HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 22: Sandro Is A Hero

"Rafha," Mr. Carter says as he returns to the tent, blocking my view of Sandro and Ash. Maybe it's for the best; watching them was giving me unsettling feelings that I'm not ready to confront or name.

"Yes, Mr. Carter?"

By now, the medical professionals have finished their work. They're discussing the possibility of internal bleeding, but no one seems eager to rush me to the hospital, which I take as a positive sign.

"You should stay here for the rest of the afternoon," Mr. Carter says, his face lined with worry.

Glancing at the medical staff, I say, "I should be able to return soon. They don't seem to want to send me to the hospital, and I'm feeling okay."

"Rafha," Mr. Carter repeats, drawing my attention back to him. I had wondered if his concern was more about liability than my well-being, but his gaze now shows genuine, obvious worry. I realize I was being unfair.

Mr. Carter is a good man. I should have known that. Perhaps I'm in shock or something.

"Stay here," Mr. Carter says. "Go to the hospital if they advise it. Let me handle your duties for the rest of the day. Just focus on getting better, all right?"

"Okay, Mr. Carter." I won't argue. To ease his mind, I'll stay put until I have a clean bill of health. I won't return to work, even though every nerve in me wants to ensure the event I meticulously planned is going smoothly.

"Very good, Rafha. Thank you," Mr. Carter says with a nod. "I wish you a speedy recovery."

"I'll be back to work tomorrow," I reply, mentally adding, regardless of what the doctors say.

Mr. Carter's expression tightens. "Let's wait until tomorrow before making that decision. Bruises often feel worse the next day."

I can at least agree to that. "Very well."

Satisfied, Mr. Carter leaves the tent, only for Cloudine to storm in.

She doesn't say anything right away, but her agitated pacing suggests she has a lot on her mind.

"Sit down," I tell her, patting the seat beside me. "You're making me tired just watching you."

She flops into the seat and immediately says, "I'm so sorry I left you."

I look at her in surprise. "What were you supposed to do? Stay and get hurt too?"

"I shouldn't have left you," she insists, shaking her head. "A friend deserves better."

"Cloudine," I say with sympathy, "you did exactly what was needed to save me."

Her hands ball into fists in her lap. I place my hands over hers.

"If you had stayed," I continue, "then who would have gone for help? We'd both be here, or worse. Leaving to get help was the best thing you could have done. You're a big part of why I'm only dealing with some scrapes and bruises."

She still doesn't seem fully convinced but at least relaxes her fists. "I'll do better next time."

"You did perfectly this time," I reassure her. "Though hopefully, there won't be a next time." I laugh a little, and Cloudine joins in.

The tension between us dissolves. I lean back, removing my hands from hers. She nudges my shoulder.

"But what about Sandro?" Cloudine says, swooning. "Rushing to the rescue like a hero. Then showing up here with you in his arms."

Sandro is indeed a hero. His bravery was remarkable—a true prince among men with exceptional skill and courage. I owe him so much. My heart races thinking about how to repay him. But it's unhealthy to dwell on that. Sandro's influence on my heart and feelings is too intense for me to handle right now.

"You have to tell me everything," Cloudine demands. "I want to know every detail of how the heroic Congressman came to your aid. Did he ride in like a white knight? Did he give a speech?"

"You read too many romance novels," I lightly scold her. "He didn't give a speech."

"Ah, but you're not denying the white knight part."

Cloudine clearly won't let this go, so I give her a brief summary. I try to keep it simple: Sandro shot the boar, put me on his horse, and brought me here.

Cloudine's wild fantasies aren't satisfied with my version, and she glares at me. "You're holding back. I can see it in your face. Look at your blush."

"I'm not blushing," I insist, though my cheeks are warm.

"I'll get the truth from you someday," Cloudine says. "I don't know why you're being so stubborn."

"I'm not," I lie.

"Rafha, if you can't—"

Cloudine is cut off by Ash's abrupt entrance. I half expect Sandro to follow, since he wanted a full report, but he remains absent.

Ash's sharp, piercing glance surveys the room—from the medical staff still attending to me, to Cloudine, who looks back at her with surprise and confusion.

"Friend of yours, Rafha?" Cloudine asks.

"This is Ash," I say. "Sandro's childhood friend and a journalist."

Ash seems uninterested in meeting Cloudine. "I demand to speak with you alone, Rafha Samson."

Cloudine raises an eyebrow. "She 'demands'?"

I shrug. Ash's disdain was evident from our brief previous meeting. I had hoped she might ease off after talking with Sandro, but she's as fired up as ever.

"Listen, Ash, is it?" Cloudine says, her voice calm but with a tight edge. "Rafha nearly died this afternoon. Whatever you need to say can surely wait until she's not in a medical tent, right? Make an appointment or something."

Rafha's face flashes red.

Cloudine could be more respectful, but Ash's dramatic entrance and temper tantrum make her seem like a young woman with more emotions than sense.

"I need to speak with you," Ash repeats, not backing down. She takes a deep breath. "It's about Sandro."

Cloudine and I exchange glances. That changes things.