Dirty Prince

by Vanessa Waltz

  “Not used to being pressed up against the common folk, are you?” I whispered.

  He laughed nervously and quickly glanced around at the people surrounding us. “Jessica,” he whispered. “Someone might hear.”

  “No one heard me.”

  “It’s just a bit awkward. I’m not used to public transport.”

  “I thought you said you took the metro all the time as a kid.”

  “That was then.”

  Luke held onto the rail with his sleeves, probably to avoid the layer of germs coating it.

  “Well, consider it payback for laughing at me on the airplane.”

  We transferred to another line and finally arrived at the Westminster station. When we climbed out, Big Ben stood right in front of me like a giant. Even in the overcast weather, the tower shined in a dark gold brilliance. I craned my neck to look at the black hands sitting on a white circle surrounded by a golden ring. The parliament building wrapped around Big Ben. We walked down the street and over the bridge, weaving around tourists to look down at the River Thames snaking through the city. A giant Ferris wheel was northeast of us. Luke leaned over the bridge and watched my fascination with a happy look on his face.

  “That’s the London Eye,” he said, pointing to the wheel.

  “It’s incredible.”

  There was nothing like this where I had grown up. We walked back towards Big Ben, the snarl of traffic shuddering down the streets, the red double decker busses groaning as they passed us. Luke grabbed my arm and pulled me back violently when I almost walked into oncoming traffic. Out of habit, I looked left instead of right.

  “Thanks,” I said as bright red patches burned my cheeks. “I’m not used to it yet.”

  “Close call.”

  I recognized some of the statues in the Parliament Square as we walked around it. I noticed a long line of people outside one of the buildings. A large gothic church stood in front of the square with three bold arches covering the three doors. The one in the middle was the largest, and it was where the line formed. “Is that—?”

  “Westminster Abbey? Yes. Do you want to go inside?”

  I rubbed my hands together and tried to conceal how much I wanted to go. “Well, only if you don’t mind.”

  He rolled his eyes at me and pulled my hand. “C’mon.”

  Inside the abbey were vaulted ceilings and high arches with so much detail carved into the stone that I could stare at them for hours. Every surface was covered with marble busts and memorials. Even the floor had them. I squealed in delight when I recognized an author name from my English classes.

  “Look—Charles Dickens!”

  Luke leaned over and nodded. “Cool,” he said in a tone of voice that suggested boredom instead of fascination. Uniquely decorated chapels tucked into the corners of the abbey were dedicated to different members of royalty.

  “You don’t like this stuff, do you?”

  He shrugged as we walked around the choir. “It’s all right. I’ve seen it all before—many times on school trips. I’m more of a thrill seeker. I like hang-gliding, parasailing, white-water rafting, steeplechase—that sort of thing.”

  I never did any of those things. “What if we went to a soccer match?”

  Luke’s face lit up. “Now, you’re talking. Do you like the sport?”

  I used to spend my summers with Natalie on the same recreational soccer team. Her parents paid for the annual fee because there was no way in hell my foster parents would have. “I used to play a lot when I was younger. I miss it.”

  “Well, we should definitely see a match, then. I’ll ask my friend if he would like to join us.” He had already opened his phone and was searching.

  Wow. I guess we have one thing in common. I mentally praised myself for bringing it up.

  I watched as his fingers moved rapidly over his smartphone.

  “There’s a match today at Boleyn Ground. It’s West Ham versus Tottenham Hotspur. Oh my God, we have to see it.”

  “Can you get tickets?”

  He looked at me and smiled as if I had made a joke.

  Well, that answers that.

  As we walked out of Westminster Abbey, Luke drummed his fingers over his smartphone. “I have meetings this afternoon, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to make it. I’ll leave early if I have to. I haven’t been to a football match in ages.”

  Luke rubbed his hands together with a manic grin on his face. It was nice to see a gleam of excitement in his eyes instead of his mask of polite amusement. I didn’t argue as Luke called a cab to take him to work, giving the driver explicit directions to take me wherever I wanted.

