by J Santiago
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed out.
“Eleanor, uh … Your Highness—”
“Please don’t call me that,” she begged.
“We haven’t really gotten around to what we should call each other,” he said lightly, an attempt to defuse the awkwardness.
Eleanor shook her head, like the notion of exchanging names was problematic.
“So, Princess Eleanor?”
Again, with a denial, the shake chagrined.
“Your Highness is out, and apparently, princess isn’t on the table either. You’re going to have to help me out here.”
He could tell she wanted to roll her eyes. But she didn’t.
“Ele,” she finally said.
He was touched. “Is your PPO going to want to shoot me if I call you Ele?”
The question startled a giggle out of her, but just as quickly as it’d erupted, her hand was on her mouth, stuffing it back in. Without any intention to do so, Tristan’s fingers looped around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away.
She reddened instantly, and Tristan was completely charmed. Their fingers automatically fit together. He strolled unhurriedly to the exit.
“Your Highness,” the bodyguard intoned.
Tristan jumped like a cat in a cartoon. Ele and Robert pretended not to notice.
“Thirty minutes.”
“Have you been here the whole time?” Tristan asked, incredulous.
He’d thought the room was empty—and he’d looked. Either the guy was a master of stealth—probably—or Tristan had been completely oblivious—most likely.
“Yes, sir,” Robert answered even though Tristan had meant it to be rhetorical.
“Right.” He looked back at Ele. “Keep going?”
“Yes,” she answered without delay.
He nodded. They turned toward the on-site hotel, Tristan playing the dutiful tour guide. He tried hard to stay the course, but he was rattled.
When have I been so focused on a woman, I didn’t notice things around me? And what am I doing, kissing the Ice Princess?
Although how the public could think of her as cold didn’t make any sense to him. Her warmth and gentleness wrapped around you like a cozy blanket.
Warmth and gentleness—when the bloody hell have I ever valued that? Unless I was embedded in that warmth.
Suddenly, he wanted the tour to end. He’d planned to walk her through the hotel before he showed her some of the outdoor training areas and the recreation room.
But then she started talking, “Is this state-of-the-art, or is your team facility similar?”
“Yes,” he said.
“It wasn’t a yes or no question,” she chided.
He couldn’t help but tease her. “I know, but the answer is yes. It is state-of-the-art, and my team facility is similar.”
She squeezed his hand—a reprimand, he thought.
He grinned.
“You’ve shown me what you thought I would want to see.”
He kept smiling at her perceptive comment.
“Now, take me to your favorite place.”
He jerked to a halt, and she came to a stop two strides later. When she turned back to him, they studied each other.
This tour had begun as a distraction, an impulse. Nothing personal, but rather a duty he’d taken too far. Now, she wanted something different, some piece of him. He knew if he offered it, she would hungrily lap it up. And she would greedily guard it.
He tugged on her hand, and she came to him like a tether. He dropped his forehead to hers, his free hand landing on the nape of her neck. They stood for a moment.
Tristan kissed her on the top of her head. “This way then.”
A mischievous glint twinkled in Tristan’s eyes, like some impulsivity had been set free.
“Trainers tied tight?” he asked. At Ele’s nod, he grasped her hand and tugged. “Let’s go then.”
He took off at a jog with Ele in tow. When she didn’t hesitate, he flashed a smile at her. He set an easy pace, and Ele, whose only athletic achievement was an ability to run far, met him stride for stride. They looped through the halls until they reached a door that took them outside. They burst through it into a dappled gray light. Sprinkles from the sky misted over them, but they kept at it. Ele looked over her shoulder to see Robert about to step over the threshold. She held her free hand up, stopping his progress. Although his eyes widened, he did as she had bidden and allowed the door to close in front of him.
It was slick under their feet, and when Ele slid, Tristan’s hand tightened on hers.
“I’ve got you,” he assured her.
For the first time in twelve years, Ele felt safe with someone other than her security team and her brother. She wasn’t positive, but she thought if Jamie could see her now, he would be smiling indulgently at her. It made her giggle. With her hand clasped in Tristan Davenport’s and the misting rain shimmering around them and the bright green of the endless pitch as a backdrop, Eleanor Ann-Juliet Josephine Altamirano, second in line to the throne, was running through the rain.
She stopped abruptly, her hand loosening on Tristan’s, and tilted her face to the sky. A broad smile spread across her face. She enjoyed the unencumbered feeling. She didn’t know how or why, but she knew Tristan understood because he waited quietly, letting her have her moment. In a way she couldn’t remember, she was happy.
She turned her head and enjoyed the picture of Tristan at her side. Ele knew it was an anomaly, a fissure in the space-time continuum, if you would. A perfect moment that couldn’t be scheduled or predicted or scripted in any way. Who knew that when she’d stepped out of the Range Rover this morning, she would find this accord with such an unlikely person?
He was glorious. He wasn’t classically handsome. His features not regular enough for that. But those catlike eyes were striking, and against his dark skin, they glowed with intelligence and mirth. He seemed to always be smiling and maybe silently laughing at everything and everyone. Even now, as he studied her, the right side of his mouth curved upward like he might be fighting a smile, and his eyes were bright with unsuppressed amusement. She’d bet Tristan Davenport suppressed nothing.
