by J Santiago
38
8 December
Christmas Gala
Tristan listened intently as Robert divulged all sorts of royal secrets. Through the whole retelling, he worried how Ele had taken the news. When Robert finished, Tristan looked to Jamie.
“Does she know that you set her up?”
Jamie looked truly miserable. “She does.”
Robert snickered from the front passenger seat.
Jamie scoffed next to him, which sent Robert and him laughing.
“The thing about Ele is, she’s quick to forgive,” Tristan said.
Even though she hadn’t outright forgiven him for the photo, he knew she was going to. He’d taken the chance while he had it to lay his heart on the line. He’d relived their conversation over and over, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. But now, with all this information Robert had dumped in his lap, he understood Ele’s plate was full. It didn’t stop his nerves from being strung tight. World Championship Cup had nothing on the Christmas gala.
“Yes,” Jamie said softly.
He hated to show his ignorance, but he needed to be prepared. “Last time I was at the palace, things didn’t go so well.” He happened to glance up, and Robert pinned him with a look, clearly calling him out on his activities in the parlor. He looked away. “I also had the Federation telling me where to go and what to do. So, what do I need to know about tonight? Any protocols I need to observe?”
Jamie and Robert shared an amused look.
“I’m a footballer, not a simpleton.”
Jamie answered, “This is the only event I think we sponsor that doesn’t require much in the way of protocol. Of course, people will be watching. You always bow to the queen, the crown prince, and the crown princesses.”
“Right”—Tristan relaxed—“bowing. I got it.”
“You could have totally played him, you know,” Robert said to Jamie.
“I’m already on Ele’s bad side.”
“I’m not sure I like this new side of you,” Tristan addressed Robert. “I think the strong, stoic persona fit you much better.”
Robert grinned.
Tristan’s phone buzzed. Normally, he wouldn’t answer, but with Rowan’s prognosis still unknown, he needed to. He slipped his mobile out of his pocket. “I apologize,” he said before looking at the screen. “Gaffer?” he said.
Jamie shifted beside him and turned to watch him.
“Tristan, I just got word on Rowan,” Nico said.
Tristan’s heart dropped to his stomach. Rowan hadn’t returned his calls. Caleb hadn’t hit him up either. But his National coach was calling. He knew Rowan and Nico were tight.
“It’s bad.” Tristan had meant it as a question, but based on the events, it came out a statement.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Tell me.”
“At first, they thought it was a patella dislocation. It was the call at the field. They sent him for X-rays. But the artery was compromised in his leg. They have to admit him for emergency surgery.”
“What? It was a normal tackle. He was talking to me. It didn’t seem that bad.”
“I know. It’s a freak injury. But, Tristan, he could lose his leg.”
Tristan bowed his head and lifted a shaky hand to it. People didn’t lose their legs from playing football. This was craziness. “Where is he?”
“Where are you?”
Tristan looked around, unable to process what was happening. Jamie’s hand landed on his shoulder, grounding him.
“I’m on my way to the Christmas gala. But I’m sure I can borrow a car or a helicopter or a plane or a teleporter.” He looked over to Jamie. “You have all that, right?”
“We can get you wherever you need to go,” Jamie assured him.
“Listen, we can’t do anything right now. They are going to stabilize him first and then transport him to an undisclosed hospital. I’m going to be at the gala too. When we get more information, we can come up with a plan.”
“Right. Okay. Can I call Caleb? He’s worried.”
“You can tell Caleb, but that’s it. Hartesfield will tell the rest of your team tomorrow after he’s been stabilized. I’ll see you shortly, and hopefully, I’ll have more information.”
Tristan disconnected and called Caleb. He gave him minimal information but told him to be ready to go when they knew more. Jamie and Robert were quiet the rest of the ride, allowing Tristan to drown in worry. The nerves about going to the palace were replaced with concern for his best mate.
Tristan missed the arrival and the entry. He was there, but his mind was all wrapped up in Rowan’s misery. He shuddered when he thought of Rowan possibly losing his leg.
Jamie led Tristan through a maze of hallways until, finally, they were entering the ballroom. Suddenly, Tristan reengaged. Ele was here somewhere. Just knowing she was within touching distance calmed him.
“Queen first, I think,” Jamie said.
He led Tristan farther into the room.
Earlier, Jamie had explained how each gala had a theme. This year’s was Winter White. Everything in the room was a shimmery white or silver. It was a winter wonderland.
As he walked next to Jamie, the earlier nerves returned. Tonight was important, and Tristan needed to be present. The queen was mingling, but the crowds parted for Jamie, and Tristan followed in his wake. Jamie kissed the queen on her cheek and then moved to stand to her right.
Tristan was all alone in front of her. He bowed, as instructed. When he straightened, he was looking into the shrewd eyes of the ruler of his country. He was conspicuous in the room for many reasons. Mostly, aristocratic white people milled around. Here he was, a black footballer in their midst. But he could tell the queen wasn’t judging.
“Your Majesty,” he said, thankful he’d looked up the proper address a couple of months ago.
