Page 46

Villa a Sesta was a luxury villa and polo club located in the rolling hills of Tuscany.

Avantika travelled there with Samarth, who insisted she accompany him in his chauffeur-driven vehicle.

He had sent his team ahead. She knew he was going to these lengths to make sure she reached the club.

He knew her well to conclude that if left to her own devices she would do exactly what she wanted. In this case — not go to the match.

The road to the villa was just as beautiful as the villa itself, if not more. It was like the sun rose differently in this part of the world. A different colour, a different spectrum, the light hitting everything differently.

“Ready?” She managed as he stopped in front of her.

His teammates and staff were milling around without a second glance.

That gave Avantika an unknown sense of respite.

If they weren’t interested in a single prince talking to a girl, it meant they knew nothing was happening.

It meant it was a regular occurrence — him talking to girls with nothing ‘happening.’ He had said it out loud to her.

But hearing it and seeing it with her own eyes were two different things.

“Where did you go off to?”

“Just walking around. It’s a great property.”

“It is. If Hukum and Maan bhai weren’t coming, you would have been able to stay at one of the villas like the rest of them.”

“It’s alright. I’ll come again.”

His eyes turned deeper, longing glinting bright under this otherworldly sun hitting their faces.

He had started to look at her differently lately.

Even on calls, his pauses had been different.

Like he was thinking. He had never thought much before talking to her in school. What was worrying him now?

A shrill cicada broke the silence between them and Avantika snapped out of that question.

“You play Number 1 now, huh?” She stepped back, giving him a mock-indecent once-over. “Not bad, Kunwarji.”

“That’s right, I recently switched to offence.”

His tone was heavy. Avantika swallowed. A whistle rang across the field — “I think you have to assemble…”

“No. That’s for the support staff.” Samarth stepped up to her and she instantly began to take a step back. He offered his helmet to her. Her brows shot up.

“Put it on.”

“They will all start looking… let’s leave it this time…”

“Whenever you come for a game you do this. Do it, Ava.”

“I didn’t do it for that last game I came to in Paris.”

“That was a miserable game.”

“You won,” she pointed.

“Still miserable,” he pushed the helmet into her hand.

She glanced around, took it and hastily set it atop his head, trying to pull her arms down as if burned.

His hands came over hers, catching them in place and settling his helmet, his eyes rising to her even from a bent head.

He was so close. Not indecently close. But still intimate.

“Is it set?” He asked.

“Yes!” She hissed, running her fingers down his strap, snapping the buckle and righting it quickly to avoid any bite. “Happy?”

“Yes,” he smirked, standing back. “Now you hide here somewhere. I’ll go meet Hukum and Maan bhai in the pavilion.”

“They are here?!” She panicked, looking for a place to hide. The stables! She began to scuttle away when he held her elbow, laughing — “I didn’t mean literally hide, Ava.”

“I am toh literally hiding. Are you mad? Leave my arm.”

“Don’t worry. Once I go and meet them now, they won’t come back here after the match.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm…”

“Alright. Go and find a seat in my tent or any tent you like. No need to hide.”

He left her arm and strode down the field, across the breadth of it, towards the spectator stands in the distance. They were so far away that all she could see were dots of people milling around. Still, she turned and ran into the stables. Horses were safe. They didn’t tattle.

————————————————————

“Last sixty seconds of this unforgettable match at the heritage Villa a Sesta… The scoreboard is deadlocked. 3-3. The sun ’ s moved overhead — and the Gir Zephyrs are pushing hard, one final play, one last charge!

” The commentary ran in thick, Italian-accented English, as fast as the horses hoofing across the field.

Avantika stepped forward with the rest of the team, ensconced in baited breaths.

“Number 3, Raj, sends it wide — a booming backhander! Oh, but it ’ s stolen mid-air by the Montebello Mustangs' Number 4! The Zephyrs' hopes teetering — wait, wait, here he comes — HH Sam! Number 1! He's flown!”

The crowd surged to their feet in the distance.

The wind was so strong and the horses galloping so loud that even their cheers were lost. Avantika held her clasped hands close to her chest, eyes fixed on the man with I printed across his back.

On his white horse. Mallet swinging round and round and in the third round he had the ball!

