The Princess and the Player

by J Santiago

  Until the team meandered through the crowd, up to the place where the royal family waited. Then, with no other option, he looked up, straight into the ice-blue gaze of Princess Eleanor.

  And everything else around him ceased to exist.

  28

  4 August

  Celebration Gala

  Ele’s gaze scoped the drawing room back and forth, an eye-sweeping pendulum. It was one of those skills she’d picked up somewhere, whether princess school or grandmother crash course; she was never to give more attention to one person or thing than the other. There was a power and knowledge in it though.

  She knew she could look over the assembly while watching Tristan from the corner of her eye. It was how she had seen his surprise and then joy at the guests awaiting the team’s arrival. The lottery for access to the celebration had been Jamie’s idea. They could have sold tickets, made it about money or power or being seen, but Jamie had said the team deserved something special, so they conducted a secret lottery, sending emails to every person who had purchased National Team gear, signed into the National Team website, or attended any of the viewing parties—all while adhering to data protection regulations. Each ticket included a guest pass, and if a parent won a spot, they were able to submit the number in their family for attendance. It was a heartfelt, brilliant plan, and without the team knowing how the group had been selected, she could tell they appreciated the audience.

  She watched as Tristan crowd-dived. Without any thought for his safety, he jumped into the midst of the people. His phone had found its way into his hand as he posed for pictures and joked around with everyone, further cementing himself as the crowd favorite. While it scared her, the way he leaped headfirst into whatever fray presented itself, it was also endearing. He infused joy into and out of every encounter he had.

  To be that carefree.

  When the team moved forward to begin the ceremony and Tristan finally sought her out, she was more than ready. She craved his attention, his acknowledgment, but as soon as their eyes met, she understood his delay because all she wanted was to whisk him out of the room and lose herself with him. All the control and practice of a lifetime escaped her. She could no more feign indifference to Tristan Davenport than she could pretend interest in mud wrestling.

  A pinch on her arm brought her out of her Tristan-induced haze.

  Without turning her head, she mumbled, “What was that for?”

  With his princely mask in place, Jamie said, “You look like you are about to abandon your duties and disappear with a footballer.”

  Startled by his observation, she whipped her head to the side.

  He met her gaze. “Stand down. You’ll get your chance.”

  Then, like nothing extraordinary had happened, Jamie returned to his position, and Ele was left bewildered.

  “It’s true,” Jules whispered. “You looked like you were about to jump off the stage.”

  “Bloody, bloody hell,” she muttered.

  Because she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist temptation, she kept her mind on the proceedings of the night. The introduction of the team to the crowd. The procession of them to the dais. The receiving line of congratulations. The queen adhering the Imperial Order of Merit medal to each of the coaches, players, and staff. The queen took moments with Sir Nicolas Ramsey and Tristan Davenport and a longer than usual moment with Rowan Beckwith.

  Ele was present but not. She was excited for the team, having grown fond of them during her time in the States. Even though she’d had not one thing to do with their victory, she was so proud of their accomplishment, and she was a bit possessive of them. Like, somehow, they were hers now. After the queen’s bestowing of their awards, the team came forward and were congratulated by Jamie, herself, and Juliana in turn.

  She should have been prepared for Tristan to walk into the room earlier, for the breath to leave her body, for her to become a flight risk. Unfortunately, she’d been taken by surprise by the depth of her longing for him. Before he stepped to her, she centered herself, knowing this brief touch wouldn’t be the last.

  When her hand slid into his, her body responded in a predictable fashion, like a thirsty flower suddenly offered water.

  Something inside her unfurled as he bowed his head and spoke, “Your Highness.”

  “Don’t,” she chided.

  His gaze locked on hers. “E,” he said with a cheeky grin.

  Her teeth clamped on her top lip as she fought the giddy smile threatening. “Mr. Davenport,” she managed. “Congratulations. It was such a pleasure to be able to attend the Cup and to be there for your victories. I look forward to supporting Hartesfield in the future.” She’d practiced her little speech, saying it over and over in front of the mirror in the loo, just so she could deliver it with believability.

  “Well, Your Highness, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

  She hadn’t been expecting that response. “Oh?”

  “A true fan knows we are United.” Then, he winked at her and moved on.

  She was breathless from his touch, but then Caleb was in front of her, and she snapped back into tiara mode. The rest of the line was tortuously slow, but eventually, everyone came through, and her royal duties concluded. She followed the queen, Jamie, and Juliana from the room. They convened in the antechamber to remove their crowns. As lovely as they were, they were heavy and a bit conspicuous. After handing the hardware over, Ele turned to join the party.

  A hand on her arm stopped her.

  “I expect you will conduct yourself as is fit,” her grandmother remarked.

  Up until that moment, Ele hadn’t realized Queen Lilian knew of her romance with Tristan Davenport. But with her reminder of Ele’s propriety, there was no doubt she was well informed. Ele resisted the urge to look for Jamie’s support.

  She met her grandmother’s gaze. “Of course, Grandmama.”