“Mr. Davenport.”
“I can see Ele comes by her beauty naturally.”
She smirked. “A charmer.”
“Perhaps. But honest to a fault.”
“Yes, so I’ve gathered, T-Dav.”
He had the grace to blush. “Might have to rethink that.”
“Indeed,” she said with a wink.
“Now, who’s the charmer, Your Majesty?”
A tittering laugh sounded from her, and Tristan saw Jamie’s eyes widen.
“I don’t think you are here to romance an old woman though. Seems redundant to say, take care of her. She wouldn’t thank me for it.” Her gaze faltered for a moment. “She’s around here somewhere.”
She held her ring. Tristan grabbed her hand, and with a quick look at a smirking Jamie, he bowed his head and kissed it. He turned away from the queen and made his way out of her orbit. The crowd loosened up, the farther away he wandered. People were twirling around on the dance floor to some classical music Tristan would never be able to identify.
He looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ele. He circled around the room. Spotting Sir Nico with his ex-wife, Tristan started in that direction. The quickest way was through the dance floor, so he stepped cautiously into the swirling couples. Then, he spotted her, standing alone in the middle of it. Their gazes met, and she smiled so bright that it could have powered the whole of the palace. He moved quickly toward her, even as she stayed there. When he was close to her, he stopped, not sure of how to proceed. If this was going to go public, he needed her to initiate it.
He hadn’t seen her in four long months. She was as beautiful as he remembered, but there was a determination in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Instinctively, he knew this was her dance, a reunion she needed to choreograph. He wanted to take her in his arms, he wanted to drag her somewhere private, he wanted to do all sorts of wicked things with her. But he waited, a question in his eyes.
“Take a step, Tristan,” she said, repeating his words back to him.
So, he did. The closer he came, the bigger his smile. When he only had two steps left to close the distance, Ele t
ook control.
She walked toward him, into his arms. He knew this pose. His hands moved to their designated spot, and he lifted her up, spinning her around. But this time … this time, her mouth came down on his. He thought perhaps it would be a light kiss, but she didn’t back away. Her tongue peeked out, licking across his lips. He opened to her and dived into the kiss. His hand wrapped around her nape as he drank his fill of her. He got lost in her, every one of his molecules vibrating with need and happiness.
This girl.
When she finally broke the kiss, she looked at him with a combination of awe and love. “I missed you,” she said.
“Ah, E, I missed you.”
Her hands came from around the nape of his neck and settled on his cheeks. He didn’t relinquish his hold on her.
“I love you,” she murmured.
Tristan had won the World Championship Cup this summer. He was living his dream of being a footballer. But in that moment, he knew none of that compared to the love he felt for the woman in his arms. Her strength was awe-inspiring.
“I love you. I have loved you since you tackled the Batak at St. Peter’s.”
Ele’s eyes widened. “No, you didn’t.”
“I absolutely did. You are the most courageous person I have ever met. I can’t wait to build a life with you.”
Tears gathered in her eyes. “You are always so sure. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”
“It doesn’t matter how long it took. You are here. We are here. I will always keep you safe. I might mess up from time to time, but it will never be at the expense of your security. And thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. The middle of a ballroom, in the middle of a very public gathering.”
She grinned. Then, she reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. She held it out to him.
“What?”
“Unlock it.”
He tilted his head. “What are you doing?”
“I am wearing my tiara.” She glared at him.
He laughed. Unlocking his phone, he turned it over to her. She pulled up the camera app and handed it back to him.
Leaning in, she nodded to the camera. “Take it. I want us to have a picture of this, okay?”
He kissed her on the cheek and leaned in. “Smile, E.”
He snapped the picture. Grabbing the mobile from him, she looked at it and smiled wide.
“Look, it’s a good one.”
“Of course it is, love. You just made me the happiest bloke on the planet.”
She looked at the picture again and then back at him. “Caption this, Tristan.”
“Ele, you don’t have to do this.”
She shoved the mobile at him. “Caption! This!”
He pursed his lips for a second. Then, he did as she’d asked and posted the picture.
“What’d you say?”
“My queen.”
Epilogue
8 December
Christmas Gala
Nico stood, nursing a tumbler of scotch. No matter how hard he’d tried, his eyes kept returning to the same spot in the room. It was complete foolishness. He knew that. An impossible crush. Literally impossible. But it didn’t stop him from his fantasizing.
Katrine joined him, hooking her hand in his arm. She lifted her martini to her mouth and took a sip. She was a beautiful woman, an amazing mother, a loving best friend. She was everything he should want.
She squeezed his arm. “That’s a dangerous path,” she commented.
He questioningly looked at her. He knew he had been caught, but he wasn’t giving it up without some effort on her part. “What’s that, Kat?”
She shook her head, a smile playing around her mouth. “I know that look, Nicolas Ramsey. I’ve been on the other side of it, and I know where it leads.”
He raised his brow.
“Don’t give me that,” she said, laughing.
From the moment they’d met, she had teased him about his left eyebrow and how quickly it snapped to attention when something intrigued him.
