by J Santiago
Tristan remained statue-like, giving nothing away, even as he seemed to be waiting for something. As the silence stretched, Ele shifted uncomfortably. For as happy as she had been to see him at her door, she’d expected more of a connection between them, and the lack of it saddened her. Maybe she had built it up in her head. Those stolen kisses must have been all her, and the liquid heat of desire she could conjure with just the thought of him appeared now to have been one-sided. Disappointment knifed through her.
Pasting a bland smile on her face, she offered an out. “I hope you’ll accept my apology.” When he continued to glance out the window, she turned to him. “I know you have a lot going on.” Her dismissive tone indicated the meeting was over. “Robert will see you out.”
Shifting away from him, she moseyed to the door. As she reached for the knob, Tristan grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her away from it. She faced him, startled but curious.
Immediately, he released her, like her wrist was hot and he’d burned his hand. “Is that all?” he challenged.
No! she wanted to scream. It’s not all. I want to experience all of those feelings again. The desire, the security, the rightness of being around you. But she merely stared at him.
“What do you mean?” she said instead, a complete copout.
He sighed, in frustration maybe. “This is a lot of trouble to go through to apologize. You could have found me at home. You didn’t have to fly halfway around the world to have this conversation.”
“I couldn’t have done this at home.”
His creased brow indicated his disbelief. “Really?”
“You are the most conspicuous footballer in our country. Was I just supposed to show up at your flat? Or maybe at the pitch? Or was I supposed to call you on a mobile?”
“Any or all of those.”
“Right. Because I could just grab a taxi. Or you know, have Robert arrange for security to clear your building. Or enter the stadium with forty thousand other people and wait by the changing room door with wife and girlfriend wannabes? Or perhaps I should have crashed one of your hotel rooms? Exactly how does the crown princess—the spare—gain access to you?”
“Apparently by hitching a ride to America with the football delegation.”
She’d been trying to get him to understand the difficulties of her station, but instead, it just seemed to piss him off, an emotion she didn’t think he engaged in often. She’d apologized. What more did he want?
“I owe you so much for that day. And instead of expressing my gratitude, I was rude and dismissive. Coming here gave me the opportunity to say I was sorry.”
She’d been trying to understand what had happened at St. Peter’s the day she met Tristan. She’d suffered one of the worst panic attacks of her life, but it’d loosened something inside of her head. She couldn’t explain it, but she was braver, less cognizant of the time and less afraid of what was going on around her. She was ready for Tristan in a way she hadn’t been when she met him. Although she wanted to say that, she wasn’t sure what it would look like or if he would even consider her like that.
“And that’s it?” His gaze met hers before dropping to her mouth.
Like a practiced response, her lips parted before her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth as she attempted to stem her desire to have his mouth on hers. His eyes snapped back to hers, and he shuffled a step away from her.
“No,” she said softly.
“No what?”
With their eyes locked, she wondered if she had the courage, the fortitude to see this through. She wanted so badly to take a risk and she knew if she didn’t seize this time with him, she would always regret it. But taking the leap—suggesting what she wanted, putting her desire into words—required a boldness she was having a hard time finding.
“Come on, Princess,” he cajoled.
Somehow, he knew, but he was going to make her ask, to put it into words. She wanted to be annoyed and angry with him; instead, she found she appreciated his apparent confidence in her ability to give voice to her wants.
He stepped closer to her, just out of reach but close enough for his scent to invade her nostrils, for her to see the challenge in his eyes. Although he’d seen her at her weakest moment, he didn’t think she was weak. He believed in her strength. She shifted infinitesimally closer without meaning to, her body obviously making decisions for her brain.
“That’s it, Your Highness,” he teased.
She reached out, her hand suddenly on his jaw, the tiny bristles of stubble rough against her smooth palm. He closed his eyes and breathed out in relief. Her thumb caressed the corner of his mouth. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer, to make the move for her, but she knew he wasn’t going to. Taking what she wanted was going to be her greatest act of surrender.
Instead of a shift, an ambiguous movement, Ele boldly hastened closer. Tristan grinned. Her opposite hand landed on his neck and circled his nape, her fingers spreading along the graduated cut of his hair. She glanced up at the dyed tips and smiled.
“Nice hair,” she remarked.
He chuckled, his shoulders shaking with the motion. “Championship cut,” he explained in such a routine manner that she imagined he’d been defending his decision quite often. “Just a little more, Ele,” he whispered.
His use of her name—finally—was the last bit of incentive she needed. She pulled him forward, and his hands were on her. His warm grip squeezed her hip while his other hand settled in the small of her back. Their bodies, like magnets, fused together. Ele would have thought kissing him was what she’d want at this moment, but she found herself just staring at him, taking him in. Her hand was stark against the brown of his skin. His catlike eyes were warm with approval and twinkling with pride. She got lost, and she had a shocking thought of being able to look into his eyes forever. She shook it off, knowing the impossibility of it. But she was with him now, and she was going to savor it.