In the air! He was tossing it in the air like it was table tennis!

“My word — look at that move! Thirty yards... twenty... the Mustang defender lunges in — but Sam swerves! A flawless neck shot!”

Thwack!

“The ball slicing the air! Slicing, slicing, slicing. It’s poetry in motion! AND IT ’ S IN!!”

Collective gasps turned into wild cheers and the field echoed in applause.

Avantika grinned, clapping with them all, her body that had gone cold in anticipation now extra hot as Samarth’s horse swerved around the goalpost at full speed and began thundering down half-tilted.

It wasn’t how he usually rode, and she realised why when the horse’s front limb stuttered and Samarth went flying.

Everything came to a standstill.

Her feet began to run but the team in front of her was faster. She saw them go and stopped short, her body frozen.

“Is he ok?” She hollered. Please be ok, please be ok, please be ok…

Samarth be ok, please be ok. Be ok…

Her clasped hands were still clasped, now shivering. He was on the ground but she couldn’t see what was happening anymore with so many people surrounding him. Samarth, please, please, please. Krishna bhagwan please please please…

There was commotion. Doctors went running from their tents.

She didn’t know anyone enough to demand answers.

She couldn't run there and find them out for herself.

Her body fell cold. Nothing was visible, nothing was happening except the crowd surrounding him milling around.

A stretcher was carried out and Avantika felt her knees begin to buckle. Fuck fuck no…

“Fallen off but not taken down!” The commentator’s voice boomed. Her knees kept going down.

Avantika locked her body to keep it from falling further. Her legs shivering, she kept gaping, waiting to see what that meant. The crowd was still thick.

"After driving Gir Zephyrs to victory in the final second of the final chukker, here comes the winner. HH Sam. What a goal, what a finish, what a prince!”

She didn’t understand what he was saying until the group parted and out walked Samarth. Walked.

Avantika half-collapsed with that sight.

He was limping, his left side completely muddied, his helmet in hand. He ran someway and caught up with his horse that was being brought home. Avantika wanted to cry then when he patted the horse’s rump and caressed his neck, his gaze on the limping joint of his horse’s forelimb.

“That ’ s a royal win under the Tuscan sun, ladies and gentlemen. A young legend, his injured pony, and a moment that ’ ll be remembered in polo history!”

His entourage reached the tents and Avantika did not think.

She saw him coming towards her, took steps towards him without thinking if he was indeed coming towards her and flung her arms around his neck.

He caught her with one arm, his body swivelling with the impact.

She steadied her feet, taking his weight. “Shit, sorry!”

“I’m fine, Ava…” he panted in her ear, sweat mixed with blood in his scent. She let a deep breath go into his neck before mustering her voice.

“You knew your horse was injured?”

“I felt it in the final seconds.”

“You could have stopped the match…”

“There were five horses behind mine. It would have been a fatal collision. For all of us.”

“Anything broken?”

“No…”

“Kunwar!”

At that loud deep voice Avantika pushed out of his arms and quickly made her way towards the stables without turning. She prayed Maan bhai did not recognise her. But then, how could he? He had never seen her in person. Avantika hoped Samarth could spin that hug and tell a story…

“Are you still bleeding?” Maan bhai’s boom was loud, worried. She wanted to stop and go back. But she stepped inside the dark of the stables and scurried away. Nothing was broken as per Samarth. She had to make peace with the fact that he would take care of the rest.

Avantika reached the cool, shadowed interiors and collapsed with her hands out on the fence of a stall.

Finally, she let her breaths go. In pants.

In shallow pants that she tried to deepen.

She channeled her inner sportsperson and threw her head between her legs, using breathing techniques.

In fear or shock, bring your heart rate under control.

4-7-8. Inhale for 4, hold for 7, exhale for 8.

She did it. And slowly the lightheaded fear sitting in her body started to loosen its grip.

Avantika pushed her head back up and came face to face with a little horse gaping at her. At least, she thought he was gaping. White, with a mane the colour of butterscotch, the pony was very cute.

“Hi,” she whispered softly to him, stepping closer to his stall. “Hello…” Avantika held her hand out to let him sniff. He tried to lick it and she giggled, making him snort.