murmured, lifting a challenging brow at her.

Belle couldn’t stop the little annoyed huff that escaped her. “Yes, I know what I’m doing, Mr. Gold.”

Gold smirked. “We’ll see.”

“Excuse me, I need to go change,” Belle said, turning away, before she ended up with two lawsuits on her hands. She usually prided herself on her patience with difficult clients, but this man! Her lingering exhaustion from her jet lag wasn't helping matters much either. She could feel her nerves fraying with each of his sardonic comments and looks.

Truthfully, she didn’t need to go back to her car to change - all she had to do was trade her coat for her safety vest and helmet - but, the small moment of peace by herself gave her fresh wind in her sails as she walked back. The last thing she needed before getting on Alexandraie was to be distracted by Gold– that filly was a handful that required Belle’s full attention.

When she arrived back to the stall, she found that Louis had the large black filly tacked and pulled out of her stall, ready to go.

“Do you have a preference as for your bit, Madame?” Louis asked with a noticeable renewed flourish, now that Gold was out of earshot and waiting at the end of the barn.

“Smooth snaffle with a running martingale, please,” Belle replied, snapping on her helmet, and tucking her whip into her rear back pocket.

Two grooms returned with the required gear, including a black blinder mask to attach to the bridle, with a prominent RG on the center.

Belle frowned. “Have they been putting that on her the whole time?”

“Mr. Gold has us put it on all of our horses,” Louis explained with a shrug.

“Leave it off for today.”

“But, Mr. Gold –“

“Wants us to figure out what’s wrong. Might as well start eliminating anything that’s new.”

“You didn’t use it on her when you trained her?” Louis asked.

“Never saw a need.” While blinders didn’t hurt a horse – they, in fact, helped the ones who needed to focus, or got nervous with horses running alongside them – Belle had saw a need to use one on Alexandraie. One of the filly’s favorite things was to look her challenger in the eye before shaking them off.

“All right, Mademoiselle. I place your fate in your hands,” he said with an exaggerated bow.

Belle laughed at his dramatics. “I think I’ll be all right, but thank you for your concern.”

“Would you like a pony, or for her to be hand walked up?”

“What have you been doing?”

“Miss French, we have tried everything with that filly,” he said, splaying his hands in exasperation.

Belle laughed again, but then looked to Alexandraie, who was already trying to half rear and prance in place. “I think I’ll go with a pony today, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“As you wish,” he said. “I shall escort you myself.”

“Thank you,” she said, watching the grooms trying to hold the massive black filly take her for another walk around the barn aisle to stymie her efforts to break free.

Louis returned shortly with a black gelding, adorned with gold-trimmed saddle blankets that matched his helmet and riding jacket. One certainly couldn’t fault Gold for lacking attention to detail for his barn’s appearance, Belle thought.

“Are you ready?” Louis asked, swinging his leg up on his horse.

Belle nodded. “Yes.”

“The filly, please, gentlemen,” he said, motioning to the grooms.

Belle noticed Gold watching the proceedings at the end of the aisle. She offered him a smile, which was unreciprocated, and then walked up to Alexandraie, grabbing the reins as a groom gave her leg a firm boost to launch her into the saddle.

Alexandraie leaped at once, rearing to her full height as soon as she felt Belle settle on her back.

“Allie!” Belle yelled, yanking her one rein once the filly started down. Her feet weren’t even in the stirrups yet. Thankfully, the filly froze in place at her yell, her muscles quivering underneath Belle’s thin saddle.

Belle slipped her feet quickly into the stirrups and gave the filly a hard smack with her crop.

The filly jumped again at the crop, but Belle was ready and kept her from rearing again.

“I thought we fixed that,” Belle murmured, rolling her eyes at the filly.

“Are you all right?” Louis asked, his eyes wide with concern.

“Just another day at the office,” she said, with a forced smile, returning her crop to her pocket.

“Very well,” he said, unconvinced, and grabbed a tighter hold of the lead rope and pulled her along. This time, Alexandraie offered no resistance and walked along.

Belle could feel Gold’s eyes on her as she passed him, but she kept her eyes front, not wanting to bear another one of his sardonic looks. Beneath her, Alexandraie felt the same as ever, her legs powerfully covering the ground in long, smooth strides, broken by the occasional jog.

Gold’s barn was located fairly close to the track, so before Belle even realized it, they were entering the chute, facing down the track’s long main stretch. She took a moment to take it all in. Even in the morning’s darkness, the beauty of the immense track, framed by the mountains, was undeniable, leaving her excited to see it in its full glory once the sun came up.

Louis led her to the far rail, and then stopped them alongside it. “What would you like me to do?”

The track was filled with early morning workers–doing both timed workouts, as well as routine conditioning gallops. The wide track made it easy to accommodate all the horses in their routines.

Belle looked around, trying to get the lay of the land before she set out. Alexandraie, though, was in no mood to wait–she was already prancing in place underneath Belle, throwing up her head in protest to get going.

“How about we jog her out to the 3/4^th’s pole, and then you let me go there. I’ll see what she does from there. I’m hoping that maybe if she thinks that she’s working, she’ll at least want to move out a little.”

“Sounds like a smart plan to me,” Louis replied.

Belle stood up in her stirrups to stretch her legs. The filly truly did feel great underneath her – as if she never missed a day since Belle last saw her.

She gave a glance under her arm to see if there were any workers coming up fast behind him, and noticed that Gold was standing by himself along the rail in his dark coat. Great, Belle thought. Ok, come on, girl. Please don’t mess this up for me now.

As the 3/4^th’s pole approached, Belle could feel Alexandraie become more and more excited, breaking into a gallop every few strides, before Louis pulled her back into a trot.

A few yards before the pole, he disconnected the lead rope. “She’s all yours,” he said, falling back. “Good luck.”

Alexandraie lunged as soon as she felt she was free, curling her long neck into an arch, and broke off into a gallop.

For such a large horse, especially one who was still growing, she had incredible self-carriage; her legs glided across the ground in a beautiful piston-like action, while her neck remained still. The result was a surreal riding experience in which Belle felt as if she was floating across the ground.

The filly began to pull harder on the bit, trying to run faster. Belle gave a firm tug back, and she glanced under shoulder, spotting a horse coming up along the rail, performing a timed workout.

Great.

Belle stood farther up in her stirrups and pulled back, using all of her strength to hold Alexandraie back, but the filly strode on, increasing her stride.

He says that she won’t run?

“Hey!” Belle called out, trying to get the filly’s attention back on her. They were beginning to round the far turn, much too quickly for Belle’s liking for a routine gallop. The sawed the reins to get some control back, but Alexandraie would have none of it, pinning her ears flat back at the horse coming up to “challenge” her.

I should have brought a bigger bit, Belle thought, feeling the filly running through her hands, as if she had forgotten all of her training.

Belle ducked her head under her arm, trying to spot where the oncoming horse was – it was still at least ten lengths back, but it was also going full speed; it would reach them in seconds.

In a last ditch effort to slow Alexandraie down, Belle checked her lane position, and then pulled her out to the left, away from the working horse in hopes that Alexandraie would ignore it.

She had no such luck. As soon as she heard the oncoming pounding hooves, Alexandraie bolted towards the rail once again. Though not nearly at her full speed, the filly was still going much faster than the work gallop that Mr. Gold was expecting.

Shit, Belle thought as the rounded the turn, just imagining Gold’s face as he saw his prize filly running off with her around the bend.

Well, at least we know that she remembers how to run, Belle cringed, still trying with all of her might to slow down as they galloped down the stretch. She could only hope that once they hit the 7/8^th’s pole after the finish - the customary “stop” point for works - Alexandraie would slow down.

Or not.

The 7/8^th’s pole came and went and all that changed was that Alexandraie’s pinned ears flicked forward, as if happy with herself for vanquishing her foe.

“Hey, girl, you had your fun…easy now,” Belle said, trying to saw the reins back and forth to get at least some response. Nothing.

Alexandraie, though, continued to run. And run. And run. It took Belle another complete turn around the track for her to get the filly to finally break down into a trot, and then finally a walk.

Out of breath, Belle released one of her hands from her death grip. It was bright red and white, adorned with the district imprints of the reins.

“Good god, what a sight!” Louis said, pulling up alongside her.

Belle shook her head, picking up the reins in both hands again. “Gold’s going to kill me.”

“Kill you? Isn’t that what he wanted you to do? Get her to run?”

“Not like that,” Belle said, pointing to the track.

“How else?” He shook his head with a smile. “By God, that was spectacular! You had the entire track stopped to watch you.”

Great. Belle closed her eyes with a wince.

“Look, she’s barely blowing at all too!”

Belle glanced down. He was right. Despite dragging Belle around for nearly three miles, Alexandraie didn’t seem tired at all. She was proudly bobbing her head in time with her still energetic walk, not even breathing hard.

As they made their way off the track, Belle’s dread over her oncoming dressing down amplified with every step. Well, the good news is that he can’t sue me accusing me that she won’t run.

