I can’t even finish the thought anymore. Every time I try to reduce her to her original purpose, my mind rebels. Instead, the little bastard shows me the way she laughs at my dark humor, the fierce intelligence in her eyes when we debate politics over dinner, the gentle competence in her hands when she treats injured animals in the sunroom I converted for her.
The sunroom. Jesus Christ, I converted asunroomfor her. I installed proper ventilation and medical equipment and everything she might need to treat the strays and injured creatures that seem to find their way to the estate with increasing frequency.
When the fuck did I become the kind of man who makesaccommodations?
“Boss?” Danny’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He’s standing in the doorway with that irritating expression—the one that says he’s about to give me shit about something I’m not going to want to hear.
“What?” The word comes out harsh.
“The men brought in a deer. Found it on the north edge of the property with a pretty nasty gunshot wound…. Giuliana’s in the sunroom trying to treat it now.” His lips quirk as if he’s fighting a smile. “Thought you might want to know,” he finishes innocently.
I’m already standing before I consciously decide to move, the reports forgotten. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that Giuliana looked scared when she saw it.” Danny’s watching me with that assessing gaze I don’t appreciate. “But she’s working on it anyway.”
I’m halfway down the hall before Danny can say anything else, my feet carrying me toward the sunroom.This is concern for a valuable asset, I tell myself.Making sure she’s not overwhelmed by something beyond her skill level.
The lie tastes like ash even in my own head.
The sunroom is bright with afternoon light, the walls mostly glass to maximize natural illumination. Medical equipment lines one side—everything from surgical tools to an X-ray machine I had installed a few days ago. And in the center, bent over an examination table, is Giuliana.
She’s wearing scrubs—actual veterinary scrubs I had ordered in her size, light blue cotton that somehow makes her look even more beautiful than I ever could have thought. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s completely focused on the deer laid out before her.
The animal is bigger than I expected, a young buck with developing antlers. The wound across its flank is ugly. A deep gash where a bullet grazed it, tearing through muscle and probably causing internal damage I can’t see from here.
“Talk to me,” Giuliana murmurs, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s addressing the deer rather than herself. Her hands move carefully, cleaning the wound while the sedated animal breathes slowly. “You’re doing great, my friend. Just stay calm for me, okay? I’m going to make you all better.”
The gentleness in her voice does something to my heart that I don’t have words for.
She reaches for a suture kit, and I notice the slight tremor in her hands. She’s nervous. This is beyond anything she’s treated before, and she knows it.
“You’re doing fine,” I hear myself say from the doorway.
She jumps slightly, nearly dropping the needle she’s threading and she whirls around, eyes wide. When she sees it’s me, she relaxes and turns again. “Jesus, Luca. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Didn’t sneak. You were just focused.” I move closer, watching her hands steady as she refocuses on the deer. “How bad is it?”
“Bad.” She probes the wound gently, checking for debris. “The bullet didn’t penetrate fully, but it tore through muscle layersand might have nicked an artery. If I can’t get the bleeding under control—” She stops, swallowing hard. “This is the most complex case I’ve handled solo,” she says in a small voice.
“You can do it.” The certainty in my voice surprises even me.
She glances up, meeting my eyes briefly, and I tell myself that my heart rate is increasing just because of the deer bleeding out in my sunroom.
“Stay,” she says quietly. “In case I need—just stay. Please.”
So I do.
I pull over a stool and settle in to watch as Giuliana works. Her initial nervousness gradually fades as she falls into the rhythm of treatment—cleaning, assessing, making careful decisions. She explains what she’s doing as she goes, whether for my benefit or her own I can’t tell.
“The bullet passed through here.” She indicates a section of torn muscle. “Which means less risk of infection from retained fragments. But it severed this vessel.” She clamps it carefully. “That’s why there’s so much blood loss. I need to suture it closed before I can work on the surrounding tissue.”
Her hands move with increasing confidence, layer by layer, rebuilding what violence destroyed. It’s mesmerizing watching her work. The intense concentration, the gentle precision, the way she handles this massive animal with such careful respect.
“You’re good at this,” I observe then want to kick myself for my stupid observation. Of course she is. Her clinic was popular before I?—
“I better be, considering how much money I spent in school,” she says flatly. “Though this is definitely outside my usual scope.Most of my surgical experience was with domestic animals under controlled conditions. Gunshot wounds in wild deer? That’s new territory.”
“You wanted to specialize in surgery,” I remember reading about it in her file that Danny compiled. “What stopped you?”