When their gazes met, the look in his changed. They darkened with something that sent heat seeping through her.
Then, his hands were on her face, and he was angling her head to receive his mouth. Lush, damp from the rain, and hot, his lips landed on hers. Her hands flew to his wrists, anchoring her. Without any ask, her mouth opened under his, and their tongues tangled—exploring, tasting, memorizing. It ended as abruptly as it’d started. Tristan backed away from her. She fumbled half a step as her hands fell to her sides. Tristan caught her, holding her by her shoulders.
“Sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You’re right,” she snapped, embarrassed at her lack of grace.
But Tristan just tilted his head in question. “Kissed you or stopped?”
“Stopped,” she answered unthinkingly. Cringing, she dropped her head, hoping to hide her blush.
He laughed. His hand soothed her on the nape of her neck as he placed a quick kiss on the top of her head.
“We are outside. I should have used more discretion,” he explained.
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” He increased the distance between them. Looking her up and down, he seemed to make some decision. “This is it,” he said simply, suddenly sheepish.
“The pitch?”
He shrugged. “Not very exciting, I know. But the pitch—at any time of the day really, but especially in the morning before my mates come out to mark it all up—there’s just something special about it.”
“Is this all you’ve ever wanted to do?”
“Since I was a kid, yeah. I get here before everyone else, most of the time,” he qualified. “Sometimes, Rowan is right behind me, sometimes right in front. He likes to make a game out of who can get here first.”
She realized this was his p
lace, the place she’d asked him to take her.
“The pitch in the morning might be my favorite place.”
“Are you close?”
“Rowan and me? Yeah, he’s one of my best mates. Little bit of a downer sometimes,” he said, but he was smiling, and Ele got the feeling it was part of some inside joke.
“Are you on the same team?”
Tristan stopped abruptly. “You don’t know?”
“Should I?”
“Of course you should. Ro, Caleb, and I all play for Hartesfield United. Rumor has it, we are the crown prince’s team.” He was indignant, maybe even mildly appalled by the question.
“You’re right. My brother is a Hartesfield fan, through and through.”
“Well, I expect you to be, too, now.”
“Now?”
“Now that you’ve met me”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“kissed me.” He shrugged. “It should earn me a fan.”
I kissed a man who I’ve known for forty-five minutes.
I kissed a man who has probably kissed thousands of women.
I kissed Tristan Davenport!
Alternate universe?
The moment in the physiology room came back to her. Poor Robert. She couldn’t help forcing him into voyeurism. She imagined Robert wanted to scrub those few moments from his memory. Had she even remembered he was there, she wouldn’t have given in to the desire to touch Tristan. But for the first time in almost twelve years, she’d forgotten her surroundings and her audience. She’d only wanted her mouth on Tristan’s.
The thought of those few moments made warmth spread throughout her body, a combination of embarrassment at her forwardness and the reminiscent desire the memory brought her. She wanted to walk around like this all the time, euphoric and light, exhilarated and excited. She’d never felt so bold and powerful. Even if she could only enjoy it for today, she thought she might be able to bank the memory and eke sustenance from it for a long time.
She scoffed, “Like you need more of those.”
“Can never have enough fans.”
“Yes, Juliana told me, you are quite the social media smash.”
Tristan snickered. “Not you too. Rowan is always on me about my ‘addiction,’ as he refers to it. But it started innocently enough.”
“Really?”
“Aye. I have a big family. Six sisters. And my mom and dad are from big families. When I signed my first contract, I got loaned to a team in Germany. No one could afford to come watch me play, and it was exhausting, trying to keep everyone updated. But they all had phones and social media accounts. That was how it began, but then other people started to follow me. And then it was just this thing I did. When I came back here, I don’t know, I guess I could have stopped, but I felt like I’d be letting people down.” He shrugged. “Plus, I like it.”
She could see that. She imagined him just wanting to share who he was with the world because he was confident the world loved him. It made the gulf between them even wider.
Once, Ele had believed she could have normal friendships and relationships. Before. It had taken only one person willing to sell her story for the impenetrable walls to go up. Now, she relied on only her family and her closest staff. She guarded every aspect of her life from the public. Over time, her unwillingness to share who she was with anyone outside of her circle made her unapproachable. Instead of being mysterious and private, she was deemed aloof and shallow. James’s down-to-earth demeanor and openness coupled with Juliana’s outgoing youthfulness cast Ele in a light of severity and austereness. Thus, the Ice Princess had been born or created, depending on one’s view.
“I can tell,” she finally responded to him when the silence had stretched on.
He winked at her. “So, what’s yours?”
Confused, she asked, “My what?”
“Favorite place.”
She stuttered for an answer, but what came to mind wasn’t something she could say out loud.
“You can’t think too much about it. You just have to answer with the first thing to come to your mind.”
“I don’t know.”
“You do. I can see the answer; you just don’t want to say it.”
You.
“You can’t see an answer because I haven’t come up with one yet.”