  Queen Lilian raised her very elegant brow.

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Ele corrected.

  Jamie opened the door and waved his hand, indicating Juliana and Ele should leave while they had the chance. Neither one of them were stupid enough to wait for a dismissal. When the queen invoked her title, she wasn’t in the mood. When the door shut, Juliana giggled, Jamie chuckled, and Ele shook her head.

  “You could have warned me,” Ele remarked dryly.

  “I did,” he reminded.

  He was right. He had. He’d told her of his nefarious plan, but she hadn’t known he’d included Tristan’s name to the queen when he wheedled her passage to America. She gave a passing thought to the queen’s little tête-à-tête with Tristan.

  “Well, you should have been more explicit,” she snapped. Because she was still angry with him over his manipulation even though she enjoyed the fruits of his labor.

  The two-minute interaction with the queen was enough to fuel her brisk walk to the ballroom and to dull her nerves. She entered from the west door and walked purposefully into the room. She glanced right and left, failing miserably in feigning nonchalance.

  “Your Highness,” Millie greeted. “There are some people for you to meet.”

  Of course there are.

  The charity part of the evening was apparently over, and she was whisked back into the princess part. Millie moved her through the crowd, introducing patrons of the sport, et cetera. She listened with half an ear, eyes scanning the room.

  “Sheena Davenport,” Millie said.

  Ele automatically reached her hand out before the name registered. She jerked her gaze forward and met the warm, shining eyes of Tristan’s favorite sister. Her light-brown skin was the exact shade of Tristan’s, but her face was peppered with freckles. Her gorgeous, spiraling hair cascaded around her.

  Ele spent her life on the fringes. As a child, she had been coddled and sheltered. When she made it to school age, the notoriety of who she was had already been ingrained into the little hearts and minds of her peers, so she never knew if the offered friendships were genuine. It
had made relationships difficult. But there were people she observed, people she immediately wished she could get to know in a meaningful way. Perhaps knowing the woman in front of her was important to Tristan made her feel as if she wanted to connect with Sheena Davenport, but Ele thought it was more the old soul residing in the depths of the laughing eyes that spoke to her.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Sheena said. She didn’t tack on any of the royal entreaties, and somehow, it made her all that more endearing.

  “No,” Ele practically gushed, “the pleasure is mine.” She lowered her voice, her excitement making her conspicuous. “I have heard so many wonderful things about you.”

  “Oh,” Sheena commented with a look of surprise. “We aren’t pretending.”

  Ele glanced around, a habit. “Did you want to?”

  Sheena’s hand came to her chest. “I think you might have taken me by surprise.”

  “I wouldn’t think much surprised you.”

  Sheena threw back her head and laughed. It was a husky, joyous sound, probably indulged at will. “You would be right,” she finally responded with sparkling eyes. “I was prepared to hate you a little bit.”

  This time, it was Ele who was taken by the candidness. “Why?”

  The light dimmed in Sheena’s eyes, and Ele felt the loss. “Because you are going to break his heart.”

  “I …” Ele wanted to look away.

  Sheena’s head tilted to the side. Something like compassion washed over her features, softening her. “Or maybe not.”

  Ele nodded. “Or maybe not.”

  Then, Sheena’s arms were around her, and Ele was engulfed in a tight hug. Her gaze met Millie’s startled one, and then Ele closed her eyes and let herself be comforted by Tristan’s sister.

  “He chose well,” Sheena said softly before she released Ele. She bowed her head. “Your Highness.”

  Ele took it for the respect Sheena intended it, and damn if it didn’t make her feel like she could walk on water. She was giddy and impatient. She hadn’t seen Tristan since they shook hands at the ceremony, and she didn’t think she could wait any longer.

  “Millie.”

  It must have been written on her face or apparent in her tone. Millie merely nodded and led the way out of the room. Ele didn’t bother to look for Jamie or Juliana. She didn’t care about protocol or really anything else.

  The click of her shoes marked time and space, every step taking her closer to him. Millie opened the door, and Ele walked in, anticipation making her impulsive. But then she saw Tristan leaning casually against the back of one of the couches, his arms crossed over his chest. And her world narrowed to just one person. She hesitated in the doorway, not knowing how to move forward. Instead, she drank him in, from the top of his head down to his shoes. When her gaze returned to his face, he smirked.

  “Are you going to come any closer?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

  “I suddenly don’t know what to do.”

  His smirk melted into a familiar smile. “Take a step, E.”

  She did. And another. Then, she ran and threw herself at him. His arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her in until there was no space between them. Her head nestled under his chin. She’d expected heated kisses, but instead, they merely held on to each other, equally afraid if they let go, they might not get another chance.

  She lifted her head, her eyes locking with his. Her hands cupped his face on both sides, and she brought his head down, so their lips met. It was a brush, a light, delicate taste.

  “I missed you,” he exhaled, the vibration of his words a different kind of caress.

  “I missed you so much.”