She rounded the bend and spotted Gold immediately, waiting for her at the end of barn. Oh God, this is going to be bad.

A swarm of grooms delayed her for a moment, helping Belle off the horse and taking the filly to go bathe and cool out by walking through the barns.

Their departure left Belle alone with Gold. His expression was unreadable as he looked at her, tilting his head finally towards the end of the barn. “My office, please, Ms. French.”

Belle’s stomach dropped at his steely command, but with no choice, she followed the man silently on the short walk to his office.

He opened the door for her, flicking on the lights, revealing a richly appointed, albeit, slightly cluttered space. Nearly every wall, nook, and cranny was filled, or decorated with, some sort of trophy, art piece, or photograph.

“Please,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his large desk.

Belle sat down and watched him round the desk to sit in front of her. For such a slight man, his presence made him feel as if he was towering over her, pinned by his intimidating gaze.

He set his cane on a rack next to the wall, and sat down, taking his time to situate himself, before he reached into this pocket and he pulled out an old gold pocket watch, handing it over to her. “Do you know what this is?”

Belle took the round object from him; judging from its weight alone, it had to have been made of solid gold. “It’s a stop watch, sir,” she replied.

Gold’s lip quirked into a smile, but his eyes had no warmth for her. “And, could you tell me what it says, Ms. French?”

Belle glanced down at it, feeling a pang of dread, hoping that it wasn’t what she thought it was. “45 and 8.”

“Precisely. Now may I ask what–?“

“First, before you start,” Belle interjected, “please let me explain – “

Gold smirked as he shrugged at her. “I haven’t said anything yet.”

“I know,” she said quickly, “but, I need you to know that what just happened out there, wasn’t my intention. I mean, it was – I did want her to run, but not like that. I’m so sorry. That was my fault. She was fresh, and I should have put a stronger bit on her, but since she wasn’t been running, I thought that maybe I should put on a –“

“Ms. French?”

“Lighter bit on, but then, she hooked up with that horse. I had thought that I had broken her of that, but then she ran right though my hands, and when I tried to pull her off, but she just took off, and –“

“Ms. French!”

Belle flinched, jumping in her seat. “Yes?” she asked, closing her mouth awkwardly, realizing that she had left it agape.

“Why are you apologizing to me?”

“Because, I shouldn’t have let her do that.”

His brow furrowed deeper. “Excuse me?”

Belle frowned back, confused. “She ran away with me out there,” she said, gesturing to the barn behind them.

“And?”

“And that’s not a good thing?” Belle said, her confusion mounting by the second.

“Ms. French, take a look at the stop watch again.”

Belle did as he asked, unsure if she wanted the time to be correct or not, and then glanced back up. For the first time since she had seen him, excitement shown brightly in Gold’s golden flecked eyes.

“I clocked that as you were rounding the far turn, from the 5/16^th’s pole to the finish.”

Belle winced. “I’m sorry, I –“

“The second time you passed it.”

“What?” Belle shook her head, not sure if she heard him correctly. 45 and change was a fast work for a sprinter. For Alexandraie to carry that speed over a mile was unheard of.

Gold grinned, all trace of the gruff businessman fading away. “You heard me correctly, Ms. French – I clocked that time after you had already gone around the track once.”

“That can’t be correct.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No, of course not,” she said quickly.

“Then, what’s the problem?”

Confused, and unnerved by his mood swing, Belle held up a finger. “So…are you saying that you’re not mad at me for letting her run away?”

“No, I agree that that was extremely poor judgment on your part.”

Of course, it was, Belle sighed to herself, looking away, wondering why she thought that he would say anything else.

“But, it was also one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen.”

Belle’s head shot up. Although, he wasn’t managing what could be called a “happy” expression, Gold did look nonetheless genuine in his statement.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” he continued. “And you say that you were holding her back?”

“I told you, I wasn’t trying to work her; you saw me - I was standing up, pulling back the entire time.”

Gold’s lip twitched upwards, and he glanced away, standing up to go to a cabinet behind him. He opened a drawer, thumbing through some files, paying no attention to Belle.

She sat there quietly for a while, but then after a few minutes passed, Belle grew impatient, wondering what he was up to.

“So does this mean that you don’t need me any more? This fulfills our deal? You saw that she’ll run, right?”

“Not quite,” he said, turning back to her with a manila folder in his hand.

“Excuse me?”

“Our deal was for you to get her ready to for the next race as well. I’ll admit that you’ve readily fulfilled the first part of your deal with that little performance on the track, but you also agreed to train her up to her first race.”

“But Mr. Gold, there are plenty of more much more qualified trainers available here for you to hire, instead.”

He ignored her, opening the folder and slid it across to her. “An employment contract for you.”

Belle scanned over the document. It had been obviously prepared for her before her arrival, with her name typed out in all of the appropriate areas. “Mr. Gold,” she said, looking up. “I have my own training business. I don’t need to sign an employment contract from you. If you insist on me training Alexandraie for you, I’ll simply bill you at the end of the month.”

“Bill me?”

“Yes. You’ll be a customer of mine, since you’re requiring me to train her.”

Gold shook his head. “That’s not how I operate, Ms. French.”

Belle gave him a look, feeling exasperated with his attitude. She picked up the document from the desk to read it. An avid, to put it lightly, reader, she was able to read the document in under a minute. It wasn’t a bad deal. The contract entailed her training Alexandraie up to her next race, which was scheduled “TBD,” after which her contract would be terminated, or renewed as per their mutual agreement.

She continued to the second page. Gold agreed to pay for all of her room, board, meals, and insurance while she was under his employ, including a monthly salary of – What?

“Mr. Gold, you don’t need to pay me this much. I don’t charge this amount for six months of training, let alone one.”

“I pay whatever it costs to win,” he said matter-of-factly. “Besides, if that’s true, then you clearly don’t charge enough for your services, Ms. French.” He gave a nod towards the papers in her hand. “Besides your complaint of me paying you too much, do you have any other problems with the contract?”

“On her first race, you have ‘TBD.’ Do you have any plans for that, or will it be my choice?”

“I believe that we can come up with something together, don’t you?” he asked.

Not sure if she wanted to agree to that stipulation, or not, she nodded. “I believe so. I can come up with three options for you to choose from.”

Gold tipped his head in agreement.

“I’m assuming that our target is the Distaff at the end of the year?” Belle asked, feeling a bit mischievous.

Gold’s face twisted in disgust. “Ms. French, I did not buy this filly to win the Breeders’ Cup. I’ve won enough of those – I want to win the Derby.”

It took everything in Belle’s power to keep her features lax as she feigned confusion. “Which one?” she asked, enjoying that she could get under his skin a little as well.

“Which –“ he stopped himself at her widening grin. “Very funny, Ms. French.”

Belle’s smile grew, despite herself. “Do you have a pen?”

At this, he smiled back, taking the elaborate gold pen out of his front jacket pocket, and flipped it towards her with the grace of a seasoned magician.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it and signing her name on the contact line. She passed it back over to him where he signed his own name besides hers.

He stood, extending his hand towards her. “So, then, Ms. French. It appears we have a deal.”

“An agreement,” Belle corrected, taking his hand, finding it surprisingly cool and smooth. “One race,” she said, holding his eye, and finding another smile come to her face.

“One race,” he repeated, his sly grin making Belle want to read the contract again.

 

~+~

 

Despite her worries, Gold remained true to his word and after one week working for him, Belle had yet to find any hidden loophole to the contract that she had signed. In fact, she found that the hardest part of working for Gold was to find ways to keep busy all of her free time. She wasn’t used to having even a spare hour to herself at home. Here, she found that she was finished with work by noon, when she ran out of tasks from Louis, who humored her requests to help by letting her exercise and pony horses out to the track after she finished galloping Alexandraie.

The remainder of her day was spent between viewing all of the daily videos that Phillip sent her of her horses back home, and catching up with her reading. Coupled with the fact that Gold’s idea of “lodging” was letting her continue to stay in her suite in the Langham, Belle figured that she might as well be on vacation. She tried to justify it, by telling herself that she had never been on a vacation before, but it all still seemed a little indulgent on her part, no matter how many times Phillip assured her that all was well back home.

As for the job in which Gold hired her for, Belle found that Alexandraie was doing better than ever, especially following two key schooling sessions in which she reminded the strong-minded filly who got to make the speed decisions between the two of them. By the fourth day of her training, the filly was galloping around the track like a show horse, much to the dismay of the morning crowd at Clocker’s Corner, who had begun to come out early to watch the “show” Alexandraie put on.

Belle kept Gold informed of this progress via daily videos and voicemails, but she never got a response. In fact, she had yet to see, or hear, from the man ever since the day she arrived.

