23. Georgina
— ? —
Georgina
The showground is already alive when we arrive, the air carrying the familiar mix of hay and coffee and the particular tension that settles over a competition morning.
I stand beside the lorry while Deus supervises Sovrano’s unloading, watching my horse step down the ramp with ears pricked forward.
He looks around with interest, taking in the rows of temporary stabling, the distant warm-up ring, the flags snapping in the light breeze.
His nostrils flare as he catches the scent of other horses, and I feel something loosen in my chest at how calm he seems.
“He travels well.” Max appears at my shoulder, my garment bag over one arm. “Better than some horses I could name.”
“You’re thinking of Dante.” I reach for Sovrano’s neck as the groom takes his lead rope. “He sulks for an hour after every journey.”
“He considers the lorry beneath his dignity.” Max watches Deus direct the groom toward our assigned stabling. “Sovrano seems more pragmatic.”
“Sovrano is perfect.” I stroke my horse’s neck before letting the groom lead him away. “Don’t let Dante hear you making comparisons.”
“Dante is in Umbria. He can’t defend himself.” Max shifts the garment bag to his other arm and falls into step beside me. “I’ll apologize next time I see him. Perhaps bring something edible.”
“A sensible apology. He has no use for speeches.”
Max looks down at me, his mouth curving, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
We have spent most of the drive like this, arguing about the route and his choice of music, my hand resting on his thigh whenever he wasn’t trying to steal it.
I worried last night that I would be too nervous to enjoy any part of today before the round was over.
I hadn’t accounted for how good it would feel to arrive together.
The temporary stalls are arranged in neat rows, each one numbered and assigned.
Ours is near the end of the row, close to the path that leads toward the arenas. I can hear the announcer’s voice carrying from the farther arena, calling riders for a class already underway, and the sound settles into my body like muscle memory.
I’ve missed this. Not just the riding, but all of it. The bustle of a show morning, the careful rituals of preparation, the particular electricity that runs through a venue when horses and riders are about to test themselves against a course.
For months, I watched from the outside, convinced I would never feel it again.
Now I’m here, with my name on the entry list and my horse in the stall and my husband holding my garment bag like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Sovrano is already investigating his hay net when we reach the stall.
The groom has him settled, his water bucket full, the temporary space made as comfortable as possible for the few hours we’ll be here.
I check his legs out of habit, running my hands down each one, then straighten and look at Max.
“I need to walk the course before it gets crowded.” I leave my helmet on the shelf beside my grooming bag. “Come with me?”
“I was hoping you’d ask.” He hangs my garment bag carefully outside the stall. “I’ve been practicing my thoughtful expressions.”
“Have you? I hadn’t noticed.”
“That’s because they’re very subtle.” He offers me his arm with exaggerated formality. “Shall we?”
I take his arm and let him lead me toward the arena.
The path is busy with riders and grooms, trainers consulting clipboards, spectators finding their way toward the stands.
A few people glance at us as we pass, and I see the moment of recognition in their faces.
Some of them knew me before, when I competed regularly.
Others know Max, know that the champion is walking through the crowd with his arm linked through his wife’s.
Let them look. Let them wonder. I’m not here to explain anything to anyone.
The course is already set when we reach the arena, the fences standing in their careful arrangement.
I pause at the entrance and let my eyes travel the route, picking out the lines I’ll need to take, the turns that will require attention.
The heights are appropriate for the class I’ve entered, solid enough to demand respect but well within my capability. Within Sovrano’s capability.
“Ready?” Max asks.
“Let’s see what they’ve built.”
We step into the arena and begin walking the course. I pace out the distance between the first two fences, working out how it will ride for Sovrano. Max walks beside me without speaking, letting me work through the calculations in my head.
“The approach to the second is longer than I expected.” I stop and look back at the first fence. “I’ll need to establish the rhythm early.”
“The footing looks good.” Max tests it with his boot. “Consistent all the way through.”
We move to the third fence, a vertical set at an angle that will require a balanced turn afterward. I walk the approach twice, finding the line I want, then stand where I’ll need to look toward the next fence while still in the air.
