White cloth-covered tables dotted the flagstone patio where an army of caterers was putting the finishing touches on the preparations. Floral centerpieces of pastel roses and cream lilies filled the air with their sweet scent, adding a soft touch to the crystal and silver table settings.
Children dressed like they'd just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren catalog ran on the pristinely manicured grass, sampling the available lawn games, while their parents sipped mimosas from champagne flutes just far enough away to avoid any stray croquet balls. Knowing there was no way she could avoid them all weekend, Ali took a deep breath and made her way through her gaggle of aunts and uncles, varying degrees of cousins, and their myriad partners. By the time she was done with the necessary pleasantries and brief updates, she wanted to run back to Manhattan screaming.
She loved her extended family dearly and there was nothing wrong with their white picket fences, four-door sedans, and two point three kids. But when they prattled on about the burdens of their forty-hour-a-week jobs, peewee soccer matches, or annual ski holidays while simultaneously questioning why she wasn't on her way toward the same lifestyle, Ali felt like she could tear her hair out.
Wishing she could hide away, but with her stomach angrily grumbling, Ali grabbed a napkin and loaded it with bite-sized appetizers. Passing a large tent strung with fairy lights and speakers for an evening of music and dancing, she headed to the water's edge. There, tethered to the dock, the family sailboat gently bobbed. The sleek forty-two foot Beneteau shone in the bright sunlight, tempting her to climb on board.
"Do you want to take her for a spin? Maybe take the older kids out for a bit," said her dad from behind.
Ali spun around. She knew he was trying to be helpful, but his methods were ill placed. No matter how much she hated the obligatory pleasantries with her relatives here on the land, the last thing she wanted was to be stuck alone with a bunch of teenage brats for hours on the open water.
"I . . . uhm . . . I'd love to, but I actually have plans," she said, forming an idea.
A look of surprise washed over her father's face. "Oh?"
Ali drew herself up straight, coming nearly eye-to-eye with the five-foot-eight Esteban Barros.
"That's right. What you said earlier back in the kitchen made me think, Daddy. You're absolutely right about Robert. I should really give him a chance. And why not now? He actually invited me riding. You won't mind, will you?" she asked with a mischievous smile, knowing that after the stunt he pulled earlier, he couldn't refuse now.
* * *
Going around to the front of the house to avoid the growing number of guests, Ali hurried upstairs to grab her riding gear. It must have been years since she'd worn them, but the old stretchy white shirt, padded khaki pants, and leather boots hidden in her closet fit her just as well now as the last time. Even so, her palms were sweating as she clutched the velvet-covered helmet, still not quite sure of her commitment to this idea. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Robert was right.
She needed to practice, and ducking over to the arena would also get her away from annoying questions like when was she going to get married or which IPOs were surefire winners—both things that she had absolutely no clue about.
When Robert met her on the front porch in a similar outfit, her doubt returned.
"So tell me. Why did you conspire with Dad to save me damsel-in-distress style last night? For old times' sake?" she asked, poking a finger into his chest.
Robert's grin disappeared at having been caught scheming, and he took a defensive step backward. "Was I supposed to let you walk?"
"Neither you nor my father has the privilege of letting me do anything," she spat, crossing her arms in defiance.
He tilted his head and narrowed his gaze. "So are you mad at me now?"
To someone who didn't know him well, the look would have seemed smug or even conceited. To Ali, it was the familiar reaction of a boy she'd known most of her life who'd constantly vied for her attention, and, briefly, for her affection. She sighed, remembering not only their history, but also her aching feet from last night.
"I guess not. You meant well, and Dad's already confessed to being the mastermind so . . .."
Robert laughed, throwing his head back and letting the breeze tousle his hair. "Then how about that ride?"
The East Hampton Equestrian Center just a short drive away. The first order of business was to pick out a horse. Ali balled her fists nervously as soon as she saw the selection, comprised of mostly Belgian Warmbloods and Holsteiners. Although they were no doubt some of the best breeds in her sport, she didn't have experience with any of these particular animals. A glance over their names—Vechta, Selle, Hans, Sienna, and several more unfamiliar ones—confirmed she hadn't ridden any of the current crop before.
