HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 21: The Childhood Friend

"Back off, Ash," Sandro says before I can even think of defending myself. "She's obviously injured."

"She should be on her own horse," Ash retorts, her sneer still fixed on me.

"Her horse is the spooked one that ran all the way up the path. Maybe you'd like to fetch it for her?" Sandro replies with a sharp, sarcastic tone.

Ash finally turns to him. "Must you tend to every stray that comes your way?"

"We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot," I say, trying to defuse the tension. My body aches and my ankle throbs, but I don't want to add to the hostility. "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves."

"Rafha," Sandro says, taking charge. "This is Ash. She's a childhood friend of mine. As she's adept at inserting herself into situations where she doesn't belong, it should be no surprise to learn she's a reporter."

"I prefer 'journalist,'" Ash says, lifting her chin. "Now, who is this?"

"Rafha Samson," I reply.

Her expression shifts. "Samson. As in Samuel Samson?"

"My husband. Do you know him?" I ask.

"Nothing good, I assure you," Ash says, narrowing her eyes at me as though examining a specimen under a microscope.

"Do not mistake Rafha for her husband," Sandro says firmly. "Rafha is also the daughter of Preston Owens."

"Adopted," I add reflexively, then lower my head. Sandro was trying to present me in a favorable light, and here I am undermining it by distancing myself from my father.

"Same difference," Sandro says.

I glance back at him, startled. His face remains calm and steady, and he means what he says.

An overwhelming urge to kiss him surges through me, but I manage to suppress it, considering our current audience.

"Rafha needs medical attention, Ash," Sandro says, his voice hardening again. "So you can move aside or I'll find a way around you."

Ash looks between Sandro and me before sighing. "Very well." She moves her horse to let us pass but stays in our shadow for the rest of the journey back to the main concourse.

Sandro holds me closely but remains silent. Whatever connection we had earlier seems to have faded.

He rides me back to the main building where a medical tent has been set up.

"I want a full report," Sandro says as we approach the tent. "No sneaking off before they've examined you."

I'm not a child needing scolding, but I let him have his way. After his bravery in rescuing me, he deserves some leeway.

At the tent, he dismounts first and gently lowers me to the ground. I blush as I notice the guests at the clubhouse looking down at us. When I try to step back, Sandro pulls me closer, holding me tightly.

"If you fall again, I won't forgive you," he says.

I stay put. With his arm around my waist and mine around his shoulder, we hobble toward the tent. The medical staff is ready for me and helps me sit.

"We have an ambulance at the entrance if needed," one of the staff says, which seems excessive to me. I don't feel I need to go to the hospital, but Sandro nods seriously.

"Rafha!" Mr. Carter calls out as he enters the tent with Cloudine. They rush to me, crowding around. Sandro steps back.

"What a disaster!" Mr. Carter exclaims. "Cloudine said it was an animal?"

"A boar," I confirm.

As the medical staff examines me, I recount the details of the incident to Mr. Carter and Cloudine. Cloudine, despite having seen the animal, is surprised it was a boar rather than something more menacing.

"It was a pig?" she asks.

"With tusks," I reply. "Big enough to gore someone."

"We're fortunate Sandro is such a skilled marksman," Mr. Carter says. "I'll be forever grateful that no one else was harmed." He hesitates. "Well, except for you, Rafha. I don't mean to—"

"It's fine, Mr. Carter," I say, understanding he's too agitated to be clear-headed. "I'm just relieved it didn't happen to one of the guests."

"Forget that," Cloudine grumbles. "Can't we just be happy you're not dead?"

Mr. Carter wrings his hands nervously. "That's what I meant."

"I'm happy about that too," I reply.

Mr. Carter and Cloudine step back to let the medical staff continue their work. They apply ointment to my cuts and scrapes and bandage my ankle.

"It will swell," the medical assistant says. "You should keep off it for a few days."

I nod, though I'm not sure I'll follow that advice. I can't just idle away my time, even if Mr. Carter were to give me time off, which I doubt. My job here, while not as crucial as leading the free world, is still important to me.

Moreover, when I visited the girls yesterday, I noticed the house hadn't been cleaned in my absence. I don't care what Samuel does, but my daughters deserve a clean home. If I need to go and clean it myself, then so be it.

As the medical staff give me water and aspirin for the pain, I can't help but wonder about Samuel. You'd think he'd at least pretend to care about his wife, the mother of his children, who nearly died.

Through the tent's opening, I see him sipping cocktails and laughing with Kaylee on his arm. They don't seem to care about me.

Samuel's indifference hurts. We've been married so long. But Kaylee's disregard is even more painful. She's still my sister.

How could they both have grown to hate me so much that they don't care if I live or die?

At least Cloudine cares, I reason, seeing her pacing the tent. Mr. Carter cares too, though more about the liability than anything else, nervously wringing his hands nearby.

Despite myself, I look for Sandro. He saved me today, and even if he hadn't, I'd still be searching for him. His face often appears in my thoughts, and the chance to see it again, even from a distance, draws my gaze despite my better judgment.

I spot him standing not far off, holding the reins of his horse and talking to Ash, who is also nearby. They seem to be having a pleasant conversation. As Sandro and Ash chat, Ash places her hand on Sandro's arm, close to his elbow.

Sandro doesn't shake her off.