by J Santiago
“Need to stop you up,” he commented, turning into the mini pharmacy at his command. “Think you can play?”
As much as Tristan was willing to sacrifice some dignity, he didn’t want to give up any playing time. “Think so. Just might need some cover before the game. To get it all out.”
Brendan smirked. “Right. I got that.”
He handed Tristan some medicine, sure to put a lock on his stomach. Tristan nodded his thanks and strode away. He made his way back to the changing room and got into his gear. The place rocked with the giddy excitement of the first game of the long season. They exclaimed over their new kits, made predictions about the score, and maybe added some lamentations about the short off-season. When the door sprang open, the crown prince strode into the room with his security detail.
As he spoke to each of the players and worked the room, Tristan took note of the men with him. Then, he clutched his stomach, only for Rowan to see, and ducked out of the room. They would head out to the pitch for pregame shortly, and Tristan needed to be indisposed. He stepped into one of the restrooms and locked the door.
It wasn’t long until Jamie’s delegation departed. Tristan peeked out from the loo, and noting the empty hallway, he followed at a respectable distance. When they stepped to the elevator heading to the box, Tristan darted in between the closing doors.
As he’d expected, he had a guard encircling each of his biceps before he could even utter a word. But he had already locked gazes with Jamie. It was hard to stare into those ice-blue eyes without thinking of Ele.
“Your Highness,” he said, inclining his head.
He didn’t fight the hold of Jamie’s security detail, but he did flex, just once, for effect. Their grips tightened.
“Mr. Davenport. What a surprise,” Jamie greeted.
“I’m sure. Got a minute?”
The corner of Jamie’s mouth twitched, an indication of a reluctant smile, and Tristan knew he would get to have the conversation he needed.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Jamie asked.
“As you know. But I’m finding it a bit hard to concentrate with all these questions.”
“Cheeky bastard,” Jamie muttered, clear enough for Tristan to hear.
The prince’s PPO nodded, and the vise grips on Tristan’s arms disappeared. The elevator came to a halt, and three guards stepped out.
Tristan tilted his head. “Here?”
Jamie leaned against the back of the elevator and crossed his arms. “Unless you want someone to see.”
“Right, of course.” Now that he had the audience he wanted, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. There were so many different questions he wanted to ask. “How is she?” he decided to ask because it was what he needed to know most.
Tristan assumed Jamie had anticipated the first one and would have a ready answer, but instead, he shifted his gaze and then his feet.
His hand left its position on his chest and crept up to the back of his neck. “I think, okay.”
“Think?” Tristan’s annoyance couldn’t be disguised.
“She’s not really talking to me at the moment.”
“But surely, Robert is keeping you informed.”
Jamie’s gaze landed back on Tristan. “Robert was removed from her detail.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Perhaps he should have shown some deference, some respect, but he found himself pissed on Ele’s behalf.
“It was the right thing to do.”
“You did it? How could you do that to her?”
“What is it you are expecting from this conversation? You want to know she’s okay? Or that you didn’t completely devastate her when you shoved her into the limelight?”
Tristan recognized the deflection for what it was, but his guilt over what had happened precluded him from pressing more.
“Yeah,” Tristan answered, “that’s what I want to know.” He’d tried every way possible to exonerate himself from the fiasco, but he should have done more to protect her.
Jamie studied him, and Tristan squirmed. It was almost as if he were in an interrogation room and Jamie were the bad cop. He wished they were in a graphic novel, and he could read Jamie’s thoughts. But all he could make out was a lingering anguish swirling in the icy depths.
“She told you about our parents.”
“Aye.”
“I’m quite certain she left out more details than she shared.” At Tristan’s shrug, Jamie continued, “Ele used to be the fearless one of the two of us. I think it vexed the hell out of my father. But that’s neither here nor there. It was supposed to be me on that trip. Not her.
“Everyone around here was mourning the loss of the future king, and I just wanted my sister back. When they found her and rescued her, I was so relieved. But of course, she wasn’t the same. My Ele, the other half of me, the brave one who had propped me up and made me more than I really was, she didn’t come back.” Jamie looked away, his face contorted with pain and sorrow.
“She had nightmares for two straight years. When she conquered those—on her own, of course—the panic attacks started. She’s been a virtual prisoner for years. And Robert, it’s like his fate was tied to hers. Neither one of them could move forward because part of moving forward would mean letting each other go.”
Things began to click in Tristan’s mind; things he didn’t want to know or acknowledge tried to fit themselves together like an amorphous shape. He wasn’t sure what had tipped him off, but he knew, absolutely, that Jamie was involved. “You orchestrated the whole thing.”
Jamie’s lips compressed into a hard line. The sorrow Tristan had glimpsed earlier disappeared. There was a hardness there instead, a force of will Tristan thought befitting of a future king but not quite the thing for a doting brother.
“That’s cold, Your Highness,” Tristan said.
The prince’s shoulders moved up, a half-shrug of indifference. “A means to an end.”
“Messing with people’s lives—there’s no excuse.”