"This is going to be a problem," she muttered as Robert walked up to a chestnut mare and began to stroke her nose.
"You're a champion jumper, Ali," he countered, attempting to ease her fears. "Trust the animal. She'll take your lead."
She sighed. Robert was right in theory. But in practice? She wasn't so sure. Ever since she'd started show jumping at a competitive level, she'd always used her own horse. Taking a chance with an unfamiliar animal just to get in a few hours' practice wasn't her style, and this may not have been the best idea.
"I still feel like I'm betraying Lippi." She thought of the four-year-old Westphalian she should have been riding in New Jersey right now.
Robert turned and smiled. "Don't worry. I won't tell."
Ali scoffed, but the smell of the horses and the thumping of hooves reverberating through the floor from the arena were slowly changing her mind. Much like music was for her father, riding was in her blood. The competitive nature of the activity had helped shape her being, and she was sure everything she'd learned from it had helped her achieve success in her career, too. After conferring with the trainer, she eventually settled on a lean chestnut mare named Seneca. By the time she grabbed the riding tack and saddled up the animal, she had pushed aside her hesitation and was fully focused on the task ahead.
The first hour of warm-ups and basic exercises went splendidly. To her surprise, Ali was even enjoying some of the horse's unexpected quirks. Seneca was much more confident than her Lippi, needing less guidance to properly complete a sharp turn and fewer words of encouragement to speed up for a higher obstacle.
Not even bothering with Robert, who was busy polishing his own skills, Ali was relishing every moment. Sweat dripped from her brow down the fine layer of dust on her face, and her thighs against the animal's back ached from the exertion, but she wouldn't have traded this feeling for being back at the family brunch.
She'd even picked up a few pointers from Robert's trainer. Ready to put them into practice, Ali lined up Seneca at the start of the expert-level course and waited for the signal. At the buzz of the automated timer, she snapped the reins and urged the horse into motion.
Slow and steady wouldn't get her a spot at nationals, but neither would fast and reckless. Finding the right balance was key, and as Ali guided the horse around the first turn, she let her instincts take over. The rider was in charge, but the horse had to be willing to obey. The first of the ten obstacles was a simple vertical fence. Seneca's pacing was on point, and she cleared the horizontal pole easily.
So far, so good.
A triple bar was next, and it too caused no concern.
There was a bit more distance to the third jump, and Ali used the chance to regulate her breathing. Keeping her back straight and shoulders square, she noticed Robert from the corner of her eye watching the run. She smiled as the horse approached a Swedish oxer, knowing the two poles slanted in opposite directions to cause the illusion of an X shape looked more ominous than they really were. Seneca wasn't as confident and faltered slightly in her steps leading to the fence.
Ali's heartbeat quickened from the mistake, but the horse cleared the obstacle without fault. Another set of turns led to the fourth fence, consisting of a wide, water-filled ditch under two poles of equal height. Lippi had a natural aversion to water, and Ali had struggled for weeks with the mare to master such obstacles. But Seneca took this one with more fervor than perhaps any of the others before it, sending Ali's mood soaring.
Clearing the upcoming fake brick wall would put them halfway through the course.
Ali had never been a fan of this type of obstacle, and it appeared her horse also wanted to quickly put it behind her. Without waiting for her rider's urging, the mare increased her speed and sprinted for the jump. Ali's eyes widened at the unexpected pace, but the obstacle was approaching fast and instructing the horse to change either direction or speed would certainly end in disaster.
Trusting the animal, Ali let her take the lead.
Seneca reared, her front legs rising into the air and her hindquarters pushing off the ground. Ali leaned deep over the horse's neck, and they soared through the air before gracefully landing on the other side.
Ali grinned from relief, but the emotion was fleeting. Instead of setting a more appropriate pace, the horse kept the jump's momentum in her gallop. First using the reins and then her thighs, Ali attempted to slow the animal, but Seneca wasn't having it. Bolting for the joker—an already tricky fence where a lack of filler underneath made it difficult to judge proximity and height—the mare was completely out of her control. Accepting the situation once again, Ali adjusted her posture to prepare for the jump.