This, however, was business as usual, according to Gold’s main trainer, a charming man named Jefferson Hattier, who was based currently in Florida, training the majority of Gold’s champion fleet there. His advice to Belle was to not worry about Gold’s avoidance, but rather, she should try to avoid Gold at all costs. The lack of Gold’s presence meant that he was pleased with her work. That lack of contact, he said, was the key to why his own relationship with Gold had lasted as long as it had. The two only saw each other for major stakes races, and only then, if Gold’s horse made it to the winner’s circle.

Belle thought that it was a bizarre way to conduct a working relationship, considering the size of Gold’s horse racing operation, but Jefferson insisted upon it. He said that it made all of their memories of each other good ones.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

Belle put down the saddle she was carrying on the barn fence, and took out her phone from her back pocket; chuckling once she saw who was calling her.

He must have sensed me walking over his grave.

“Belle French,” she said in greeting, putting her phone to her ear.

“G’day, Miss French,” Jefferson repeated cheerfully in his dreadful fake Aussie accent. “How is your little protégée doing this morning? Have another dazzling morning workout?”

“She went around well this morning, but I wouldn’t call it ‘dazzling.’”

“That’s not what the Bloodhorse said. Have you been online at all yet?”

Belle glanced at the steaming horse that she had just exercised. “Not yet. I’ve been a little busy.”

“Can you get to a computer?”

“I’m about to get on another one,” she said. “Maybe later.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Jefferson said, sighing dramatically. “You insist on actually working in the mornings.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Belle laughed.

“Not at all,” Jefferson replied quickly. “Praise. I’m praising you. God knows that I don’t want the job that you’re doing with that filly out there, so I’ve made it my duty to tell you each day how much I love and appreciate all of the work that you’re doing.”

“Well, she’s all yours after this next race.”

“Shhh…” Jefferson hushed. “We don’t talk about that. Gold’s keeping you here forever.”

“No, he’s not,” Belle laughed.

“Shh, shh, shh, shh, what was that? Shh shh, you’re breaking up. I can’t hear you.”

Belle laughed her eyes and gave a wave to Louis passing by. “Why do you need me to get to a computer so badly?”

“They released the Derby Dozen today.”

“And?”

“And, guess who Glass listed as his #2 pick?” He paused dramatically. “I’m waiting…still waiting…”

Belle smiled, hoping that he wasn’t teasing her, even if the weekly top contender list was

“You do know what ‘guessing’ means, don’t you? That isn’t getting lost in translation with you? They have that where you’re from?”

“Revolutionary Guard?”

“What?”

Belle chuckled. “You said ‘guess.’”

Jefferson huffed in obvious disgust. “Ugh, you’re no fun!”

“But, he looked good in the video you sent me of him,” Belle said.

“He’s okay, but definitely no Alexandraie, that’s for sure. Your filly would kick his ass for fun, and then run around the track again and beat him again,” Jefferson said. “No, ol’ Rev snuck in at #9.” He paused. “You’re really not going to guess?”

“No, I’m superstitious.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Since, you won’t play properly, I suppose that I’ll tell you that your lil’ Aussie import is the #2 pick on his list.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. Now, would you like to hear what he said about you, or does that mess with your ‘superstitious’ beliefs?”

“Tell me, please,” Belle said, wanting to hear.

“All right, let me pull it up…okay, here we go. Number 2 – Alexandraie. This breakout Aussie star filly, purchased by Rumford Gold for $3 million in last month, started off her American tour earlier this month with a series of disastrous works at Santa Anita, leading to questions about the filly’s soundness, as well as her affinity to adapt to the dirt surface.”

“What? She’s not – “

“However – however, “Jefferson repeated, cutting her off. “…it seems that the Gold camp got smart and course corrected quickly, bringing in Alexandraie’s previous trainer, Belle Gold, from Australia to the States to train the filly. Ever since French’s arrival last week, the Ruffian-esque filly has dazzled in the mornings, starting off with an eye-popping workout in which the filly maintained consistent fractions of :22 to :23 for over a mile and a half. It seems as if all systems are a ‘go’ now that French is on board. Already tested against males in her last blow away start, look for his Lonhro filly to challenge for the top spot once she starts her prep races.”

“Wow.”

“I know. Pretty exciting. And spoiler alert – Glass is pretty much in love with Regina Mills who owns the number one horse, so technically, you can say that you’re the real number one.”

“Who’s number one?”

“Imperator.”

“The Breeder’s Cup winner,” Belle said, remembering the race.

“Yeah. Nice colt, but I don’t think that he’ll hold a candle to yours once they meet. So want to hear what they said about mine, now? Of course, you do,” he continued cheerily. “All right, nummmbber nine - Revolutionary Guard. This Hopeful and Champagne stakes winner was Rumford Gold’s number one Derby prospect until he gave an uncharacteristically dreadful performance in the Juvenile, finishing a dull, well-beaten 8^th. Look for this Officer colt to try and rebound in the Fountain of Youth. Questions abound. Doubtful.”

Belle winced for his sake. “Sorry.”

“’Questions abound’ and ‘doubtful,’ he says. Ha! I’d like to say that he’s wrong, but…well, let’s just say that I’m glad that I have you and your filly to take the heat off of me.”

“Until her next start,” Belle corrected, “and then you can get all the credit for her yourself.”

“Until next year, you said? That’s fabulous!”

Belle rolled her eyes. A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention and she spotted a black Bentley sedan drive up and park by the office. “Hey, Jefferson, I have to go. I think Mr. Gold just arrived.”

“Hide.”

“What?”

“Hide.”

“I’m not hiding,” Belle laughed. “I do have to hang up now though. Thank you for calling me with that.”

“You’re most certainly welcome,” Jefferson said.

“G’day, Jefferson.”

“You said it!”

Belle hung up on him mid-laugh. The first time that she had called the man, she had greeted him with a standard ‘g’day,’ and ever since he had latched onto teasing her about it.

Not wanting to keep Gold waiting, she picked up the saddle that she had been carrying and took it quickly to the tack room, placing it on the rack, and then paused at the mirror hanging on the wall.

Oh brother. Her hair was a mess after being under a helmet all morning and she had dirt and flicks of shavings stuck to her coat. Discarding the coat, she turned her attention to her hair, brushing it out with her fingers, and then pulling it in a makeshift knot bun.

She took another glance in the mirror and shrugged. Better. She admittedly didn’t look ready for a sit-down meeting, but she was at least, presentable – although, perhaps, not to “Mister Attention to Detail,” himself.

Satisfied with herself, she left the large room and walked the few steps to the adjacent office.

As soon as she opened the door, Belle’s head collided with the person exiting, striking something that felt like bone.

Ow! Belle stumbled back, holding her head.

Stunned from the impact and pain, Belle glanced up to see who she had hit, looking directly into none other than Gold’s hazel eyes.

“Oh God!” she said. “I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” she asked, feeling her head throb in time with her pulse.

Gold looked uncharacteristically at a loss for words, rubbing and moving his jaw side to side. “Christ, that hurt.”

“I’m so sorry,” Belle said, reaching out to examine his jaw, and then pulling back at the last second, remembering herself.

He opened his mouth again and she gasped, seeing blood.

“You’re bleeding!”

“I know,” he said. “Bit my tongue.”

“Here,” she said, directing him back inside. “Let me go get you an ice pack.”

“I don’t need it,” he protested, allowing her to guide him to the couch regardless. He sat down with a wince. “I do hope that you’re taking care of my horse better than this.”

Belle narrowed her eyes and cocked her hip. “You just couldn’t resist could you?”

Gold’s brow rose at her comment, making Belle cringe in return.

“I’ll be right back,” she said hurriedly, practically running out of the room to go find Louis before she embarrassed herself further.

She found him two stalls down, leading out a horse. “Louis!”

The stable manager stopped in his tracks. “Belle, what is wrong?”

“I need a Ziploc and ice.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice rising with worry, as he looked her over.

“No, but I just hit Mr. Gold in the jaw, so I need ice right now.”

Louis’s eyes widened even more. “What did he say for you to hit him? Did he do something to you?”

“What?” Belle frowned, shaking her head at the misunderstanding. “No. It was - I ran into him by accident.”

Louis nodded. “I’ll be right back, Chérie.” The tall man handed her off the horse he was holding, and then sprinted off down the barn aisle, disappearing around the corner. He reappeared less than a minute later with an ice pack and some towels. “Here you go, Miss Belle.”

“Thank you so much, Louis,” Belle said, turning on her heel to run with her newfound supplies to the office. This time she opened the door carefully, not wanting to repeat her mistake twice.

When she stepped back inside, she found that Gold had moved over to her makeshift work area in the far corner. She hadn’t wanted to use his desk for her work, so she had utilized the two chairs and coffee table for her small workspace instead.

“Mr. Gold?” His eyes lifted up to hers from the book he was reading and widened in surprise, as if just noticing her in the room. “I have ice,” she said, holding up the bag.

“I found something better,” he said, lifting a small tumbler filled with scotch in salute.

Undeterred, Belle went and knelt down beside his chair. She ignored his curious look and wrapped the cold ice pack in the towel that Louis had provided.