  “The game starts at three o’clock. Best to be there at two-thirty. I’ll call and send a car wherever you are.”

  He leaned across the seats and his lips brushed my cheek. When he pulled away, his smile was full of so much warmth that my breath caught in my throat.

  “Have a good day, Jessica.”

  Luke slid out of the car and gave me a small wave through the window. As soon as he had left the car, I felt the absence of him like a hole in my stomach. I was still looking out the window when the driver cleared his throat. He was staring at me through the rear-view mirror.

  “Uh—can you take me to the Tower of London?”

  Breathless, I stepped out of the cab and searched the throng of people for Luke. Hundreds of people wearing the West Ham colors of deep red-purple and blue stood in several security lines outside the stadium. The driver had assured me that Luke would be nearby. At last, I looked through a group of red and blue clad men with rosettes attached to their shirts and recognized his profile. Luke’s dark hard tilted back with laughter. A good-looking man in his twenties stood beside him, his shoulders bent forward and shaking with mirth.

  This must be the friend who he was talking about. As if he had heard my thoughts, the man’s eyes rested on me and he gave me a slight nod. Luke turned on the spot and a brilliant smile lit his handsome face. I hitched a smile on my face and walked towards him.

  “There you are, darling.”

  Darling? I laughed despite myself as Luke swept me in his arms and his mouth sealed my lips in a brief but heated kiss. For a moment, it made me feel like he actually missed me. He pulled away and slid his arm over my shoulders. Oh right, he’s acting again. I gathered up my resolve and prepared myself to talk in a high-pitched voice that most girls seemed to have when reunited with their boyfriends.

  “Did you enjoy the tower?” he asked as he brought me closer to his friend.

  “Yes, it was pretty good,” I said flatly. In truth, I was a bit disappointed. The tower was stripped bare of its original furnishings and the replacements didn’t look very authentic. It was a bit like visiting Disneyland, but I had a nice walk along London Bridge.

  “Jessica, this is my friend Brandon I was talking to you about. Brandon this is my girlfriend, Jessica.”

  Brandon made a muddled first impression. Like Luke, the trappings of great wealth weren’t lost on him: the Prada glasses, the gleaming watch on his wrist, his Italian leather shoes. He wasn’t nearly as handsome or poised, but he had an air of polished dignity that intimidated me. His eyes met mine in a cool, unflinching gaze. From the way he looked at me, it was almost as if he didn’t like me. No, it wasn’t that. Maybe it was a lack of trust.

  “It’s a pleasure.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Are you a big football fan?”

  I gave him a small shrug. “A little bit. I used to play when I was younger.” I retreated into Luke’s comforting embrace and smiled at Brandon. “You can’t go to England without seeing a football match, right?”

  He nodded solemnly, his eyes still refusing to let go of me. “Too right,” he said in a thick British accent. Glancing at his watch, he made a comical sound. “Ah! Kick off is in ten minutes. Let’s get to our seats.”

  I could feel Luke’s excitement through my body as he stood behind me in the line, his hands ever so sligh
tly moving up the curve of my hips. It was so much more electrifying than a kiss. He rubbed into my flesh in small, hard circles. The paparazzi stood nearby, clicking away at us as I turned around in his arms to lay my head over his chest. I didn’t do it because I wanted to give them a show; I wanted to quiet the desire stirring in my core.

  As we walked through security and made our way through the stadium buzzing from thousands of horns, it was quickly apparent that Luke arranged for front row seats. A sprinkling of navy-blue Tottenham supporters were scattered among the hundreds of West Ham rosettes, flags, and checkered banners. I reeled back from the fevered energy flowing from the West Ham fans, taken aback by their intense, almost violent screaming. After a few minutes, the screaming stopped and I felt their cheers soaring through me as we walked to the seats and looked across the green field.

  “Would you like a drink, Jessica?” Brandon asked politely.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “I’ll get us a few pints.”

  “Thanks mate.”