“Do you think anything would have changed? Did you actually imagine Ele would be with you, in public?”
Inwardly, Tristan flinched, remembering his last conversation with Ele. The hurt and frustration he’d experienced when she suggested secretly dating still simmered. Jamie couldn’t have known the direction of their conversation, but her twin definitely knew Ele pretty well.
“She needs to move forward. She needs to heal, and she wouldn’t have done that here, with Robert around, always protecting her.”
“You underestimate your sister.”
“I have never underestimated her. Not when she was missing, not when she came home, not the times she was curled up in a ball after a bad panic attack. I might have miscalculated, but I have never thought her weak.”
Tristan’s head tilted in interest. “Miscalculated? You mean, you thought she would forgive you for getting rid of Robert and then do what you had deemed fit for her to ‘get better’?” He made sure to use finger quotes, taking perverse pleasure in seeing Jamie squirm a bit.
“Maybe.”
“So, where is she? How is she?”
Jamie cleared his throat and blinked. Pushing his hand through his hair, he said, “She’s safe.”
“You don’t know how to contact her and Robert isn’t with her and you’re worried,” Tristan surmised.
Jamie’s bravado faded a tiny bit. “Millie knows how to contact her, and if I wanted to, I could force the issue.”
“Your motivation might have been pure, but your execution sucked. Ele will be fine; I have no doubt of that. But don’t be surprised if she doesn’t forgive you.”
“I don’t need her to forgive me. I just need for her to get better, to live.” The earnestness in his expression eased some of Tristan’s discomfort. “And what do you need, Mr. Davenport? What is it you want from my sister?”
Gulp.
He wanted all sorts of things. Time with her. Safety for her. Kissing. Coffee. Holding hands. Coming home to her afte
r a game. Laughing with her. Hanging out with her and Sheena. Introducing her to his friends. Forever.
“More importantly, what are you willing to give up for her?” Jamie asked into the silence.
“What do you mean?”
Jamie pushed away from the wall. As if sensing it was time, the elevator door magically opened. “What I mean is, I understand your concern. I even admire your tactics. But let’s be honest; you are no ordinary boy, and she is no ordinary girl. If you decide to reach out to Ele, make sure you know what you want and, more importantly, what you are willing to give up to be with her. If you’re not sure or if this is some whim, I beg you to let her go.”
Will appeared at the opening, and Jamie ambled out. Just as he crossed the threshold, he flicked something in Tristan’s direction. Snatching it out of the air, Tristan held it in front of his face. A phone number was engraved in gold on a thick parchment business card.
Momentarily elated, Tristan took note of the ten digits. American.
Then, all the prince’s warnings and evasions and conflicting messages bombarded him. The elevator doors slid closed, and Tristan was left wondering what the hell he should do.
32
9 September
Chicago
Ele arranged the tablet for her daily Skype chat with Millie. The predictability of the call provided some semblance of her old life, the one ruled by minute-by-minute obligations and duties. Ele knew the queen could locate her and call her home at any time. Part of her lived in nervous anticipation of the palace’s intent, but the other side of her was learning to let go of the things she couldn’t control. For whatever reason, her family had allowed her to run away and to stay hidden. They were smart enough to know it served the country’s purpose to leave her be, so she was determined to take advantage of the time. And she’d been doing that.
With Millie’s meticulous research, they’d secured a counselor who specialized in anxiety disorders and PTSD. Every time Ele left a session, she was exhausted and wrung out. For the first time in years, she’d relived that fateful day from start to finish. Snapshots of her parents flooded her mind, and she feared the nightmares would start again. But instead, the weight of her sorrow and fear began to lift. It happened over weeks, so every day, she breathed a little easier. Her hypervigilance slowly succumbed to a more natural awareness of her surroundings. She took small risks. Her first was an unplanned trip to the grocery store, a block from her rented apartment. It seemed stupid to take such pride in the short walk, but in the last twelve years, aside from her time with Tristan, she hadn’t gone anywhere without at least twenty-four-hour advance notice. After that first foray into normalcy, the excursions had come easier, and the nervousness had seemed to fade quicker.
The apartment oasis where she lived gave her a safe place to decompress. Although smaller than her suite of rooms at home, it opened up to a little garden where Ele found herself spending a lot of time. With the cooperating weather, she would sip her coffee or tea and lose herself in the sounds of the city. At least once a day, she thought of Robert’s reaction if he knew she was living in a ground-floor apartment in a major city.
Missing her people was the only notable downside to her temporary life. Before she had come to Chicago, Ele had considered her circle of trust to be bought and paid for. Millie, Robert, and Michael were with her almost every waking minute of every day, and she trusted them with her life. She also had Beatrix, whose quirky outlook often provided Ele with some lightness. But they were her employees, and she was always aware of their obligations to her. Being away from everyone provided some perspective. Millie had set up a dummy email account for Ele. Every day, Michael and Beatrix emailed her—checking in, sharing funny stories they knew she would appreciate, and generally telling her they cared for her, even when they weren’t caring for her. The friendship they offered made her realize they were her village, no matter how they had come to be there.
