Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Evangeline
The Sicilian sun beat down mercilessly as I stepped out of the air-conditioned veterinary clinic into the dusty farmyard.
Three days into my internship at Vitale Animal Practice, and I was already in love with the place—the rustic buildings spread across a working farm, the diverse mixture of domestic and wild animals, and most of all, the blessed normalcy of being treated like any other intern fresh from university.
After the intensity of my last semester in Luxembourg and everything that had happened with my mother's diagnosis, this felt like exactly the escape I needed before returning to Bellavista permanently.
Dr. Vitale, a stern but kind-eyed woman in her sixties, had introduced me simply as "Evangeline, our new intern from Luxembourg," with no mention of royal titles or security concerns.
My fellow interns had accepted me without question—though perhaps with more interest than my credentials alone warranted.
"Evangeline!" Marcus, an Italian intern with a dazzling smile and expressive hands, waved from across the yard. "Dr. Vitale wants us in the barn. The pregnant mare is showing signs of distress."
I nodded, grabbing my medical kit and hurrying toward him.
As always, I sensed rather than saw James adjust his position to maintain sight lines while keeping a respectful distance.
He'd been meticulously professional since our arrival in Sicily, sleeping in the adjacent room at the beach house, driving me to and from the practice each day, watching over me with those intense blue eyes that revealed nothing of his thoughts.
"What's the status?" I asked Marco as we hurried toward the barn.
"The foal appears to be in the wrong position. Dr. Vitale is concerned about dystocia." His shoulder brushed mine as we entered the dim interior of the barn. "She says we need all hands on deck for this one."
Inside, Dr. Vitale was already examining a chestnut mare who lay on her side in a bed of straw, sides heaving with labored breaths. Beside her stood Diego, a Spanish intern, and Anton, a stoic Ukrainian with gifted hands. Both nodded in greeting as we approached.
"Ah, good, you're here," Dr. Vitale said without looking up. "We have a malpresentation. The foal's leg is bent backward, preventing normal delivery. We need to reposition it manually."
My heart quickened with both concern and excitement. This was exactly the hands-on experience I'd come to Sicily for—challenging, real-world veterinary work far removed from royal duties and palace pressures.
"Two of my assistants called in sick today," Dr. Vitale continued, frowning. "We're understaffed for this procedure. We need someone strong to help hold the mare steady while we work."
James spoke from the barn entrance, interrupting my thought of a solution.
"I can help."
All heads turned to where he stood, silhouetted against the bright daylight outside. In his tactical pants and fitted black t-shirt, he looked decidedly out of place among the veterinary staff, yet somehow perfectly at home in the rustic setting.
Dr. Vitale assessed him with a quick glance. "You have experience with horses?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "My grandfather's farm. I spent every summer here in Sicily helping with the animals."
Something warm fluttered in my chest at this glimpse into his past—the boy he'd been before becoming the controlled, regimented man who now guarded my life.
"Good. Come here then," Dr. Vitale instructed, gesturing him forward. "Marcus, prepare a sedative for the mare. Diego, I need clean towels and hot water. Anton, assist me with the repositioning. Evangeline, you'll guide the foal's leg once we've created enough space."
Everyone moved with practiced efficiency, the atmosphere charged with focused energy. James knelt beside the mare's head, his large hands gentle but firm as he helped steady the distressed animal. I positioned myself near her hindquarters, pulling on sterile gloves as I prepared for my role.
For the next thirty minutes, we worked as a seamless unit—Dr. Vitale directed, Anton assisted with the internal manipulation, me guiding the foal's leg based on what I could feel through the birth canal.
The mare remained surprisingly calm under James's touch, his deep voice murmuring reassurances in what sounded like fluent Italian.
"There!" Dr. Vitale exclaimed as we finally straightened the foal's leg. "Excellent work. Now, Evangeline, be ready to guide the head as the contractions begin again."
Sweat dripped down my face as I focused entirely on the task at hand.
This was what I'd trained for, what I'd fought to experience despite royal expectations and security concerns.
At this moment, I wasn't Princess Evangeline, future Queen of Bellavista—I was simply a veterinarian, helping bring new life into the world.
When the foal finally emerged, slick and dark with amniotic fluid, a spontaneous cheer erupted from our makeshift team. I helped clear the newborn's airway, my heart swelling as it took its first shuddering breath, then moved with surprising strength.
"A healthy colt," Dr. Vitale announced with satisfaction. "Well done, everyone."
As we stepped back to allow mother and baby their critical first bonding time, I stood shoulder to shoulder with James. His shirt was damp with sweat, his arms smudged with dirt and straw, yet he looked more relaxed than I'd seen him since our arrival in Sicily.
"You were good with her," I said, nodding toward the mare. "What were you saying?"
He glanced down at me, something unguarded in his expression. "Just nonsense, really. Telling her she was brave, that she was doing well, that her baby was almost here."
"In perfect Italian, from what I could tell."
His eyes held mine for a moment longer than strictly necessary. "My grandfather made sure we were fluent. Said we couldn't truly be part of Sicily if we couldn't speak her language."
Before I could respond, Marcus appeared at my side, his smile wide and admiring.
"That was impressive work, Evangeline," he said, standing close enough that our arms brushed. "The way you guided that leg into position—very skilled hands."
I returned his smile, genuinely appreciative of the professional compliment. "Thank you. You were quick with that sedative—perfect timing."
"Perhaps we could discuss veterinary techniques over dinner tonight?
" Marcus suggested, his intent clear in his warm brown eyes.
"There's a beautiful restaurant in Palermo with a terrace overlooking the sea.
Very romantic—" He caught himself, grinning.
"I mean, very conducive to professional discussion. "
From the corner of my eye, I saw James stiffen, his relaxed posture evaporating instantly.
"That's kind of you, Marcus," I replied carefully. " Unfortunately, I have security protocols that make spontaneous outings difficult."
Marcus glanced at James, understanding dawning in his expression. "Ah yes, your bodyguard. Perhaps he could join us? Though I'm not sure the restaurant serves meals large enough for someone of his... stature."
The thinly veiled jab didn't escape James, whose jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. I felt a flash of irritation on his behalf, though his expression remained impassive.
"Another time, perhaps," I said vaguely deliberately. "I should help Dr. Vitale with the aftercare."
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.