  I looked at Luke curiously. His accent changed from an American one to one that was slightly British. He raised his eyebrow at me. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said, smiling.

  Brandon returned with three sopping mugs of dark beer and set one down in front of me.

  I curled my fingers around the cold plastic and raised the frothy rim to my lips. The beer was thick and full of complex flavors. I smacked my lips in appreciation and wished I had something sweet to contrast the bitterness of the beer.

  “The crowd seems a bit crazy.”

  A group of West Ham supporters behind our row drunkenly slurred a song about bubbles.

  “West Ham and Tottenham Hotspur have a huge rivalry. It’s going to be mad.” Brandon smiled knowingly at Luke. “Remember that time in Liverpool? They kicked you out of the stadium.”

  Luke flushed a bright magenta as he took a sip from his beer. “Yeah.”

  I leaned in closer, thoroughly enjoying the embarrassment shining on his face. “What did you do?”

  Brandon spoke before Luke could get a word in. “He beat up a couple people.”

  “They deserved it.”

  How interesting. “I never would have guessed you could be such a hooligan.”

  Luke gave me a roguish wink.

  The fans behind me continued to sing. “Forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.”

  One of them kicked the back of my seat and my beer slopped all over my hands. Luke turned around in his seat to glare at them but I took his hand and squeezed it.

  “Sorry, love.” The man who had accidentally kicked my seat gave me a toothy grin, his cheeks ruddy from alcohol.

  “It’s cool,” I said as I wiped my hand on the wall.

  His red-rimmed eyes scanned my clothes and narrowed in suspicion. “Who are you supporting?”

  I was suddenly aware that they were probably drunk enough to fight anyone who wasn’t supporting their team. “West Ham,” I said before others could intervene.

  “Good.” The fan leaned back into his seat and they resumed the team song.

  Brandon’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Like we’d say anything different surrounded by this lot.”

  At last, the players spilled over the field, and the red and blue fans stood up in unison, letting out earsplitting shrieks and cheers. I clapped my hands over my ears as the fan behind me screamed encouragement to West Man and shouted filthy obscenities to the black and white Tottenham players.

  “Sod off, you fucking cunts!”

  The man who had kicked my chair was standing on his seat, gesticulating wildly as he screamed insults. Taken aback, I looked at Luke and Brandon, who didn’t seemed perturbed by the filth streaming out of his mouth. Maybe it’s a British thing.

  West Ham kicked off and the fast-paced game began. Within the first five minutes, the Tottenham forwards had passed the ball through West Ham’s defense. The right defense sprinted back towards the forward—he was inside the goalie box and everyone around me was screaming, even Luke was bellowing something intelligible. And then the Tottenham forward stumbled forward and tripped over the West Ham defense’s leg, foiling what could have been a goal.

  The stands were in an uproar as the referee blasted his whistle and ripped out a bright red card, which he held up high. The reaction from the stands was downright frightening. Thousands of them stood up to hurl insults at the referee as the player argued with him. I was close enough to see the veins popping out from his neck.

  “I don’t understand—what happened?”

  Luke’s face was pinched with worry. “Well, the defense tripped the Tottenham forward within the goal box, so that’s an automatic red card. They’ll have to play one man short the whole game.”

  Suddenly, I pitched forward and the rest of my beer spilled on the floor as the fan behind me jostled my seat in his haste to stand up.

  “HE TRIPPED! IT WAS A BLOODY ACCIDENT, YOU FUCKING TWAT!”

  His voice stabbed my ears with every syllable. He actually hurled his empty beer cup onto the field; I saw it sail over my head, sprinkling my hair with drops of beer.

  “Fuck’s sake.” Now I was drenched with beer.

  Within moments, a pair of neon green police officers swarmed over him. I turned around in my seat to watch, feeling a grim satisfaction. Serves him right.

  “Sir, you need to leave the stadium.”

  He ripped his elbow out of their grasp and sneered at them. “Piss off.”

  Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. Each of them grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back, but now his friends had noticed what was happening and they stood up, shouting at the police.

  I reflexively grabbed Luke’s arm and squeezed; he was still focused on the game.

  “What?” he said as he turned around. “Oh.”

  I don’t know what it was. Maybe the years of living in violent homes had prepared me to spot a volatile event before it happened, but all the hairs on the back of my neck were raised and a voice told me to get out of the stadium as soon as possible.

  “Luke, we need to leave,” I said, my grip on his arm was vice-like.

  “What? Are you all right?”

  He sounded insulted. I could almost hear his thoughts: Leave in the beginning of the match? Are you crazy? He tried to pull his arm out of my grasp but my fingers bit harder into his flesh.

  “No, I’m not fucking all right.”

  Brandon wheeled around to join our conversion, his face pulled in a slight frown.

  My heart raced like a bird beating its wings against a cage. More and more purple-red fans converged together, completely ignoring the game on the stadium, infused with alcohol and rage.

  The West Ham fans in our section stood up in unison, some of them making threatening gestures towards the police. The policemen jostled to the side and they yelled into their radios, fear written all over their faces. Then one of the fans grabbed an officer and another one sank his fist into his stomach. The policeman crumpled to his feet and submerged under a wave of furious fans.

  “Oh, shit.”

  Suddenly, Luke climbed over our seats with a determined look on his face. “I’m going to help him.”

  I looked at Brandon’s stunned face. “Where is he going?”

  Is he nuts? “Luke!” I lunged forward and caught his sleeve. “This is no time for bravado!”

  “I need to help him,” he roared at me.

  Brandon leapt over the seats and grabbed Luke’s arm. “Mate, listen. You can’t help him. You’ll get the piss beaten out of you.”

  “Luke,” I screamed when he turned back towards the cop. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll get killed.”

  A line of policemen moved down the stands with riot gear. I pointed towards them. “Look, help’s on its way. Let’s go.”

  The entire situation blew up from a pack of rowdy fans to an all out riot within only a few minutes. I grabbed my purse and climbed over the seats as Luke came to
his senses. Several of the rabid fans were already backing away from the police. Bleeding profusely from his nose, the policeman resurfaced and unhooked his baton swinging from his hip. Luke’s arm curled around my shoulder as we swept up the stands, desperate to get away. All around us, people were fighting and yelling—there was confusion everywhere. I saw several West Ham fans ganging up on a Tottenham supporter with broken, sharp pieces of plastic in their hands.

  Luke broke away from me and pulled off a man beating on a crumpled Tottenham fan lying down under the seats. They grappled with each other and suddenly fists were flying. Bright camera flashes suddenly burned my eyeballs and I glanced towards them, horrified at the group of photographers clicking away. I turned around and tried to block the scene and screamed as Luke’s face whipped back with a fierce blow. Suddenly, Brandon jumped into the fray and pulled him off Luke. I slipped off my heels and held one in my hand as a weapon, ready to stab anyone who attacked me with the pointed stiletto.

  His shirt was ripped and he was bleeding from his mouth. He winced at the bright flashes and held his arm over his eyes.

  His lips moved to form one word as his eyes widened.

  “Fuck.”

  Chapter 7

  “Well, you can’t say it wasn’t an interesting match,” said Brandon. His cheery voice echoed hollowly in Luke’s hotel suite.

  Luke smoldered on the couch, glaring moodily at Brandon. “We didn’t even get to half-time. The tickets were two hundred pounds each.”

  Holy crap. All that money wasted. I sat next to him and stroked his arm. “Yeah, thanks for bringing me to the football game,” I said in a dry voice. “I mean, now I can say that I’ve been to one. I’ll never forget the experience.”

  For a moment, Brandon’s eyes met mine and he looked like he wanted to laugh, but he quickly looked away.

  “You don’t have to be so sarcastic,” Luke said, glowering at me. He suddenly covered his eyes with one hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “They took photos of me fighting. I can’t wait to see the headlines.”