“Tight turn after this one.” I gesture toward the fourth fence. “I’ll need to be looking into it before we land.”
“He’s responsive enough.” Max comes to stand beside me. “You’ve been practicing tighter turns than this.”
“Then let’s look at the combination.” I turn toward the next part of the course. “I want your opinion on the distance.”
We walk the rest of the course together, discussing the approaches and the distances, the places where I’ll need to steady Sovrano and the places where I can let him move forward.
By the time we’ve finished, I feel like I know every inch of the ground I’ll be covering. I can picture the approach to the first fence now, and where I want to come back onto my line after the third.
“What do you think?” I ask as we walk back toward the entrance.
“I think I’m going to be unbearable afterward.”
“After what?”
“After watching you ride.” He holds the gate open for me, then follows me through. “You’ll have to interrupt me if you want to tell anyone about it yourself.”
“I can manage that. I’ve had practice.”
His hand settles at my waist as someone passes us with a wheelbarrow, drawing me out of the narrow path and close against him.
For a moment, we stand beside the fence while the traffic moves around us.
I smooth the collar of his shirt, although it doesn’t need it, and feel his fingers tighten just a little through my jacket.
“You’re very distracting for someone who’s supposed to be helping,” I tell him.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You know perfectly well what you’re doing.”
He bends toward me, stopping close enough that I can feel his breath against my cheek. “I was going to ask whether you wanted coffee.”
“Liar.”
“Eventually.”
I laugh, and he kisses me before I can say anything else. It’s brief, warm, entirely inappropriate for the amount of attention I’m supposed to be giving the course I just walked. When he lifts his head, I keep my fingers caught in his collar for another second, reluctant to let go.
There was a time when I would have been searching his face already, wondering how long I had before someone more interesting called him away.
Today he has my garment bag to collect and a lunch reservation to keep, and he seems in no hurry to get past either of them.
I let myself enjoy being wanted in the middle of a busy morning, with people calling his name and his hand still resting at my waist.
“Coffee afterward,” I say. “I already have enough going on in my stomach.”
We’re almost back to the stabling area when I hear someone call my name. I turn and find Elena Marchetti walking toward us, her silver hair swept back from her face, her bearing as elegant as I remember.
“Georgina.” She reaches for my hands and I give them to her. “I’d heard you were riding today.”
“Elena.” I let her kiss both my cheeks. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you here.” She holds me at arm’s length and studies my face. “You look well. Ready.”
“I feel ready.” I glance at Max, who has stepped back to give us space. “It’s been a while.”
“I know.” Elena’s expression is warm but direct. “Sovrano is in good form?”
“He’s been wonderful. We’ve been working together for weeks now.”
“He’s a special horse.” She releases my hands. “I’ve always thought so. He suits you.”
“He does.” I feel the truth of it settle in my chest. “I’m lucky to have him.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” Elena smiles. “You trained him. You know him. Today is just a chance to show everyone else what you’ve always known.”
She squeezes my arm once more, then excuses herself with a promise to watch from the stands. I watch her go, feeling steadier than I did before.
“At the last championship, she asked what I thought of that gray you were working with,” I tell Max as we turn back toward the stabling area. “It was good to talk about horses again.”
He glances at me, and I know he remembers how little there was about that day I wanted to keep. I slip my hand into his before he can turn the memory into an apology.
“I’d like to have something new to tell her afterward,” I say. “Preferably without knocking down the fence she’s sitting nearest.”
“Then we’ll hope she chooses her seat wisely.” He squeezes my hand, and I laugh.
We reach the stalls to find Felicity waiting outside Sovrano’s door, looking elegant in a blue coat and carrying a small bag that undoubtedly contains something she thinks we need.
“There you are.” She pulls me into a hug. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”
“We were walking the course.” I return the embrace. “You found us.”
“I found the lorry first, and your very patient cousin pointed me in the right direction.” She releases me and looks at Max. “You look less nervous than I expected.”
“I’m not the one competing.” Max kisses her cheek. “I’m just here for moral support.”
“And our table for three, I hope.” Felicity gives him a meaningful look. “You did confirm it?”