The second she tried to put it on his jaw, Gold jerked away. “I said, I’m fine, Ms. French,” he said. As if to prove his point, he took another sip of his scotch.

“That’s going to make it bruise worse,” she said, tipping her head to the crystal glass.

“I’d argue the opposite.”

“Really?” Belle said, arching her eyebrow. “If you drink that, you’re going to a horrible bruise in a couple hours.”

“No, I won’t.”

In no mood to argue, Belle snatched the drink from his hand.

Gold gawked at his empty hand. “You stole my drink,” he said in disbelief.

“I did,” Belle said tartly, proud of herself. She walked over and placed it on the nearby desk.

“May I have it back, please?”

“No.”

He frowned. “I said, ‘please.’”

“And, I said ‘no.’ I’m helping you not get a bruise across your face. Now, from someone who has gotten a lot of bruises in their lifetime, please trust me and let me put some ice on this.”

“I’ll be fine. Just give me the damn scotch already, you proved your point.”

Belle ignored him, and knelt down beside him again, picking up the ice pack. “What are you going to tell people when you have a black and blue face tomorrow?”

“That you hit me.”

“What?”

Gold’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “A quip, dearie. Not serious,” he said cheerfully, wagging his finger at her.

Belle narrowed her eyes and pressed the icepack to his chin. Gold hissed at the contact. “Hold your own icepack.”

“You’re giving me orders now?”

I wish, Belle thought, standing, stretching out her aching knees. She walked back and picked up his tumbler from the desk, and took it to small sink, built into the black marble bar on the opposite side of the room.

“That’s ‘22 Macallan!”

Belle rolled her eyes at the wall and put down the glass beside the sink. “I’m not throwing it away. I’m just putting it down here, while you ice your chin,” she said. “See?”

Appeased, Gold sat back down in his chair, picking up the blue journal that he had been reading earlier. “What is this?” he asked.

“My training log for Alexandraie,” Belle said, walking back over to him and sitting in the adjacent chair. “I started it when I got her,” she explained, as she watched him read the page describing the first day that she received Alexandraie to the farm. “I do it with all my horses. It's helpful for me to go back and see what worked for them and didn't.”

Gold flipped another page. “You’ve had her a long time,” he said, reading over her scrawled notes.

“Since she was a long yearling,” Belle agreed. She leaned over him and flipped over to a tabbed page in the back. “I’ve been looking for races for her, as you asked. I wrote down these training plans for her here.”

“I thought that we were going to discuss this together?” he asked, reading the page.

“Of course, we were. We are,” Belle said quickly. “These are just options, both for you to choose from, and depending on how she does in her next race.”

"After you leave us."

"Well, yes," Belle said, frowning. "Our agreement was for me to take her to her first race."

Gold flicked an eyebrow up at her. "Looking forward to that, are you?"

"Her race?"

"Leaving," he said. His eyes flicked up, locking with hers.

"I have a business at home that I have to get back to," she said with a shrug, dodging the question.  After this past week, her answer to his question about her leaving had swung wildly from an outstanding "yes," to a less sure "no." Not that she would tell Gold that.

"And what if I told you that I wanted you to train her up to the Derby itself as her only race?" he challenged.

"Then, I would tell you that you wouldn't be able to enter the Derby, since she wouldn't have any points to qualify for it."

Gold's lips tightened, and glanced back down to the page. Belle knew that he had no comeback to that. Horses no longer could enter based off their money earned alone – now they had to win “points” from their placings in prep races to qualify. Since she was from Australia, Alexandraie didn’t have any.

"Almost all of these are three race plans though,” he said, frowning. “Why not two? Hedging your bets?"

"Not exactly. I want to get a race in her sooner, rather than later, so we can see how she likes the dirt. After how fast she ran in her last two starts, I'm worried that she’ll bounce in this next one as well; I figure that we might as well get it out of the way early, so we can peak her for the Derby."

Gold snorted. "A nice way of telling me that she’s going to embarrass me in her next race."

"I didn't say that. She's actually been training extremely well, despite having that unscheduled…whatever that was last week. I'm just worried that after running like she did in her last two races, she might bounce. It happens."

"And, naturally, you'll be leaving right after she does."

"I have to go home at some point," Belle said. "She may run just fine. I just wanted to cover our bases, and write down training plans for every scenario, so she'll be fit and hopefully ready to go Derby day."

Gold tipped his head. "And, what about her little problem that she won't run for anyone, except for you?"

Belle bit her lip. "I'm working on that."

"'Working' on that?" he asked, lifting his brow.

Belle spread her hands. "It's only been a week. The first four days, I had to retrain her, so she wouldn't run away with me. Give me a couple days to get settled with her. Next week, I'll start looking at rider options."

"I've already had the top three riders attempt to ride her."

"I remember you mentioning that. But, we have time – I doubt you’ll have any problems finding a rider for her."

“Of that, I certainly won’t.”

“Did you hear about the new Bloodhorse rankings this morning?” Belle asked, wanting to move to a happier topic.

“Mr. Hattier left a rather exuberant voicemail this morning about that very article. It seems as if all the credit is yours, Ms. French.”

“Oh, no,” Belle said, waving him off.

“According to Mr. Hattier it is.”

Belle smiled. “I think that Mr. Hattier is prone to exaggerating a bit. Alexandraie is doing very well though. With her ranked like that, you’ll have agents begging to have their jockey’s ride her.”

“They already do that for my horses,” he said, flipping the page. “When will you be able to make a decision on her next start? Some of these are in a couple weeks.”

“I’ve scheduled her to work Saturday morning. Once I see how she comes out of that, I’ll be able to tell you what race will work best for her.”

“And after that race?”

“You’ll have my suggestions,” Belle said, nodding towards the blue handbook. “I’ll also be only a call away as well.”

Gold held her eye for a long moment. “Is there any chance of convincing you to stay until the Derby?”

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head at the tempting offer. “I have barn-full of clients waiting for me back home, and the Melbourne carnival starts in a couple months. I need to get my horses ready.”

“But, what if I became your only client?”

“What?”

“What if you trained for me full-time. I’ve looked at your racing operation – you’ve maintained a 61% win percentage with a barn of mediocre horses. You came here and fixed what all of these top trainers couldn’t in one day.”

“But, that wasn’t –“

“Don’t you want to win?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Then, become my trainer.”

Belle blinked, gob smacked. “Mr. Gold, I’m flattered. I really am, but – “

“But what? You can come here and manage my horses on the west coast, racing in all of the major stakes races, or you can go back home to training claimers again. I don’t see how this is a hard decision.”

“But, it’s my home.”

“So?”

Belle felt torn in two. To train stakes horses, like Alexandraie, was her dream. “Will you give me until after we race her to decide?” she asked. “Who knows? You might not even want to keep me after that anyways.”

“Perhaps,” Gold said casually, standing and collecting his cane. “But, something tells me, that that won’t be the case.” He tapped his fingers on the contract, as he passed by. “I must go. It was nice talking with you, Ms. French. I’ll look forward to hearing how she does on Saturday.”

“You’re not going to come watch?”

He paused by the door. “Would you like me to?”

“Of course.”

“Then, I will be there.”

“I’ll save you a place on the rail,” she said, smiling. “Oh, and Mr. Gold?” she said quickly, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about your chin.”

“Something to remember you by.” He grinned, flicking his hand up towards his red-marked face with aplomb. “Do think over my offer. I’ll be looking forward to hearing your answer.”

“I will. Have a good day.”

“And you, as well, Ms. French.”

 

~+~

 

However, three weeks passed by and Belle still didn’t know what to tell Gold regarding his offer – and Alexandraie’s debut race was a little less than twelve hours away.

Belle had gone through all of the pros and cons in her mind…and there were a lot of pros, as Jefferson and Louis kept reminding her. Gold, thankfully, had remained silent on the matter. In fact, Belle had only seen her enigmatic employer only a handful of times since they had agreed to enter Alexandraie in the Robert Lewis Stakes after the filly had worked a bullet time of 46 in four furlongs – the fastest work of not only the day, but of the week as well. Belle had told Gold that if they didn’t race her soon, then the filly was liable to tear the barn down. Alexandraie was getting more and more aggressive with each passing day.

So with no small amount of pressure put on Belle, reminding her that if Alexandraie’s lost, then it would be her fault, Gold agreed to enter the filly in the race finally.

Now with only a few hours until sunrise, Belle was second-guessing everything. She had tried to sleep, but all she had managed to do instead was to stare at the clock and watch the minutes pass by, one-by-one, until two in the morning.

Bored, and yet antsy at the same time, Belle had left her hotel, taking her well-read copy of The Princess Bride with her to the stables to read. The stables were always one of her favorite places to read, especially in the evenings after the majority of the workers had gone home. Her hope was that her racing mind would be quieted by the comforting, familiar sounds of the stables at night. Then, hopefully, she could get at least a couple hours of rest on the office’s couch, before she had to get up at 4:30.

