A Simple Deception

III

"Race doesn't really exist for you because it has never been a barrier. Black folks don't have that choice." Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Americanah

---- 

III.

With nought but the horse's mane to hold onto, Susanna seized the hair of the poor beast in her tight fists as she screamed the unholiest of screams. As the horse ran, Susanna felt her body bouncing up and down on its back as she slipped off more and more by the second.

She could scarce concentrate on her surroundings for fear of imminent death and was certain that the horse would throw her onto a nearby boulder or into The Serpentine.

Susanna was mere moments from falling to the ground when she felt a hand on her back. The hand very quickly secured her at the waist as she was suddenly pulled from the back of the white horse and was wrenched over the back of a chestnut one. The moment Susanna was bent over the horse did its rider slow down.

The ground below Susanna slowed, before it became still, however her thundering heart continued to make her eyes blurry. The breath seemed to have been sucked out of her lungs. Susanna then realised her arm was clutching at something hard, the first thing she had been able to grab onto. As her vision focussed, she realised that she was holding onto the very solid leg of Diego.

As Susanna stumbled back down to reality, she felt as though her entire life had flashed before her eyes. Her entire pointless existence. An existence of propriety, suitors and manners, and caring not to offend people to whom she did not care a wit.

The leg that Susanna had been holding was pulled from her grasp as Diego dismounted the horse. Susanna then felt hands at her waist as he helped her down. Susanna had never been more grateful to have her feet on solid ground, even if she was a little unsteady. Instinctively, she reached out to him to balance herself, and rested her small hands atop his strong forearms. As her eyes settled, Susanna realised she was staring at Diego's bare chest. His chest was rising and falling evenly, displaying each and every taut plane. His strength and power were evident, though there was a calm about him that was simply intoxicating. Standing this close, Susanna could see that Diego had a scattering or very tight, very short, chest curls. Though he was wearing a white shirt, it was unbuttoned, and doing a very poor job of providing him with any semblance of decency.

And what a crime that would have been.

Susanna felt her cheeks flush at the sudden improper thought. She had never before had such thoughts about a man, though she had never seen a man before in such a state.

"Pauvre mademoiselle, tu es blessé?"

It took a moment for Susanna to realise that Diego had just spoken to her, and another moment to recall her French instruction to translate what he had asked her. Was she hurt? She didn't think so. Perhaps only her throat from screaming.

Susanna had barely any time to reply, "No," before she realised the crowd racing toward her, led by her mother, who was running. Susanna did not think she had ever witnessed her mother walk swifter than a proud saunter, but she appeared as a lioness chasing after her cub.

Susanna's eyes finally found Diego's, and she was met with an intense gaze from his black eyes. She was startled to look upon his face from this distance, and it was because she had never before met someone of his complexion before. But she was not frightened. She felt concern from him, Susanna was certain of it, and care.

She would never once have thought to describe a man as beautiful. Perhaps it was because she had never before met a beautiful man. But this man was beauty personified, and Susanna could not fathom how anyone could think differently.