She tugged on his arm. “Let’s go for a walk.”
At his nod, she led him through the crowded ballroom. French doors lined the northern wall, but with winter descended, the doors were shut. Tall space heaters were set up on the terrace, but few people had ventured outside. They stepped into the cold and moved closer together for warmth. Kat maneuvered them to one of the heaters and shuffled to him. Nico wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight. He breathed in the familiar scent of her.
“It’s good to have you back here. Does that mean you’ll stay?”
She settled against him, her hands wrapping around his back, under his jacket. She heaved a sigh. “Yes,” she said simply.
He grabbed her arms and pushed her away from him, so he could see her face. “Really?” Joy shot through him.
“It’s too hard on the kids. It’s too hard on me. I miss my best friend.”
Nico hugged her hard, so hard that she squealed. “You don’t know how happy that makes me. It’s the best gift you could have given me.” He held her for another moment. “Thank you.”
“We’ll have to figure out boundaries and work on joint custody.”
“Absolutely. You know I will give you whatever you want in terms of custody. I know you need to have a life too.”
“All of that, we’ll work through. But whoever we see in the future, it has to stay separate from the kids.”
“Of course. Besides, you know I’m not going to be seeing anyone.” He said he wouldn’t be seeing anyone. That did not mean he was going to be celibate.
“Nico, you can’t live your life like that.”
“We’re not getting into that again. Leave it alone, Kat!”
She stiffened in his arms. And he immediately felt contrite.
“I’m sorry. I’m just … not ready.”
“You looked ready when you were making fuck-me eyes across the ballroom.”
“I was not.”
“Oh my God, Nico. I know you better than anyone. You’ve got a thing.”
“Shut it, Kat,” he said good-naturedly.
“Of course, of all the people in the world, only you would fall for someone completely off-limits and out of reach. You’re a masochist.”
He shook his head. He wanted to argue with her, but she was probably right. He couldn’t do a single thing about his crush, which made it exceedingly safe. He’d tried marriage and commitment once. If he couldn’t make it work with the best woman in the world, he couldn’t make it work with anyone. She would argue the point. But he knew.
“Well,” she said, placing her hand on his cheek, “for what it’s worth, a certain prince couldn’t take his eyes off of you either.”
11 December
St. Mary’s Hospital
Rowan tried to shift in the hospital bed, but every move sent pain radiating through him. They’d saved his leg.
There was no other good news. Likely, he would never again play football at the highest level. Indeed, a bitter pill to swallow. There was a future awaiting him. Unfortunately, he wanted nothing to do with it. Without football though, he wasn’t sure he would be able to put it off any longer. It had been a guillotine hanging over his outstretched neck for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t a religious man, but he often praised those higher beings for giving him the talent to be a football player.
The door swung open, and his mother walked in. She was a stunning woman. Her dark skin showed none of the lines of her fifty years. The upward tilt of her eyes—from some unknown Asian ancestor—heightened her exotic look. She wore her hair natural in an Afro most couldn’t pull off. Depositing a full water pitcher on the table next to his bed, she sat daintily in the lone chair. Rowan was big for a footballer, but he did not get his height from his petite mother. She poured water into a cup and shoved a straw into his mouth.
“Drink,” she ordered, the lilting Caribbean accent settling around him.
Rowan drew a few sips from the straw. The cold water hit his parched throat, soothing it. Greedy, he took a couple more pulls. She snatched it away from him so quickly that water dribbled down his chin. He went to wipe it away but groaned from the pain. She picked up a napkin and dabbed at his chin.
“Your friends are here.”
“Alicia?”
“Pfft. No. Tristan, Caleb, and Sir Nico. They’ve been calling every day since it happened, but no visitors are allowed in the ICU.”
He knew that. Right after it’d happened, he’d had several missed calls from his teammates, but Tristan was the reigning champ of checking on him. But Rowan really didn’t want to see them. He wasn’t ready for the sympathy and the pity. They wouldn’t mean to, but being with his mates would only make it worse.
“I’m not up for it,” he groused.
His mother looked at him with compassion. “It will make you feel better.”
“No, it won’t.” His throat was still gravelly from the surgery and disuse over the last few days. “Not now!”
She shook her head but left his room. When she returned, she plopped into the chair again. She reached into her bag for a set of knitting needles. Settling the needles in her hands, she pulled on the yarn she kept in her bag. The quiet cadence of the needles scraping together worked with the medicine to send him to sleep. But when he woke, his mother was still there, the telltale sign of her knitting a bulge of patterned yarn.
“You’re awake.” She put her things away and gave him another sip of water.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Five hours.”
Rowan blinked. He hadn’t been out of bed all day. He suddenly felt restless.
“Your father stopped by.”
Rowan growled. He could have come up with words to express his displeasure of his father seeing him weak and asleep in a hospital, but he didn’t want to waste any words on him.
“He’s been here every day.”
Probably to gloat.
“When are you going to forgive him?”
He looked at his mother. She was a force of nature. But for some reason, when it came to his father, she was a helpless kitten. It rankled him.