Page 92

Samarth sat in the passenger seat of Ava ’ s French SUV, the seatbelt pulled tight across his chest, though his heart had long since escaped restraint.

Outside the window, the Loire Valley blurred into brushstrokes of pale green and soft gold, like some watercolour Ava might have once sketched in a school notebook.

The breeze through the crack in her window smelled like lilacs and wet leaves.

It smelled like her world — quiet, self-built, untouched by him until now.

Behind them, Brahmi was talking. Nonstop.

“ But how do you swing to the left if your hand is on the right? Won ’ t I fall off?”

“ No, baby, you use your thighs,” Samarth answered, turning slightly in his seat to face her. “ They are your seatbelt.”

“ Seatbelts go across you like this,” she pulled her own car seat one taut.

“And your thighs go across the horse like this,” he mimed an arc. “When you need to hit the ball on the left side, you use a neck shot. That means your mallet crosses over the horse ’ s neck — not your body. You don ’ t lean. You swing from the wrist.”

She frowned, unconvinced. “ But if I swing like that , I won’t know where it hits! I can pray it hit right…”

He laughed, as did Sharan behind him. Samarth leaned forward, grabbed a rolled-up newspaper from the pocket, and held it like a mallet. “ You hold steady like this. It ’ s like twirling spaghetti — but without letting the fork spin in your hand.”

That got her. Her eyes lit up. “ Ohhh! Like spinning on your toes without letting your tiara fall!”

“Exactly like that…” Samarth trailed, catching Ava’s knowing smirk in his periphery.

And it hit. She had taught him topography once with such metaphors.

And he had been using these for as long as he could remember in his own life, kingdom, court, administration.

Metaphors to match the person, to get his point across.

“Sam!”

“Yes, baby?”

“Sam?” Sharan pronounced.

“It’s my field name,” Samarth glared at him.

“Right, Sam. You have a lot of names,” he quipped.

“Can you show me how to do it when we reach there?” Brahmi leaned in her seat.

“I’ll take you up on a horse with me and show you.”

“Reaaaaally?!”

“Really,” he smiled.

“Then I am also getting a pony and riding off into the hills,” Sharan chimed.

“Make sure you know which rein to pull to brake.”

Brahmi giggled the loudest at him ribbing his brother.

“Hey, mini jockey, you think I don’t know which rein to pull?” Sharan mimed, pulling only the right one as he had done as a kid and gotten thrown off. Brahmi’s giggles were louder and she reached out and began to show him which reins to pull and how — both and with equal pressure.

Samarth glanced at Ava. She was quietly driving, sunglasses on, listening to the happy chatter.

“Are we almost there?” He asked.

“Two more minutes,” she answered, her face darting to him. It darted back to the road but not before slowing in its arc. She had read on his face what he had meant.

Quietly, slowly, her mouth curled in a tiny semblance of a smile.

As if she was still tentative. He would work his way through that tentativeness, making those smiles come as easy as Brahmi’s giggles.

Samarth glanced back at the two kids in the backseat — trading barbs in their kiddie language.

Sharan just knew how to belong to anybody — young or old. Younger always worked better though.

And just like that, as the car turned into the open gates of Valmont Polo équestre, birdsong spilling from the crack in Ava’s window, he was sure. They were almost there.

————————————————————

“Papa, helmet,” Brahmi raised her face and he pushed the visor up before it slid down again on her forehead.

“This new helmet is loose for you, beta,” he reached under her chin to work on the strap. “Wear your old one. I’ll have this tightened…”

“No, I want this!” She nudged her chin higher. He bent on one knee and looked at the strap adjustments.

“I told you we are not buying a new helmet, only seeing,” Ava reminded him.

Samarth didn’t want to open his mouth now.

He had convinced them to buy the helmet on their trip to Paris, citing it as an investment for Brahmi’s next year’s course.

She had looked at it with such longing eyes that he had to have it.

If Ava wouldn’t have given in, he would have bought it on the side and brought it to his daughter sometime later.

“Tighten here, Coach,” Ava helped him, holding the strap down.

“No need to rub it in,” he held back a smile.

“I am just helping.”

He glanced up and she had a look. The night-Ava look. Definitely not helping.

“Papa!” Brahmi vibrated, her hands coming to his shoulders to hold him as well as bring his attention back.

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it.”

The whistle of her trainer echoed across the pen and she began to simmer. “Papa!”

“Done,” he clicked the strap closed and tested the helmet.

It wasn’t a permanent fix but it would hold for today.