Her computer rang with Millie’s Skype call. Ele stationed herself in front of the tablet and waited.
“Good morning,” Millie said finally.
Ele smiled at her friend. “Good afternoon. Have you had a busy day thus far?”
Millie looked a little frazzled. The first couple of weeks after Ele’s departure, worry had shadowed Millie’s countenance, but gradually, much like Ele’s fears, it was gently giving way to a more put-together assistant.
Millie bit down on her lip and then grimaced. “I still haven’t been able to figure out where Robert is.” It was the way they began every conversation.
Ele had come to a realization two days after she left home. She’d been reluctant to give voice to it, like saying it would make it true. But at Millie’s disheartened expression, Ele found she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Mil, if you can’t find Robert, it’s because he doesn’t want to be found.”
A pang swept through her. Goodness, that hurts to admit.
Millie blinked. “I know.”
“You just didn’t want to say anything?”
“Right. I hate disappointing you.”
“Yes, well, you can’t disappoint me more than Robert’s disappearing act.”
“Ele.” Millie rarely called her by her name. As close as they were, duty trumped familiarity. “If Robert doesn’t want to be found, it’s because he thinks it’s best for you. That man has always put you first.”
Isn’t that the truth?
Her eyes filled with unshed tears. She missed Robert. But she knew the truth of Millie’s words. Placing a hand under each of her eyes, she held back the tears with her fingers and force of will. If Robert’s defection was deliberate, did that mean he was gone from her forever?
Millie straightened on the other side of the connection. “Is your hair purple?” she asked in disbelief.
Glancing away from the tablet, Ele shrugged sheepishly. “Just the ends.”
She’d chopped several inches off her hair, and then, on a whim she couldn’t explain in retrospect, she’d dyed the ends purple. The shortened hair tended toward beachy waves, and Ele had a hard time reconciling the woman she was becoming with the one she’d been.
“I thought the helix piercing was enough,” Millie muttered.
Ele giggled and then slapped her hand over her mouth. But she knew her eyes were dancing with mirth because, when her gaze met Millie’s, her friend began to laugh. The piercing had hurt like the dickens and was still a bit tender. Her index finger nudged the jeweled red stud, testing its sensitivity, and she winced only a little. Her ear had become her own cheesy metaphor for her heart. The sharp bite of pain from the puncture of the needle had wounded her, making her suck in air and breathe deeply through it. And that first night, she could hardly stand to touch it. But each day, the pain receded a little. She knew there would come a day when it would cease to hurt, but the jewelry would always stay there, reminding her of what had been.
Who knew a vacation from princessing would turn her into a melodramatic sap?
When their laughter ceased, Millie got serious again. “I have some other news.”
“Bad?”
“No. But I’m reluctant to tell you because I’m not sure if my theory is right or if I’m completely off base. And I wasn’t going to say anything to you at all, but then I had an interesting conversation with the prince, and I thought maybe I wasn’t so crazy.”
“Millie?”
“Right.” Millie straightened up at her desk and transformed from Ele’s trusted confidant to her personal assistant. There was a difference. “I’ve been monitoring Tristan Davenport’s social media.”
Every nerve in Ele’s body pinged at the mention of Tristan. She hadn’t been watching his social media, but she didn’t want anyone looking at her web history. And she might have been watching the Hartesfield United games she could catch. Or maybe she had found an American Hartesfield United fan group that watched the games together, and she might have perhaps gotten ahold of a Davenport jersey. She might or might not be considered a
superfan.
“Oh?”
Millie smirked. “Oh, indeed.” Then, she bit her lip again. Nervous.
“You need to tell me already. This is torture.”
“I-think-he’s-leaving-you-messages-on-his-social-media-accounts.”
“Was that English? It sounded like maybe some language I’m not quite familiar with.”
Millie closed her eyes and shook her head. When her eyes blinked open, she had her game face firmly in place. “I think Tristan has been trying to leave you messages.”
This time, Ele straightened in her seat. “What do you mean?”
“What is it called when the first letter of every word forms a message?”
Ele shrugged. “Acrostic.”
Millie’s hands fluttered in excitement. “Right, an acrostic. I think he’s been doing that.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He knows I monitor all of your press, and he has fallen into that realm. I check his accounts daily—not really looking for anything, but looking for something. Some clue.”
“Of what?”
“How he feels about you.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. When the whole thing happened at the celebration, he was completely quiet. No posts for days. But a week later—”
“Opening day.”
“Exactly, and he was back online. But there were no new pictures. Everything posted was memories with different captions. It seemed weird because he is literally the most-followed footballer in the world. I thought maybe I was projecting, you know. Wanting to see something that might not be there.”
Heat rushed through Ele. Not like a panic attack, but rather a shot of adrenaline. “What convinced you?”
“The timing. I haven’t said anything because, at first, it wasn’t anything. But then I wrote all of the captions down, and the first letter of each one started forming words. And it was too coincidental. Because guess who cornered your brother in an elevator in the stadium on opening day.”
“Tristan,” Ele croaked.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure about this?”