After receiving some curious looks from the gate guards, Belle drove directly to Gold’s barn and parked in the vacant lot. At this hour, only Gold’s guards were present, along with their night groom, Mario, but she couldn’t see any of them around, except for the main guard, stationed out front. She gave the man a wave and stepped out of her car.

With her book in hand, she walked down the stalls, surveying each of the horses in each of the stalls. Each of them were blanketed up for the night and in various stages of rest, either sleeping lying down, or standing in the corner of their stalls. That was, all except Alexandraie. The tall black filly’s head shot out of her stall as soon as she heard Belle’s footsteps, her ears pinned back in her direction.

“Good evening to you too, girl,” Belle said, walking up to the stall.

One of the filly’s ears perked towards her, before flattening out once again, once she saw that Belle didn’t have any of her expected candy.

Always looking for a fight, Belle thought, going to the next stall, where Belle’s stable pony was stalled.

“Hey, Doc,” Belle murmured to the sleeping horse, lying down in the thick straw.

The black gelding lifted his head at the greeting, and then lay back down as soon as he saw it was Belle. The gentle old horse reminded Belle of her own stable pony, Chip, back at home. Despite his age, the ex-racehorse still had the speed to keep up with the horses he took to the track each morning. Of the three horses that Gold owned for ponying his horses to the track, he was the only one with a kind enough temperament to tolerate Alexandraie’s antics and fast enough to keep up with her. For those reasons alone, he had endeared himself to Belle.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked the gelding, grabbing his thick, unused blanket, hanging on the hook next to his stall.

She ducked under the webbed stall guard, and pulled the blanket into the stall, piling it up in the corner closest to the light. She kept an eye on Doc all the while, not wanting to spook him, but the gelding simply looked at her with sleepy disinterest.

With her makeshift “couch” assembled, Belle sat down and opened up her book. She had read the novel more times than she could count, nearly to the point of memorization, but she still found it enjoyable to read regardless.

Before long, she felt her eyelids begin to get heavy, despite reading one of her favorite passages of Westley fighting with Montoya. She yawned, rubbing her eyes, and checked her phone – 3:21. A couple more pages, she thought, at least until the end of the scene.

As she finished the last page of the chapter, Belle heard the distinct sound of footsteps walking down the aisle towards her.

A sliver of fear went through her, before she pushed it away. It’s just Mario, or one of the guards. However, as she continued to listen, the closer the steps came, she could hear how distinctly uneven the steps sounded.

Curious, Belle leaned towards the opening of Doc’s stall to see who was coming, but found that she couldn’t see anything unless she stood up.

Just wait, she thought, sitting back down on the blanket. They’ll be gone in a moment.

However, the footsteps stopped at the stall next to her.

“Hey, there, lil’ Lassy.”

Belle blinked in surprise at hearing Gold’s soft brogue by the stall next to her. What?

She held her breath and tried to hear what he was murmuring by the stall next to hers. At least she hasn’t tried to bite him yet, she mused, not hearing any curses, or retaliatory smacks.

After a few minutes, he stopped talking and resumed his path towards Belle.

She panicked at once, realizing that she was trapped. If Gold found her in here, he would think that she was either insane, or spying on him – neither of which she wanted. Thinking quickly, Belle closed her eyes and feigned sleep, hoping that he wouldn’t see her in the corner.

The footsteps paused by the front of Doc’s stall.

Belle held her breath as she heard Doc’s stall front being unclipped and Gold step into the stall. Oh God, he sees me.

He stopped right beside her, making Belle’s heart pound in his chest, as she held her breath.

What is he doing?

“Ms. French?” he whispered, touching her shoulder gently. “Belle?” he repeated, shaking her shoulder firmer.

Belle yawned, doing her best impression of someone waking up. “Mr. Gold?” she said, pretending to be surprised as she sat up, rubbing her eyes for good measure.

“You fell asleep,” he said.

“Oh, yes…I’m sorry. I was reading. What time is it?” she asked, yawning again.

“Three?”

“Three in the morning?”

He nodded. “Here,” he said, offering a hand to help her up.

“Thank you,” she said, taking his hand and standing, dusting herself off.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, watching her collect the stable blanket.

“Oh,” Belle said with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came her to read.”

“In a stall?”

“It’s quiet,” Belle said, knowing how crazy it sounded.

“I saw your car, and you weren’t in the office,” he explained, unclicking the stall guard, so they could exit. Belle followed him out and replaced the blanket on the hook. “Mario said that you came down this way and…” He shrugged.

“Thank you for waking me up,” Belle said, feeling only slightly guilty for lying.

“Do you need a ride back to the hotel?”

“No,” she said. “We’re going to get started here in an hour – I’ll just stay here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Thank you for offering though.”

He nodded, his lips twitching into hint of a smile. “Very well.”

“What are you doing here?” Belle asked. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she added quickly.

“I suppose I couldn’t sleep either,” he said after a long moment.

Belle smiled. “It’s quiet down here.”

His eyes softened again, and he nodded. “That, it is. I’ll leave you be then,” he said, turning away.

“Do you like tea?”

Gold froze in place. “Pardon?” he asked, looking startled at her question.

“I have some Darjeeling in the office. I can make some if you want, if you aren’t going home.”

For a second, Gold looked like he was about to flee, but then he relaxed and nodded. “I would like that.”

Belle smiled and nodded in return, not quite sure what had prompted her to ask him to stay. If Gold was curious as well, he didn’t comment on it as they walked the short distance to the office in silence.

Belle opened the door and flicked on the lights. “Give me a moment to start the tea maker.”

“There’s no rush,” he said, limping over to the couch. He sat down with a little hiss and stretched out his leg. It was the first time that Belle had seen him show any obvious pain from his leg.

“Do you need any aspirin, or ice, for that?”

His eye flicked up to hers. “Pardon?”

“Your leg,” she said, pointing to his outstretched leg, turned to the side. “I have some aspirin, if you need it.”

He opened his mouth, and Belle thought that he looked like he was about to decline, but then he surprised her and gave a slow nod. “If it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Belle smiled and went to her purse, taking out the small bottle that she took every morning. “The cold make it worse?” Belle asked, walking over to him and palming off three pills into his outstretched hand.

“Sometimes,” he murmured, throwing the pills back without any water.

“What happened?”

“An accident; a long time ago.” He shook his head, glancing away to the trophy case. “There’s not much to tell,”

“Have you tried surgery for it?”

“There’s nothing to be done,” he said coldly.

His abrupt shift in tone made Belle flinch. “Oh. I, um…I’m sorry.”

He held up a hand, waving off her apology. “It’s no matter.”

Belle bit her lip; feeling stung from his dismissal, she went back over to the tea machine to check on it. There were still a few minutes left on the timer – too long for her to continue to pretend to tend the tea and ignore the grumpy man sitting in.

She turned back around; Gold was staring absentmindedly at the photos on the wall.

Do the brave thing, she thought, walking over and sitting beside him. Her action startled him once again, his head jerking around at her, eyes going wide for a moment, before he reassumed his neutral composure.

“Couple more minutes left,” she said, forcing the cheer into her voice.

He nodded at her, and then turned back towards the photographs.

“Do you have a favorite?” Belle asked.

Gold’s head whipped around so quickly that Belle nearly let out a laugh. Apparently conversing with people, when not trying his hardest to intimidate them, was not Gold’s strong suit.

She pointed to the photos again. “Your wins. Do you have a favorite?”

He frowned, thinking, and pursed his lips to the side. “Not particularly.”

“Not one?” The entire office wall was filled with enough major stakes and Breeders’ Cup win photos for someone to brag about for years.

“I haven’t won the one that I want to win yet. When I do, then that will be my favorite.”

“And what race is that?”

“The Triple Crown.”

Belle let out a little laugh. “That would be my favorite, too.”

Gold frowned at her. “Are you mocking me?”

“What? No. Of course, not,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just…it hasn’t been done in thirty years – don’t you have something else that you want to win as well? You know…just in case.”

“In case, what?” he challenged.

“In case…” Belle huffed, and shook her head. Not worth it. “What’s your second favorite race that you’ve won, or want to win, then?”

“Horse of the Year.”

Why did I even ask?

He spread his hands to the side. “I fail to see why setting high goals is a bad thing.”

“I never said that it was,” Belle said, standing up at the sound of the tea maker “ding.” “In fact,” she continued, walking over to the tea maker, “if you win the Triple Crown, then you’ll win the Horse of the Year too, so technically, you could get both of them done in one year.” She pulled out two cups and poured the hot water into them. She turned around. “Do you prefer white or oolong?”

“I don’t have oolong here.”

Belle smiled, swinging the said unavailable bag up at him. “Yes, you do.” She put the bag by his cup, choosing the white Darjeeling for herself, and walked back over.

Gold picked up the tea bag and examined it, his brow scrunching as he read the label

“It’s poisoned,” Belle whispered into his ear, causing Gold jumped at the contact.

“What?”

