"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 foughtto 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."