He would fix it before her next lesson. Brahmi didn’t even wait for him to straighten the strap, just grabbed her mallet and ran, swinging it in her right hand.

He had promised her he would take her on a horse with him to show her the neck swing after her lesson.

“You would make a very hot coach, Sam,” Ava sidled up to him.

“What are you doing, madam? I have a girlfriend.”

“Your virtue is safe with me, monsieur.”

“Please. I have a daughter,” he stepped up to the fence and braced his arms on the wooden rail. She came up behind him, her body rubbing up against his side.

“She looks cute. Her mother must be cuter.”

Samarth laughed, glancing at Ava pulling away with a naughty, hopeful grin.

“Ava-worship always wins, isn’t it?”

She shrugged — “Admit it, her mother is cuter.”

“No way. My daughter is cuter. In fact, I would go as far as to say that she is the cutest…”

“Hé, Ava!” Delacour walked up to them, his eyes not even checking out the kids climbing up their ponies. What kind of overseeing was he doing when his gaze was on Ava?

“Bonjour, Vince,” Ava leaned across the rail just as he pressed a kiss to her cheek, then another one closer to her mouth. Samarth stiffened.

“Ca a été lent ici sans toi,” [94] he flirted, leaning back but still holding onto her elbow on the rail.

“Brahmi n'a pas eu ses lecons.” [95]

“Vous savez que vous êtes toujours les bienvenus. Je sais combien elle adore ca.” [96]

Sharan rode past, eyeing their exchange. He was as possessive as they came, a mini version of their father. Their eyes met and Sharan was ready to jump down to intervene on his behalf. Samarth shook his head.

With a WTF! gesture he rode away, his head turning from time to time.

“I’ll be back,” Ava excused herself from Delcaour. Before leaving, Samarth felt her mouth close to his ear — “I’m going to the toilette, if you wanna come find me.”

Samarth snorted. He felt eyes on them and glanced up. Delacour.

Ava walked away and Delacour came closer to him, holding out one hand — “Hé, Sam.”

He took it. “Delacour. How’s it going?”

“Another morning with les bébés trotting away.”

“It’s a good way to spend a morning.”

“Oh yes!” Delacour leaned back on the fencing, arms crossed across his chest. The kids were trotting their horses on the far side of the pen, Brahmi waiting to finish warm up and break into a gallop.

“How you know Ava?” Delacour asked, eyes still on the kids.

“She is my girlfriend and the mother of my daughter.”

Delacour turned — “Oh, are you… Bram’s père?”

“I am.”

He squinted — “Never seen you around…”

“Now I am here.” Samarth nodded at his daughter leading the pack of horses with her galloping.

“I missed a lot, but that’s it.” He looked Delacour in the eye — “I would appreciate it if you maintained a distance of respect with Ava. Brahmi is very lucky to learn the sport from a legend such as you.”

“No, of course. Of course…”

“Papa!” She was squealing, swinging her mallet in the air. He nodded at Delacour and in that split second’s delay it took to look she again bellowed — “Sam!”

Samarth laughed, waving. He had noticed she switched to his name when he wasn’t listening. It was cute. Or cutest, as he had claimed to Ava. Her right hand was swinging the mallet but she held her left one out across her body.

“Hold your reins,” Samarth warned. She pushed farther and he had no choice but to clap her hand and steady her body as she passed him. She did her little jiggle and he had to reiterate it to Ava when she returned — his daughter was, hands down, the cutest.

————————————————————

“Come here,” Samarth leaned down to pick his daughter up but she was better. She leveraged one foot on just a sliver of his stirrup and swung up.

“Good job, baby,” he kissed the back of her helmet and settled her between his thighs. She was in full gear while he had only switched his shoes for a pair of riding boots.

“Go slow and only your mallet thing, Samarth, ok?” Ava warned.

“Yes, Mama,” they both nodded in unison.

“One round and give her back here to me.”

He was helping Brahmi push her thighs and tapped her knees to show her where to grip better. “What are you scared of?”

“Have you ever ridden double seat?”

“Ask Sharan,” Samarth nodded at his brother lounging with his arms back on the pen, inside the fence, probably trying to find which horses were in heat.

He waved at them as Samarth kicked up his horse.

It shot off and Brahmi’s squeal of delight was exhilarating.

Her head thumped into his chest — “We won’t stop at one round, Papa! ”

“Mama said one.”

“Please! Please, please, please, please!”

“We’ll see,” he swung her short mallet in an arc in his right hand. “Only your wrist, here,” he grabbed her hand and placed it atop his own wrist. Then swung again.

“Feel that?”

She nodded.