Belle laughed at his offended expression. “It’s just tea, Gold; or do you prefer white Darjeeling, instead?”

“I prefer the oolong,” he said, putting the bag in his cup.

“I like both,” Belle said, dipping her packet in her own. “I switch between the two.”

“This is yours, then?”

She nodded. “I think that I’m the only person around here that prefers this to Starbucks.”

“I do, as well,” Gold said, sipping his cup. “This is very good. What is it?”

“A local brand from home that imports from India.”

He raised his brows, impressed, and took another sip. “So what about you, Ms. French?” he asked, turning to her. “What race would you like to win?”

“The Melbourne Cup,” Belle said automatically.

Gold snorted. “You didn’t have to think much about that.”

“You didn’t either,” Belle countered. “No,” she said, “Ever since I was little, I’ve dreamt of winning that race.”

“That’s quite the accomplishment down there, isn’t it?”

Belle nodded. “Biggest race of the year.”

“I suppose that I bought your best chance of winning it, then.”

“I hope not.” She took a sip of her tea. “She’s a great horse, but it’s part of the game. Horses come and go. Hopefully, I’ll luck out and get another like her sometime down the road.”

Gold remained silent for a long time. “My offer still stands, you know,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to go home. You can stay here and train her for me.”

“I know.”

“But?”

Belle bowed her head, not knowing what to say, feeling every bit of the late hour.

“It’s not what you want,” he finished.

“No,” she protested, looking up at him. “What you’ve offered me – it’s everything that I’ve wanted – to train top horses, see the world –“

“Then, what’s the problem?”

“I wouldn’t have done it myself,” she said, knowing her decision as soon as she said the words. “It’s taken me years to get my business where it is now. Everyone told me that I couldn’t do it, and to abandon the customers now, after they’ve trusted me…” She shook her head, frustrated. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“I understand.”

Belle looked up, taken aback by Gold’s soft tone.

“I doubt that you’d think this of me, but I know what it means to have people tell you that you can’t do something and to want to prove them wrong. I respect that. I simply wish that our circumstances were different. That’d you stay longer.”

“Me too,” Belle said honestly.

“I suppose that I could always sue you again, make you stay longer.”

“What?”

He snickered, but there was only warmth in his eyes this time.

“You didn’t need to sue me the first time,” she said, shaking her head. “A simple phone call is all it would’ve took.”

“But, then I would’ve owed you a favor,” he said, looking as if the mere idea of it brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

“And would that have been such a bad thing?”

“Yes,” he deadpanned with a nod.

Belle laughed. He’d never change.

He raised his shoulders. “I don’t like to owe people anything.”

“Even a simple favor?”

“Nothing is ever ‘simple’ when it comes to owing people something – there’s always a price.”

“Not with me.”

“Well, you’re not like most people.”

“Neither are you,” Belle countered. “You’re not the monster that everyone says that you are.”

Gold tipped his head, and leered, putting on a Cheshire grin. “Oh, but I am, dearie.”

“No, you’re not,” Belle said, waving him off. “You want people to think that, for whatever reason, but I know that there’s a good person inside you,” she said, leaning forward. “No matter how much you want to deny it.”

“And, how would you know that?” Gold challenged, leaning forward to stare directly in her eyes.

“Because, evil monsters,” she whispered, leaning closer. “Don’t. Drink…tea.”

Gold broke into a deep, rumbling laugh, and shook his head, causing Belle to laugh as well.

“I going to miss you, Ms. French.”

“This isn’t goodbye. You’ll see me again.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding, his lips pulling into a tight smile. “Of course.”

“But, first things, first, though,” she said brightly, forcing a smile herself. “Let me win this race for you today.”

“Of that,” he said, raising his cup towards her. “I have no doubt.”

 

~+~

 

Neither, it seemed, did the bettors.

With ten minutes until post time, the bettors had bet down Alexandria from her original morning line odds of 3-1 down to 7-5, making her the overwhelming favorite to win.

“She looks ready to run," Louis said confidently.

Belle snorted at the comment whispered in her ear, forgetting for a moment that the Frenchman was standing beside her. “A little too ready,” she replied watching Alexandraie abruptly plant her feet and give a little half rear before the men had a chance to pull her down.

The filly had always been a tad rank in the paddock before a race, but she was putting on a show now, dragging her two grooms around the small saddling barn, egged on by the crowd whistling as she passed.

“Nonsense. I have read the form, Chérie – there is no one in here who can even attempt to run with our filly.”

“Let’s hope,” Belle said, looking at the other contenders saddling up in the adjacent stalls.

The Lewis’ Stakes ended up being a medium-sized field, with only eight horses. Most of them were nice horses, except for a lone 65-1 long shot, who was about to get run into the ground by the others. Belle figured that as long as nothing drastic happened, she had to grudgingly agree with Louis - rest of the field didn’t look like they stood a chance against Allie.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

The old buzzer above the Jockey’s room door sounded, signaling the time for the horses to leave the saddling area and go out into the paddock to be mounted, and not a moment too soon as far as Belle was concerned.

“Shall we?” Louis asked, giving her a little extravagant flourish of his hand as he bowed toward the exit.

Belle laughed, feeling a little of her tension leave with it. “Let’s wait our turn, first.”

“Very well,” the man sighed, giving a wary look to the snorting Alexandraie behind him.

One by one the horses exited the old fashioned barn up the small incline in order. Once outside, they walked across the narrow, rubber-matted pathway to the beautiful landscaped outside paddock. As draw number 6, Alexandraie had to wait for the five horses before her to leave, before exiting the saddling area.

Once the five horse walked up the short ramp, Belle turned to Alexandraie’s grooms. “Ready?”

The men looked less than thrilled with the prospect of leading the filly out of the barn, but nodded to her regardless, and lead the prancing filly out of the stall.

“Well, she certainly looks on her toes today,” a cheery voice said behind them.

Belle turned, and smiled at their small jockey, dressed in Gold’s black and gold silk’s walking towards them with her whip tucked under her arm. “That she most certainly is,” Belle agreed.

“Good. I love it when she's feisty,” Matilda “Tink” Taylor said with a smile, falling into step with them. Another Australian import, Tink was the lone jockey that had been able to get along with Alexandraie amongst the three potential riders that Belle had tried out. Whether it was the size, the similar accent, or the fact that she was female, her and Alexandraie had clicked from their first ride, rattling off a series of excellent works, and thus relieving a huge burden of finding someone to ride the filly off Belle’s shoulders in the process.

“Same plan as before?” Tink asked, strapping on her helmet.

Belle nodded. “She’s going to want to go to the front, but try to get her to relax off the pace. She might be a little strong today – just don’t let her get into a duel with any of them, if they try to challenge for the lead.”

“I can do that,” Tink said confidently.

One of the reasons Belle thought that Tink got along so well with Allie was that she was just as spirited as she was. When Tink said that she could “do that,” she left no doubt that she could. She was 4 feet, 10 inches of pure confidence. Her record reflected it too. Tink was an Eclipse finalist for Jockey of the Year; an exceptional accomplishment for any rider, but even more so because she was a woman. Her high demand had forced Gold to pay her a premium fee to get her to fly out from her New York base and stay in Santa Anita to ride the filly exclusively. Not that he cared- as he had told Belle on numerous occasions.

Leaving Alexandraie's side, the three walked straight into the grassy paddock at the center of the walking ring, past the elegant bronze of Seabiscuit, and to their designated number six placard on the edge of the green.

A tall, handsome man, standing by the number next to theirs, smiled at their approach. “Ahh, it looks like the international contingent has finally arrived,” he said, his own Irish accent curiously thick, Belle noted.

“You’re one to talk, Hook,” Tink scoffed, as if reading Belle's mind.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you, Tink. It’s been much too long since you rode out here.”

Tink snorted, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Sorry, I can’t say the same about you.”

The dark-haired man held a hand up to his chest. “You wound me, love.”

“I doubt anyone could wound you, Hook,” Tink shot back. “Oh wait – “ She paused dramatically, and then held up her hand, giving him a sarcastic smile.

Belle frowned, confused, until man pulled his hand out of his pocket – or what used to be his hand. In place of his right hand was a metal prosthetic that resembled more of a hooked claw than a hand. Ahh. Killian Jones. She knew that he’d looked familiar, but with his large sunglasses covering his eyes, she hadn’t recognized the leading trainer.

“I’m shocked that you’d hire this pixie, Miss French, especially with that filly of yours,” Jones said.

“She was the best choice,” Belle said, taken aback by his familiarity with her. Not wanting to start a conversation with the man, though, she turned away, feigning looking for her filly.

“You know, I don’t believe we’ve formally met, yet,” Jones continued.

Belle glanced over her shoulder at him, and forced a smile. “No, I don’t believe we have. Belle French.”

“Killian Jones," he said. "The honor is all mine.”

Belle nodded, and then turned away once again.

