She felt drawn in already. Something about the passion in Malachi’s voice made her realise that this was more than just a festival to him. This was where he loved to be. This was ‘home’.
‘The reward isn’t something you can touch, or take home to display on a mantelshelf.’ He smiled. ‘It’s far more than that. The winning neighbourhood will have the most successful year in terms of health, of happiness, of love.’
‘Oh.’
‘Last year, the winners were the south side neighbourhood,’ Malachi said gruffly. ‘The following month two young couples who had each had failed IVF treatment, and who had both given up hope for babies of their own, fell pregnant within a week of each other. A couple of months ago the village welcomed healthy, happy Sofia Lombardi and Marco Alfonsi.’
‘Oh,’ Saskia managed, her throat suddenly inexplicably thick. Full. ‘It sounds...like something worth building the best bonfire for.’
‘Yes. I believe it does.’
Perhaps it was the twilight that started to fall around them shortly after their journey began. Maybe it was the pretty swinging lanterns on the sleigh and the soft jingling of the bells. Possibly it was the magic of the horse-drawn ride itself. Whatever it was, Saskia found herself relaxing into the moment, letting her body ease against Malachi’s as he told her the names of each mountain in the range, how the nature reserve in the valley was one of over one hundred in the Tuscany area, and which of the buildings made up part of the Medici villas.
He was knowledgeable and witty, sharing anecdotes and unusual facts with her to make the sleigh ride all the more interesting. She couldn’t help but wonder what marriage—real marriage—to this man might be like. He would certainly make learning fun for any child...
For their child.
By the time an hour was over her head was a jumble of conflicting emotions, and she barely realised they were heading back towards the local village, which she had longed to visit every time she’d looked out of her window and down the valley.
The fireworks were starting, and she was just settling back to enjoy them when a scream and a shout went up. Before Saskia knew what was happening, Malachi had withdrawn his arm from around her and was vaulting down off the sleigh. She began to throw the blanket off herself.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.
‘Coming with you. If someone has been injured then I’m the best person to be there, don’t you think?’
‘No, I don’t think,’ he barked. ‘Stay where you are! That isn’t a request, Saskia. I’ll be back in a moment.’
Then he was gone, racing into the melee with all the speed and power of a hundred-metre sprinter.
She hesitated, thought twice, then jumped down and followed him at an altogether slower pace.
The reason for the shout became clear quite quickly. A young boy, wanting to get in on the thrill of the night, had tried to set off his own firework—only for it to go off when he had still been too close.
There was someone running towards the young boy with a bucket of ice, and without thinking Saskia reacted. She grabbed a couple of bottles of water from a nearby food stand and started to run.
‘No, wait. Not ice. Um...non usare il ghiaccio.’ She hurried across the field, aware that Malachi had spun around and was now right beside her, translating in fast, possibly flawless, Italian.
‘I told yo
u to wait in the sleigh,’ he snapped.
‘And I told you that if there was a medical emergency then I was better off coming with you,’ she replied smoothly. ‘But I know you’re only concerned, so I’ll forgive you trying to boss me around.’
He hauled off his coat and threw it around her shoulders, growling, but somehow it only made her smile, and she felt a warmth seeping through her despite the cold night air.
‘Tell them ice can damage tissues and increase the risk of infection. They’re better off with cool running water.’
Malachi duly translated, and Saskia wasn’t sure if it was her instructions or merely his presence which had them instantly obeying.
She reached the casualty—a young boy likely around ten years old.
‘Can I look?’ She smiled gently. ‘Posso...guardare?’
The burn was on his forearm, quite large and already red and swelling, and she threw one bottle of water to Malachi to open whilst she opened the other and began pouring it over his wound. But it was the boy’s pale, cold skin and rapid, shallow breathing which concerned her.
‘Come ti chiami?’
‘Andreas,’ a young, worried-looking girl answered. ‘His name is Andreas. I am Giulia...sorella? Sister?’