“Little bit more to go,” he reminded her with a smirk.
She was happy to meet the challenge. She leaned forward, softly brushing his lips. Just the light touch sent shivers down her spine. It was all the time she got. Like her mouth on his sparked something in him, too, he pressed forward, molding his mouth to hers. Their lips parted, and she received her first taste of him. It was heaven. Deep and warm, their tongues tangled. He swallowed her up, demanding she give him everything. What had started light and sweet was suddenly consuming and tangy. Two months’ worth of daydreams and night musings merging in one intoxicating kiss. Her hand dug into his nape, and the other tightened on his jaw as she tried to get closer, to fall into him. For a woman who lived a controlled life, she was now unleashed, and she only wanted more.
Tristan slowly pulled back, trading short, tender kisses with her. She enjoyed the familiar intimacy of his withdrawal, like he knew it wouldn’t be long until they kissed again. It was then she heard the well-known cadence of Robert’s knock on the door, Tristan’s withdrawal making sense.
“Does that mean you have to go?” she asked when she could actually speak.
He squeezed her hip and dropped another kiss on her lips. “I do.”
Ele nodded, disappointed.
“How does this work?” Tristan asked, his hands gentle on her back.
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.
The door opened, and they broke apart. Robert waited patiently by the entrance, his eyes averted.
“But we can figure it out, right?” he said.
She nodded. “Yes. We will definitely figure it out.”
7
11 June
The Michigan Inn
Tristan wasn’t one of those blokes who hated to get dressed up. He was sure Rowan was already calling him a dandy or some old-school shit like that, but Tristan didn’t care. He looked damn good in a tuxedo. Sue him. Tonight, there was an added bonus. He was going to get to see Ele for the first time since he’d cleared out of her hotel room two day
s ago. With his training schedule, finding time to sneak away was more difficult than he’d originally thought. Robert had been in touch with him, and Tristan knew he would get to see her soon. It was a bit daunting to be so excited about a girl—princess or not.
He slid the jacket over his shoulders and fastened the buttons. Smoothing his hands down the coat, he looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror. The tips of his hair caught his eye, and for the first time, he regretted his impetuous decision to dye it. It might look badass with his uniform on the pitch, but in his Armani tuxedo, he looked a bit like the wanker Rowan had called him at the Skydeck. Since it was too late to do anything about it, he shrugged and headed out.
With his quick rap on Caleb’s and then Rowan’s door, the three of them made their way to the reception. The sprawling hotel housed one hundred rooms, a state-of-the-art training room, and an Olympic-sized indoor pool. Following the signs for the ballroom, their group of three grew as they forged their way to the party.
Nico waited for them at the entrance to the ballroom. He looked agitated and flustered, which was unusual. “There is a receiving line with the delegation and the crown prince and princess. Then, you are free to eat and mingle,” the gaffer instructed.
Tristan, somewhat anxious to see Ele, started forward. He went down the line, shaking hands. At the end of it, he saw the royal blue and gold colors of the Altamirano house. Like he was about to step onto the pitch, his excited anticipation built.
A bald man with an official-looking sash and regal bearing paused Tristan before he could move further down the line.
“Your name, please,” he said.
“Tristan Davenport.”
The man looked to his right and announced, “Tristan Davenport, Your Highnesses.”
Tristan bowed before Princess Juliana. She smiled, obviously recognizing him from their earlier meeting. Then, she winked at him, and he knew the wink meant more than recognition.
“Mr. Davenport. It’s good to see you again.”
As one of seven children, Tristan knew siblings didn’t share the same traits. He was his own person, as were his sisters. But he found it hard to reconcile the wicked, mischievous girl with the knowing glint in her eye to the reserved, practical Ele.
“You too, Your Highness.”
Whereas Ele recoiled with the moniker, he could tell Juliana reveled in the inherent power wrapped up in the title. She was in her element. She didn’t wear a crown, but like the name announcer, her outfit was fitted with a sash of royal colors.
She leaned in close. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other, Mr. Davenport.” Straightening, she said for everyone close to hear, “Good luck.”
Then, he was being introduced to the crown prince. James looked a lot like Ele with his icy-blue eyes and dark hair. He’d never seen the prince in person, but there was something both regal and inviting in his bearing.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davenport,” James said before Tristan could greet him.
They shook hands. Tristan scrutinized the man in front of him. He might be paranoid, but he could swear the prince shot him a knowing glint.
Tristan looked beyond Jamie, searching for Ele, but the prince was the end of the line.
A softly spoken, “She’s not coming,” sounded next to him.
He looked back to James, but the prince’s attention had moved on to Rowan.