Not one to take a hint, Jones followed her. "I heard that you've wised up to get away from that old crocodile,” he continued. “Smart girl. Shame that you're not staying in the states, though. We have a shortage of talented trainers, such as yourself, here."

“Who said that I’m leaving the states?” Belle countered, growing annoyed with Jones’ familiarity with her.

“Oh, I know everything love.” He smiled. “Not that I blame you. I’d want to get as far away from that bastard as I could too.”

"Do you have a horse running in this, Mr. Jones?" Belle asked, changing the subject, and wanting nothing more than for him to shut up.

"Killian, please," he corrected. "And yes, I have the five. Nothing compared to yours, but I hope that he’ll give us a good show."

Jolly Roger – the 65-1 long shot. Why am I surprised? Belle forced another smile, now having a pretty good idea of why that particular horse was running out of its league in this race. With with his obviously negative attitude towards Gold, Belle guessed that Jones’ horse was most likely a “rabbit” for Alexandraie to chase and tire her out.

The call of “riders up” saved her from any further conversation.

"Good luck in the race, Mr. Jones,” she said over her shoulder, walking away quickly with Tink.

“Bastard, isn’t he?” Tink commented with a snort.

Belle didn’t have time to reply, as Alexandraie approached their side in two strides, her black coat simply glistening in the late afternoon light. Belle walked quickly alongside her and held out her hand to boost Tink up. The jockey flew up, landing gracefully in the saddle.

“Have a safe ride,” Belle said.

“We’ll have fun,” Tink winked over her shoulder, walking off.

Belle caught Louis’s eye to leave, not wanting to be cornered by Jones again, and strode out of the paddock.

“Where do you want to watch?” Louis asked.

“The rail,” Belle said automatically. Gold had offered her to watch the race with him in his box, but Belle was too nervous. She needed to be down close to the action.

Louis took her arm and directed her to a side door, which opened up to a darkened stairway. “A secret way.” He grinned.

Belle smiled and allowed him to lead her down and then up the dark staircase, which effectively tunneled under the grandstands. They emerged on the rail next to the winner’s circle, just as the horses were emerging from the tunnel for the post parade.

She waited, holding her breath, until she spotted her black filly jog out of the tunnel, towering over her lead pony. Thankfully, she was behaving, albeit prancing all the way. In her first two starts, as was common practice in Australia, Alexandraie had been hand led to the track and then allowed to warm up on her own. Today, Belle had chosen for her to be escorted to the gate by the pony, as was the custom in American racing. If Alexandraie was going to be a true Derby horse, Belle figured that she might as well get used to how it was going to be here.

“She looks good, Belle,” Louis murmured in her ear.

Belle could only nod, too nervous to say anything. She could feel her palms begin to sweat and her whole body felt on edge. I need a drink, she thought.

“The horses are approaching the starting gate,” the track announcer called out over the speakers, sending a fresh jolt of adrenaline through Belle. 

Come on girl. You can do this. Please do this, Belle willed, watching the horses approach the gate on the stretch run on the huge video monitors.

The race was a mile and an eighth – a little over one lap on the track  - thus, they would get to see the horses go by twice, since they broke from the gate right in front of them.

Belle watched the first horses go into the gate without incident, and then held her breath as the gate workers grabbed Alexandraie’s bridle and led her in the narrow stall. The filly walked in like a professional and stood square, at the ready, as she had been trained.

Good girl.

“And the filly goes in nicely,” the announcer stated. “One more to go…all loaded. All set…”

RING!

The doors snapped open and all of the horses lunged out at once.

“Anddd they’re off!”

Belle held her breath, watching her huge black filly shoot forward to the front of the field in two strides. As expected, Jones’ horse went with her, running stride for stride with her as they flew by Belle and into the first turn.

“And they’re racing off into the first turn. Alexandraie is in front, followed closely by Jolly Roger. They’re by two in front, leading the field.”

The field became quickly separated into two groups – a match race between Alexandraie and Jolly Roger, and then the rest of the field following five lengths behind.

Belle jumped up, digging her fingers in her hair. They were going too fast. Slow her down! Slow her down!

“Oh, look at the time!” the announcer called out excitedly. “They went 22 and ¾ in that first opening quarter. The filly is going to be tested today. She’s going to have to work for every step, after that punishing quarter mile!”

“Oh God,” Belle breathed. That time was a suicidal fraction for this type of race– if Tink didn’t slow her down, then Alexandraie would be exhausted by the time she got to the half.

“It’s okay,” Louis said, holding her hand. “Look – Tink has her right where she wants her.”

It was true – Tink was sitting eerily still – not moving at all, as they continued to increase their lead.

“And it’s all Alexandraie and Jolly Roger today,” the announcer continued. “The filly is moving well. And look at this! They went 44 and 2 in that half mile!”

Jesus. Belle’s palms broke into an all out sweat, and she ran a hand over her face. Too fast. They were going too fast.

“And, they’re moving into the far turn, and Alexandraie is making her move!  Look at her go. Cool Hollywood has moved up to pass Jolly Roger for second, but look at the filly! She’s increased her lead by two.”

Come on, Allie. Come on, Allie, Belle chanted, beginning to jump in place, egging her filly on, as she watched the black filly strike the top of the stretch, flying around the bend, leading the field all by herself.

“And look at this! Alexandraie is increasing her lead further. She’s opening up on the field – 5 lengths! 6 lengths!”

“Come on, Allie!” Belle yelled, jumping higher, watching Alexandraie increase her lead. “Come on, Allie!”

“And she’s still coming! Oh, look at this super filly! She’s not done yet. 9…10…12 lengths,” the announcer yelled excitedly.

The crowd roared, as Alexandraie drove on down the stretch, passing the 8^th pole. Tink hovered on her back, not even touching her with the whip as the filly continued to run even faster.

Belle screamed, using Louis’s shoulder a prop to jump even higher. “Come on, Allie!”

“And she is destroying this field! 17, 18, she’s up to over twenty lengths! Oh, what a filly! Alexandraie and Matilda Taylor have made this look easy!”

“Ahhhh!” Belle screamed in excitement, laughing as she watched the duo cross the finish line all by themselves.

“Alexandraie wins the Bob Lewis Stakes in spectacular fashion!” the announcer yelled. “And look at the time! 1:22! That’s a new track record! Oh, what a filly!”

Belle couldn’t stop laughing or shaking, as Louis twirled her around in his own excitement. “She did it!” she laughed, jumping again.

“She was spectacular!” Louis cheered back.

“I can’t believe she just did that! How did she just do that?” Belle asked, unable to stop laughing.

A cheer went up in the crowd as Alexandraie galloped back to the winner’s circle with a exuberant Tink on her back, pumping her fist at the crowd as she pulled up the filly to a stop.

Belle ran out onto the track. “Tink!”

Tink swung her head around at Belle’s voice. “She was amazing!” the jockey yelled, beaming.

“No, you were amazing,” Belle said, reaching her side. “I was so scared when I saw the time, and then you….you were amazing!”

“No, she was,” Tink said, giving Alexandraie a pat. “I didn’t have to use my whip on her once. She went along so easy – she’s an amazing horse!”

Belle smiled, and hugged Alexandraie, pressing a kiss to her hot neck. “You were such a good girl,” she said to her, giving her another pat on the neck, as her grooms continued to walk her around in a circle, cooling her off as they waited for the trophy presentation.

Gold! Belle thought suddenly, spinning around to see where he was. She couldn’t believe that she had forgotten him.

The track was too packed with lingering horses and trainers unsaddling their horses for Belle to begin to try and find him, so she threaded her way through the crowd back to the winner’s circle, accepting congratulations on the way, figuring that he’d likely be there.

She wasn’t disappointed, spotting him immediately at the entrance to the small area, talking with an elegant woman with pitch-black hair, dressed in a beautiful bright red coat.

Curiously though, as Belle got closer, she saw that he didn’t look pleased or excited in the least; instead, he looked rather angry. Did not see the race?

Before she could call out his name, she watched Jones intercept the duo, taking his place at the woman’s side. Well, that certainly explains the bad mood, Belle thought.

Torn between interrupting their obvious tense conversation and rescuing Gold from the foul trainer, Belle opted go see him, still feeling high from the win.

“Mr. Gold!” she called out.

All three heads swung around at her, but only Gold returned her smile, small as it was.

“Congratulations,” he said, his smile growing as she reached his side. “She was very impressive.”

“No, congratulations to you!” Belle said, grabbing his arm in her excitement. “Did you see that time? It’s unbelievable. Tink said that she did it all on her own too.”

“I did.” He nodded, his smile growing. “She was everything you promised, and more.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Rumford?” the woman interrupted.

Belle started, forgetting for a moment that there were two other people standing next to them.

The corner of Gold’s lip quirked upwards. “Why, of course. Belle French, this is Regina Mills, my former protégée, and her trainer, Killian Jones; you’d do best to avoid both of them in the future.”

“Likewise, with him, if you know what’s best for you,” Regina countered, smiling sweetly at Belle, through her perfect white teeth resembled a snarl rather than a true smile.

