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“What?”
“He apologized to me,” she repeats and then whimpers in pain when she tries to move. I wonder how hard she might have hit her head. If her position is any indication, very strong and straight into the wall.
“Galard!” The name of the animal comes out between my teeth when the unprecedented urgency to get to Gabriella and check on her condition settles in my veins.
“Don’t sc...” she begins, but stops to gasp in pain again, and I decide that putting Galard in the stall is not a bigger priority than reaching mybambina.
The horse won't attack her again with me here, anyway. However, when I take a step with the intention of closing the distance between Gabriella and me, Galard puts himself in my path in such an obvious challenge that I stop my steps, stunned.Upon noticing the animal's behavior, Gabriella lets out a long sigh with some difficulty.
“It's okay, Gal.” Did she just call Galard by a nickname? Gal? “He won't argue with me, nor with you. He understood that it was an accident,” she explains, sounding absolutely certain that the horse is considering her, I watch, astonished, as Galard retreats before turning his body, turning his back on me and approaching Gabriella enough to brush his big face against hers.
The most irascible animal in Sicily caresses Gabriella's face and I blink, unable to believe what my eyes are seeing. Thebambinagives a pained little laugh before continuing her conversation with the horse.
“I know. I know. It's okay, Gal. I already said I forgave you, don't be dramatic.” There is a five-second pause during which, apparently, the voices in Gabriella's head whisper a response that she attributes to the horse before the Brazilian speaks again. “I am fine. I'll look great after a bath, but what about your paw? Did the snake bite you, Gal?”
I laugh, unable to contain myself, because she is absurd. Gabriella is absurd! She was hit by an animal of Gallard's size and is now petting him and trying to calm him, worried about the horse's health when her own body is obviously in need of care.
Gabriella smiles at me in yet another meaningless reaction. She's hurt, in pain, more worried about the horse than herself, and smiling at me. This is the result of a concussion. Needs to be. Not even her can be this impossible to understand.
I shake my head from side to side, slowly denying it, but the smile on my face refuses to die.
“Can you help me up?” she asks, waking me up from the torpor that the unbelievable situation has put me in, and I startmoving. This time, Galard doesn't interfere, and I manage to reach the girl.
I kneel down next to her and feel her body, looking for fractures. She whimpers when I touch her ribs, but nothing to indicate a serious injury, and I'm not unaware of the relieved breath that escapes me.
“I'm going to lift you up,” I inform her, after wrapping her arms around my neck and passing mine under her back and knees. She nods, confirming, and I stand up, bringing her up with me.
Keeping her in my arms, I turn, ready to leave the stables. However, the five pairs of eyes that I find, staring at me, stop me. My mother, my father and my three brothers are inside the stables, observing the scene before them with an astonishment that would only be justified if, instead of me holding Gabriella in my arms, before their eyes, there was La Santa herself with her rose and dagger.
I don't give them more than two seconds before I start walking, even though the fact that concern for Gabriella prevented me from noticing the arrival of five people is, yes, something that deserves consideration. But not now.Bambina's almost whispered voice, however, makes me stop, worried that I have hurt her in some way by moving.
“Don.” It's the first time she's called me that, I realize. You and sir are almost always her favorite forms of address, except when she's cumming, when Gabriella screams my name. I look down at her face and her dark eyes watch me, worried. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you home.”
“I can walk, sir,” she says softly, and the laugh that escapes my throat is humorless.
“No.” I go back to walking and staring straight ahead.
“Don.”
“No, Gabriella.”
“Vittorio.” In a voice that only I can hear, she appeals for intimacy and all I do is look down at her face again. “People are watching,” she confides as if we were committing the greatest of crimes.
“Well, let them.”
***
“She's going to be fine, Don. There was no concussion. Thesignorinajust needs rest. The cut on her forehead will probably leave a scar, but nothing too obvious. The medicines will make her drowsy,” the doctor warns, and I nod. “If anything changes, I'm just a call away.” He gets ready, and I nod in silent dismissal. The short, bald man gives a small bow before leaving.
“Is Galard okay? Did they take the snake out of his stall?” It's the first question that Gabriella, lying in my bed, asks when the door closes.
I shouldn't have brought her to my room, but there was no way I was going to leave her anywhere else. My eyes hover over the bandage on her temple. A mark.
For me to be bothered by Gabriella sporting a mark that isn't mine is yet another thing I shouldn't do. However, as much as it ignored the first, the primitive instinct of possession, which controls my thoughts when it comes to the girl, ignores the baselessness of the second as well.
“Yes. The other horses' stalls were also inspected for others, in case you were worried.” The second part of the answer is blatant irony. Gabriella, however, doesn't seem to notice, because she breathes a sigh of relief at the reassurance.