His face called bullshit on her, but he didn’t press. “You owe me a secret.”
Ele reached a hand up and wiped some of the moisture from her face. The breeze moved through them, and she shivered.
Tristan swung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him. “We’re soaked. Let’s go get you dry and warm.”
She knew he was right. The cold had settled into her bones, and nothing short of a hot shower would warm her. But she didn’t want her time with him to be over because when she left here today, she would only ever see him on television.
When the rain began in earnest, Tristan tucked her into his chest and started back to the building. She slung her arm around his back and settled into him. He was lean with trim muscles. She knew his body fat content would hardly register on the fancy machine in the physiology room. She wondered what his body would feel like under her hands, and she mourned the lost opportunity to experience it.
When they reached it, the door opened automatically, and Robert and Millie were waiting on the other side with towels. Ele painted a disheveled picture. Her new training gear was damp and spotted with drops of rain. Her carefully crafted braid had suffered from both the water and the couple of times Tristan’s hand had been near it. If there was any makeup left on her face, it was probably smeared. She gave them a jaunty smile before wrapping the towel around her shoulders.
“I have your clothes in the changing room,” Millie said.
“Of course.”
“This way,” Tristan said with a nod in the direction they needed to go.
She should have allowed him to lead, let Robert fall into position and Millie step into hers. But she was already off script. So, she stepped in front of Robert and slid her hand into Tristan’s. He winked at her, and they moved as one through the hallway.
As merely a talking point, she asked over her shoulder, “Are we on schedule?”
When no one answered her, she missed a step. Tristan looked over at her—about to tease her, she thought. But he saw something that stopped him.
“Just a couple minutes off,” Robert finally said.
But it was too late. The flush of heat started in her belly. Not the rush of desire from earlier. No, this was the flames of panic spreading insidiously throughout her body. All the stolen touches and small confidences, the normalcy of a girl meeting a boy, faded away as her heart began to pound. She kept the pace, desperate for an escape from Tristan’s questioning eyes and reassuring hand squeezes. The constant checking ramped up her panic to epic proportions. Her chest tightened, and the first difficult breath to draw got trapped in her lungs.
When they arrived at the dressing room, Millie ushered Ele inside and pushed her into a seat.
“Deep breaths,” Millie said soothingly as she positioned herself in front of Ele. This was a practiced dance now. “We’ll get you fixed up and out of here in no time.”
Ele grappled with the clutches of panic, its smooth tentacles hungry for more of her soul. As she tried to fight against it, she thought of Tristan and his exposure to her. She had no way to know if he would flaunt his knowledge of her weakness to the world. The thought of it threatened to exacerbate her attack. Her breathing grew wearier, and the vise around her chest squeezed. She saw the worry in Millie’s eyes.
“I need for you to breathe,” Millie repeated, trying desperately to maintain the pitch of her voice.
A clamor at the door drew Millie’s gaze away, and even though Ele wanted to know what was happening, her desperation for air won out. Without Millie’s attention, Ele closed her eyes and emptied her mind and tried to concentrate on her breathing.
“Bloody hell,” someone said from the door.
Ele heard more tussling, and her eyes snapped open. As she was distracted, something loosened in her chest. Then, Tristan was on his knees in front of her, his hands cupping her jaw.
“She doesn’t like to be touched,” Millie insisted.
“I got this,” Tristan responded quietly, keeping his eyes locked on Ele. “I had to take out Robert to get in here,” he teased, his voice and gaze cajoling.
He continued talking, his inane chatter dancing around her as she struggled to surface. She watched as he formed words. His mouth, which she remembered tasting of diluted mint and effortless glee, captivated her attention, so she forgot about her struggle to breathe and the cinch around her lungs. Finally, his words began to make sense.
“Good thing I have a strong left foot, and I’m fast. Robert’s shin is probably going to require some ice tonight, and he’ll have a nasty bruise tomorrow.” Tristan kept up the chatter, his thumbs rubbing her cheeks, his voice jaunty, “You couldn’t find some wimpy special forces chap to be your bodyguard, huh? Had to be that brute.”
Ele cracked up. Tristan smiled at her.
“Attagirl,” he encouraged.
“Are you okay, Your Highness?” Millie asked worriedly.
Ele nodded, her gaze never leaving Tristan’s.
He pulled her into him, so her head rested on his collarbone, his hand running lovingly up and down her neck. “Thank fuck,” he whispered.
Her face tucked into Tristan’s neck, Ele relaxed into the safety he provided. When the shudders stopped, relief flooded her. The speed and magnitude of the attack were almost as surprising as Tristan’s ability to calm her. His hands paused in their ministrations, and the sudden horror of what he’d witnessed dawned on her. The threat of exposure was too much. She pulled away from Tristan. He leaned back on his heels, watching her. Ele’s default was practicality, so she wasted no time.
“You can’t post anything about this,” she said.
His eyes narrowed.
“Robert has an NDA you will need to sign.”
She stood up in front of him. The tableau they created, with her standing and him kneeling before her, exemplified their positions. Although she was a little less than stately in her national team training gear and her hair askew, there was no question she was Princess Eleanor in that moment.