“Ms. French and I have already been acquainted,” Jones said, smiling as well.

That drew a sharp look from Gold, his head snapping towards her.

“I met Mr. Jones in the paddock before the race,” Belle said smoothly. “He had the long shot that hooked up with Alexandraie at the beginning.”

“I thought that my Jolly Roger gave a valiant effort,” Regina said, “but, then again, he’s no Imperator.”

Belle recognized the name at once – Imperator was the number one horse above Alexandraie in the all the recent national Derby polls.

“I’d say so,” Gold scoffed. “He’s barely even a racehorse.”

“Don’t sound so confident, Gold. That was hardly a Derby-quality field that your filly just beat. Let’s wait and see how she stands up in real competition. Especially, when you no longer have your little wonder trainer helping you.”

“I believe that I was the one that taught you what to look for in a quality horse, Regina. I know a winner when I see one. Alexandraie will continue to do quite well, even if I must lose Ms. French.”

Regina snickered. “Says the man with how many Derby winners?” She put her finger to her chin. “Oh, yes…none.”

Belle could feel Gold tense in anger next to her.

“Take it from someone who’s won three,” she continued haughtily. “Get a better horse, because you’re going to need it when you face mine.” She turned to Belle. “It’s been a pleasure, Ms. French. Have a safe trip back to wherever it is that you came from.”

Belle smiled sweetly back. “Thank you. And good luck on facing Alexandraie in the future, because as Mr. Gold said, your colt’s going to need it.”

“We shall see,” she said, leveling her glare at Gold.

Gold, though, simply smiled and placed his hand on the small of Belle’s back. “I believe that we’re needed down the winner’s circle. You might want to go find an outrider to go get your colt,” he said, tipping his head to the track. “I believe that he might have gotten lost on the way to the finish line.”

With a parting smirk, Gold placed his hand gently on Belle’s back. As he directed them away, Belle saw Jones’ foot shoot out in front of Gold’s bad leg, causing him to trip and drag both of them down the small flight of steps to the floor in front of everyone.

Belle landed hard on her side next to Gold. She looked up to see Jones and Mills snickering and watching the scene with perverse glee. She turned back to Gold, who was still on his side. “Mr. Gold,” she said, touching his shoulder, helping him up. “Are you right?”

Gold winced and leaned up on his elbow, looking around in confusion, obviously in shock, looking like a mere shadow of his imposing self.

“Mr. Gold?” Belle asked, trying to catch his eye.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, his mask of confidence returning once again. “Help me up, please.”

She didn’t believe him, but still jumped up and offered an arm, helping him stand. Once up, Louis was at their side, Gold’s cane in hand.

“Sir,” he said, handing over the gilded object.

“Thank you, Mr. Mieneer,” Gold said, giving his manager a nod. “Are you all right?” he asked Belle.

Belle adjusted her lopsided pant legs, and nodded. “I’m fine,” she lied. Her right leg was actually killing her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Belle whispered, brushing the stray dirt off his sleeve for him.

He took a deep breath, obviously in still pain, and waved her off with a grimace. “Just took a bad step.”

“No, he tripped you,” Belle growled, incensed. She looked over her shoulder at Jones and Mills, who were still laughing at them. Those fucking assholes, I’m going to knock those smug smiles right off –

A hand on her shoulder stopped her train of thought. “Let’s take our picture, Ms. French,” Gold murmured, ignoring them and not looking back. “I’ll deal with them later.”

Belle huffed, giving the duo her best death stare, before allowing Gold to escort her to the winner’s circle, where Alexandraie was walking in.

The big filly pranced in, not looking as if she had just run in a race. She threw her head up in protest as the grooms tried to steady her in the middle of the large group assembled for the picture.

Belle left Gold to go accept his barrage of “congratulations” from the group, while she went to Alexandraie’s side. She didn’t trust the filly not to make a scene with this many people surrounding her. All she needed was for an errant kick to send one of Gold’s rich acquaintances flying.

“On three!” the photographer called out, ceasing the conversations around her. “One…two…”

Flash!

The crowd let out a cheer after the picture was taken, and then began to disperse as quickly as they came.

Louis came up and steadied the filly, so Tink could jump off and rush to her next race.

“Good girl,” Belle said, giving Alexandraie on last pet as Louis walked her out of the circle. “I’ll follow you back,” she told the smiling manager.

“See you there.” Louis smiled, leading the filly off.

As the crowd dispersed, Belle spotted Gold still in the center of the winner’s circle, holding his crystal trophy and talking with an HRTV reporter. He turned suddenly, catching Belle’s eye.

Startled, Belle smiled automatically, feeling caught looking at him. Gold, though, seemed genuinely happy, excusing himself from the reporter.

“Are you all right?” Belle asked, once he reached her side. His leg looked like it pained him more than usual, as he grimaced with every step.

“I’ve had worse,” he said, waving her concern off. “And I’ve found that victory soothes any small ache.”

“It was quite the victory,” Belle agreed.

“Thanks to you.”

Belle shook her head. “That was all her.”

Gold gestured her forward to walk with him. “Join me for a victory celebration?”

“I have to go back and check on the her,” Belle said, tipping her head towards the opposite path.

“Of course.” He nodded. “In that case…” he reached into his jacket and produced an envelope. “The termination of our deal,” he said, holding the envelope out to her, “along with your payment.”

Belle took it from his hand and forced a smile. “Thank you.”

He ducked his head away from her. “Are you sure that you won’t stay?”

“I can’t,” she said apologetically. “I wish, but –“

“No need, Ms. French. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I just couldn’t resist asking again.”

“I would, you know, if it wasn’t for…”

His lips twitched up into a small smile as he nodded in understanding. “I know. If only.”

“The good news is that you don’t have to call me Ms. French anymore,” Belle said lightly. “You can call me Belle. I don’t work for you anymore.”

“As you wish…Ms. French.”

Belle laughed, and closed the distance between them without thinking, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug. Gold stiffened immediately at her touch, but then slowly relaxed, his arms tentatively returning her embrace. “Thank you, for everything,” she said, stepping away before he got too uncomfortable. “I really have enjoyed our time together.”

Gold nodded, looking momentarily at a loss for words.

“You’ll let me know how she does, and if you need any help, right?”

“Of course.”

Belle swallowed, and nodded, smiling.

“Take care, Ms. French.”

“You too, Mr. Gold,” Belle said.

With that, Gold gave her one last look and then turned away.

Belle sighed, forcing a smile as she watched him walk away, unable to shake the feeling that this was the last time she saw him.

 

~+~

 

Or not.

Belle didn’t know when it happened, but somewhere between the statue of Zenyatta and the quarantine barn, she had come to the decision that she needed to stay.

Not permanently, of course, but flying home to Melbourne seemed impossible after what had happened today. No, she decided, she was going to win the Derby for Gold and for Alexandraie.

Her first phone call, once she had ensured that Alexandraie had cooled out safely, had been to Ariel, her best friend since childhood, and her personal sounding board. Belle knew – or, rather, had been told many, many times - that she had a problem with her impulsiveness, so she needed to make sure that she wasn’t throwing away her career by staying. But as Ariel reminded her, if she won the Kentucky Derby, and especially for someone with Gold’s prestige, then wouldn’t her business only prosper? And plus, wasn’t that her job? To win big races?

Belle couldn’t argue with that. Her second call, though, had been to Phillip to make sure if her plan was even feasible. She wasn’t about to abandon him during the fall carnival. However, Phillip, like Ariel, had been completely supportive of the idea. He had even seemed a little excited at the prospect of taking on the operation on his own.

The third phone call had been the hardest. It had been to her father.

Belle had been forced to withstand nearly a half-hour of her father ranting, telling her that she shouldn’t throw her life away for a man, whose only claim on her was a frivolous lawsuit that would be thrown out of any court. Belle had tried to explain to him that it was only until May, and that Gold wasn’t the man she thought he was – that he was a good man, albeit a strange one who thought that he had to resort to drastic measures to get someone to help him. Her father would hear none of it, hanging up on her once she insisted that her decision was made.

Her last call, though, had her heart fluttering in her chest with each passing ring, as she paced her small hotel room. It had taken her the better part of an hour to come up with her little pitch, and now she was starting to lose the courage to do it.

Ring. Ring. Rin-

“Hello?”

“Mr. Gold,” Belle greeted back, a smile coming to her face at the sound of his voice.

“Ms. French,” he said, sounding surprised. “What can I do for you? Did you have a problem with your flight?”

Belle turned on her heel, switching directions to walk towards the window. “Ahh.. no. I mean, yes. Yes, I do.”

Gold growled. “I specifically told Cogsworth to –“

“No, no, no. It’s not anything that he did.”

“Then, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Belle swore that he could hear her heart pounding on the phone. “I want to change our deal.”

Gold went silent on the other end.

“I want to stay,” Belle said, charging ahead before she lost her courage. “I want help you win the Kentucky Derby.”