  The declarations freed something in both of them. The heat followed. Their mouths met in a searing kiss, full of regrets and promises. Ele took everything she’d hated leaving behind. She devoured his mouth, teeth clashing, lips bruising. Tristan’s hands moved from behind her back. They swept over her body with a veracious hunger. He ended the kiss, his mouth moving down the column of her neck, leaving shivers in his wake. Ele leaned into his touch, still plastered against him. His hands gripped her hips, and he squeezed.

  “Turn around, Your Majesty,” he demanded against her collarbone, his teeth nipping.

  Her eyes fluttered closed, and she flipped around, his command like an erotic prod. His mouth landed on the nape of her neck. He bit down and then soothed her with an open-mouthed kiss. Ele’s hands landed on the back of the couch, seeking an anchor.

  “Tris,” she said belatedly as her head dropped, chin to chest.

  He pushed the long sheath of her dress up, over her hips.

  “Not … Your … Majesty,” she said inanely, like the wrong title mattered. But she could hardly hold on to thoughts.

  “Your Majesty,” he said again, more definitively, right before his fingers invaded her body.

  “Ah,” she sighed.

  “Need to be inside you,” he whispered. “Can I?” His mouth settled on her ear, and his hands snaked around her waist, holding her in place.

  She didn’t think anything could make her want him more, but his hesitation, his question, catapulted her feelings into some sacred stratosphere. “Yes.”

  She heard the crinkle of foil. Then, he was inside of her, and she was lost, floating in the place she occupied with Tristan. It was quick and dirty and the most incredible moment of her life because as Tristan’s hands held her, she realized she was with who she needed and wanted. Tristan Davenport was a tattoo, forever branding her as his.

  Tristan held her until they both stopped shaking. Then, he helped her clean up and straighten up. He turned her around and gently kissed her.

  “Always Your Majesty,” he said.

  She met his gaze and shook her head, smiling. “Wrong title. And you know I don’t want you to address me formally.”

  He kissed her again. “Always Your Majesty because you, Ele, you are my queen.”

  29

  4 August

  Celebration Gala

  “How long have we been here?” Ele asked.

  “Probably too long,” he answered honestly.

  Ele was tucked up under his chin, her head resting on his chest, and his arms were wrapped around her. The chair was rubbish, probably some sixteenth-century heirloom, with a stiff back and a hard seat, but Tristan would stay in it for hours if he could keep her right where she was. His hand crept up her back, diving into her hair before nestling on the nape of her neck. She sighed at the contact and wiggled in deeper. Tristan chuckled.

  She began to extricate herself, and Tristan felt the loss. As she sat up, her hand slid along his jaw, and she stared at him, memorizing him maybe.

  “What?” he finally asked.

  His question made her nervous. She looked away, her hands found her thighs, and she rubbed against them, like she was wiping sweat from her palms. Her tell. He grasped her hand and interlaced their fingers.

  “I want to be able to see you,” she said, her gaze returning to his.

  He resisted the urge to smile. It was exactly what he wanted, but he hadn’t thought she would be willing to attempt anything other than preplanned, official rendezvous. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I thought we could try dating.”

  He snickered. At the hurt on her face, he sobered and attempted to choose his words wisely. He knew how important this moment was for her. One didn’t get to pick their fears, and Ele had been sidled with some very inconvenient ones for her station in life. Her willingness to enter into any kind of association with him, a man who thrived on media attention, spoke to the depths of her feelings. He heaved an inward sigh of relief because he was so very aware of the weight of his own feelings for her.

  He squeezed her hand. “I would love that,” he said simply. He could have pointed out how beyond dating they were. Yet he understood her hesitation to commit to more than such a casual descriptor.

  “Really?” she said, her eyes alight with excitement, pleasure, an
d surprise.

  “Did you think I would give you a different answer?”

  “I wasn’t completely sure. I mean, I see you.” She swallowed and winced. “I know how much you like your life and what you’ve made of it. And I understand flying under the radar isn’t your style.”

  Tristan’s face locked up, his smile frozen. “Under the radar. You want to date secretly?”

  It was exactly what he didn’t want. He’d spent his allotted amount of time in stale hotel rooms with her. He wanted to be able to be with her for real even if he had no idea what it might look like. They both had impossible schedules, but he would love to come home to her every night and to find things to do with her on days when their commitments were light. To be confined to their homes held little appeal. Besides, it wasn’t like he could hang in the Royal Palace.

  How would that work?

  And as he asked himself that question, he understood her hesitation. She was hedging her bets.

  They had spent very little time together in a fairly ideal situation and with Robert running interference. She wasn’t sure what she felt for him. She was still searching for certainty. And he was already there.

  Bloody hell, that hurts.

  Suddenly, he needed space. His hand slackened on hers until they drifted apart. Ele’s gaze remained zeroed in on his mouth, and Tristan watched as her smile faltered. Her eyes snapped to his, and she shifted in his lap. He put his hands on her hips and steadied her as she stood, no verbal communication needed between them. When he knew she was firmly on her feet, he got to his and walked to the other side of the parlor, looking out into the darkness.