Page 80 of Royal Affair
As I moved away, I heard heavy footsteps approaching from the entrance of the barn. Signor Rossi, the elderly farmer who owned the property, entered with a walking stick in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
"Eccellente!" he exclaimed, his weathered face creasing with delight as he spotted the newborn foal. "A cause for celebration!"
Dr. Vitale smiled, something softening in her professional demeanor. "Just a small glass, Papà. We still have work to do."
I realised they were father and daughter. Signor Rossi moved among us, clapping backs and offering enthusiastic congratulations in a mixture of Italian and heavily accented English. When he reached James, he paused, studying him with shrewd eyes.
"Tu sei italiano?" ( You are Italian?) he asked, apparently noticing James's comfort with the language.
"Metà italiano," (half Italian) James replied. "Mio padre era di Siracusa." (my father was from Syracuse)
Signor Rossi's face lit up, and he launched into rapid Italian, too quick for me to catch more than occasional words with my limited knowledge. James listened attentively, responding with respect and what appeared to be genuine interest.
As I helped Dr. Vitale with the aftercare examination of mother and foal, I kept one ear on their conversation, catching fragments about farming methods, local vintages, and Sicily's changing landscape.
Then Signor Rossi's voice dropped slightly, taking on a conspiratorial tone. I glanced over to see him nodding in my direction, speaking emphatically to James, whose expression had frozen into careful neutrality.
"Quella ragazza—è bellissima," I heard clearly, making out ' (that girl—she's beautiful).' I pretended to focus on the foal's vital signs, straining to hear more.
"Una donna così splendida non aspetta per sempre,"(A woman this beautiful doesn’t wait forever) Signor Rossi continued, gesturing expressively. "Se non la prendi tu, lo farà qualcun altro. Guarda quel Marcus—occhi come un lupo affamato!" (If you don't take it,someone else will. Look at that marco—eyes like a hungry wolf)
Though my Italian wasn't fluent, I understood enough to feel heat rising to my cheeks. The old farmer was essentially telling James that a woman like me wouldn't wait forever, and if he didn't 'take me,' someone else would—specifically mentioning Marcus's 'hungry wolf eyes.'
James's response was too low to catch, but whatever he said made Signor Rossi shake his head in obvious disagreement.
"Sciocchezze!" (nonsence!) the old man exclaimed. "La vita è troppo breve per la paura. Fidati di un vecchio—l'amore e il buon vino non dovrebbero mai essere rimandati."
(Life is too short for fear. Trust an old man—love and good wine should never be postponed.)
I ducked my head to hide my smile, continuing my examination of the foal with deliberate focus. James clearly had not expected me to understand the exchange, and I decided to keep that knowledge to myself—at least for now.
The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity—additional examinations for the mare and foal, routine vaccinations for a herd of goats, and an emergency consultation for a local family's ailing pet rabbit. Through it all, James maintained his watchful presence, his eyes tracking me constantly, particularly when Marcus or the other interns were nearby.
By the time we headed back to the beach house, the sun was setting over the Mediterranean, painting the landscape in shades of gold and rose. James drove in silence, his profile rigid against the kaleidoscope of colors outside the window.
"Thank you for helping today," I said, breaking the silence. "With the mare."
He nodded once, eyes fixed on the winding coastal road. "It was necessary."
"You're good with animals. I wouldn't have expected that."
A small furrow appeared between his brows. "There's a lot you don't know about me."
"Whose fault is that?" I countered softly. "You're not exactly forthcoming."
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "It's not relevant to my job."
"And if I want to know, anyway? Not as your client, but as...," I hesitated, unsure how to define what we were to each other now. "As someone who cares."
He did not answer; the silence stretched between us until we reached the beach house. As we entered, the evening air was still warm; the interior was cool and welcoming after the dusty heat of the farm.
"I'll be in the adjacent room as arranged," James said immediately, his voice clipped. "Protocol for a typical evening."
I nodded, understanding his need for space. "I'll shower and change."
Under the cool spray, I finally allowed myself to process the day—the exhilaration of the successful birth, the satisfaction of putting my training into practice, and beneath it all, the constant awareness of James. His hands had been so gentle, considering the mare was frightened. How his body had tensed whenever Marcus approached me. How his eyes had darkened when Signor Rossi spoke of my beauty.
By the time I emerged, wrapped in a light sundress with my hair still damp, the sun had set completely. Through the open terrace doors, I could see James sitting by the pool, the underwater lights casting blue reflections across his pensive face. He had changed into more casual clothes—shorts and a t-shirt that revealed the muscular arms usually hidden beneath his tactical gear.