It never came. At the last second, Seneca spooked and skidded to a halt, sending Ali straight over the horse's head and into the wooden fence.
* * *
Everything hurt. Ali tried to roll from her back onto her side, but the sheet covering her pulled taut, making the pain worse. It was as though she'd been run over by a steamroller, crushing all her bones and muscles to leave her sore and stiff.
She took a deep breath, instantly regretting it when her lungs burned. Opening her eyes, she struggled to comprehend where she was and remember how she got there. Apart from her twin bed, the generic interior had a single upholstered chair, a nondescript side table, a wall-mounted television, and two closed doors. She'd spent her fair share of time on the road, and her first instinct was that this was just another impersonal hotel room. Judging by the laminate finish, off-white linoleum floor, drab blackout curtains, and garish pink walls, the Ritz-Carlton it was not.
Neither was it home, but for some reason, Manhattan also didn't feel like it had been her last location.
As Ali pushed herself up, a sharp pain radiated along her right arm. Looking down, she saw her wrist bound in a splint. On her other arm, she noticed an IV needle taped to the back of her left hand, with a tube running to a bag of clear solution hanging above.
"Sweetheart, you're up." Her father entered the room, followed by her mother and Robert. All were holding to-go cups of coffee, but while her parents were dressed semi formally—he in a tan linen suit and she in a flowing yellow dress—Robert was in a dusty riding uniform.
Suddenly, it all came flooding back. The family breakfast. Robert's invitation to the arena. The chestnut mare barreling at top speed toward the obstacle. Strangers fussing over her and the sound of sirens still ringing in her ears.
This wasn't supposed to happen. It was Grace and Esteban's weekend, and now they were here, worrying about her. She'd distracted them from the celebrations.
"What time is it?" she asked, her voice weak.
Her father looked at his watch. "Quarter to six. Why? Is there someplace you have to be right now?" He smiled, stopping at her elbow.
She shook her head, unable to hold back a rogue tear. "Yes, and so do you. Oh, Daddy, I'm so sorry. You too, Mom."
Grace patted her daughter's hand. "Darling, we're just happy you're okay." She gave Robert—who'd remained conspicuously in the background—a stern side-eye.
"Where's Marco?" Ali asked as she noticed her sibling's absence. Her mother smiled in sympathy. "Don't think your brother doesn't care about you, Alejandra. He was just as worried as the rest of us."
"He left about an hour ago after your CT scan came back clear," her father added.
"You know how Marco is. The nurses were practically fighting over him." Her mother laughed. "Besides, he's more useful keeping the guests at home in line. You should be happy he's not here for any more distractions."
I'd be happy to make that decision for myself, Ali thought, but she felt too crappy to argue.
"You said something about a CT scan? What happened? My head is all foggy and I can't . . ." She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to jog her memory. "I can't think straight."
"That's the concussion," Esteban explained. "The doctor said it would affect your short-term memory for the rest of the day."
"The meds you got probably aren't helping, either," Robert said with a grin before Grace shot him down with another look.
"Is this broken?" Ali raised her right hand before the pain forced her to lower it again.
"I'm afraid so," her mother said. "We've insisted they get the best orthopedic surgeon to reset it, but he won't be available until tomorrow."
"Surgery?" Ali's voice cracked.
"Nothing to worry about. And we'll be right here with you," her father reassured her.
In spite of her escalating heart rate, Ali's thoughts returned to the repercussions of the accident. "But you can't miss your party."
Grace kissed her daughter's cheek. "Nonsense. We'll have another anniversary and an even bigger party next year. But we only have one of you, so that means our place is here."
"Although we would appreciate a quick respite to run home and change if you don't mind." Esteban took his wife's spot next to Ali. Leaning in, he whispered, "You gave us a right scare, but you'll be shipshape in no time, sweetheart. And don't worry about your mother. I'm sure a trip to Aruba over Christmas will smooth out any ill memories she'll have of a forfeited party."
"Thank you, Daddy," Ali said before she kissed his cheek. "Go ahead. I'm really sleepy anyway. I'll be fine."
Robert cheerfully stepped up as her parents left the room. "I'll keep you company, Alley Cat. Whatever you need, I'm your guy."