Disappointed, he continued walking to the bar where he ordered a seltzer water. He masked his letdown in false smiles and idle conversation. It was easier to pretend he was fine than admit disappointment, even to himself. With his opportunity to see Ele fading, he just wanted the night to be over.
“Why so glum, mate?” Rowan asked as Tristan attempted to slink out the side door an hour later.
“Just tired,” Tristan responded.
“All dressed up and no princess to impress, huh?” Rowan stated.
Tristan feigned indifference with a shake of his head. “When are you going to stop with the princess jokes?”
“When it stops bothering you, of course.”
“You’re a sick man, Skip.” Tristan made a big show of looking over Rowan’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, man, but the little princess hasn’t been able to take her eyes off of you.” He was totally messing with Rowan, but his friend scowled deep, twin lines forming between his eyebrows. Taken aback by the odd reaction, Tristan couldn’t resist pushing more. “Do you think she wears her tiara … all the time?”
Rowan looked like he was about to drop his shoulder into Tristan. Before Rowan could respond though, Tristan slipped out the door.
As he made his way toward the elevator, the bald man from earlier stepped up to him.
“Sir, the prince would like a word.”
Tristan followed him down a small hallway to another room. The door was open, and he ducked inside. The crown prince sat casually on a leather love seat. His arm was draped along the back of the couch, and his right leg was crossed over his left knee. The button on his tuxedo jacket was undone. A highball with two fingers of amber liquid dangled from his hand. He looked both nonchalant and imposing.
Tristan bowed slightly, as he thought was required of him, but the prince was quick to wave it off.
“No need for that here,” James assured him.
“Right,” Tristan responded, a bit unsettled. As comfortable as he was with Ele, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect from her brother.
Prince James nodded toward the chair across from him, and Tristan dropped into the seat.
James seemed content to study Tristan, so they sat in silence for a couple of uncomfortable moments, taking each other’s measure.
“I apologize for usurping Ele’s presence here tonight.”
“Sir?”
“She intended to come. Was quite looking forward to it, but I arrived in time from my official visit to the consulate. So, she had to defer.”
He couldn’t know what James knew of his interactions with Ele, and he didn’t want to be the one to give anything away. “It would have been good to see her again. I enjoyed touring her around St. Peter’s.”
James gave him a knowing smile. “And two days ago.”
Tristan sat stoically, void of expression. He’d thought his conversations with Robert were difficult to get through, but this took discomfiture to a greater level. MI6 agent versus crown prince. Instead of acknowledging his meeting with Ele, he simply waited for the prince to get to the point.
“Have you read the information Robert provided?”
“No, sir.”
He’d been tempted. So tempted. But he thought Ele would prefer to tell him her secrets, not have him read them in a dossier provided by her personal protection officer. If they even got to the point where they were sharing secrets. A few kisses exchanged did not exactly mean they would get to a place where their lives intertwined.
“The meeting between the two of you was unexpected.” James looked beyond Tristan, like he was trying to figure out how much he wanted to divulge. “It’d been so long since she interacted with anyone outside of the family and our staff, as I’m sure you know. But we knew so little about you. I mean, I guess the whole country knows what you are doing and eating on a daily basis, but who you really are was a bit of a mystery.”
Tristan merely raised a brow.
“I had you vetted, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Well, you are all wrong for her. A commoner, a footballer, a different race.”
Tristan thought he should be offended, but it was all true.
“I needed to make sure you were a good guy.” James held up his hand. “And before you ask, her last boyfriend was a nobleman with impeccable lineage, and I had him investigated too.”
“Right. And was he right for her?”
“Bloody prick.”
Tristan snickered. James’s posh accent made the phrase sound completely proper, like he was saying, What a great guy.
“Pity.”
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James smirked. “Yes, pity.” Then, James’s eyes narrowed on Tristan. “You haven’t been with anyone since you met her.”
Tristan couldn’t explain why he felt the need to deny that, but he found himself saying, “It’s been a little busy. With the end of the regular season and preparing for the Cup, it’s not like women have been a priority.”
James chuckled. “Even the girl you left the party with.” The prince let his statement sink in, sort of like a tick embedded in your skin. You didn’t necessarily know it was there until it was dug in, sucking on your blood. “I couldn’t figure that out. Was it for Rowan Beckwith’s sake, some more denial?”
Unease flickered through Tristan. “Did you have someone following me? Or pay one of my mates to spy?” It was horrifying to think he’d been completely unaware someone had been watching him for the last two months. “Do you think Ele’s going to be okay with knowing you had me investigated?”
“No, but she’ll understand. And you will need to.”
Tristan had had enough. He pushed off the chair and stood. “No disrespect, Your Highness, but I’ve spent about two and a half hours with your sister. That’s not even the equivalent of a proper date and hardly a proper shag.”
James merely cocked a brow and took a sip of his drink.
“I don’t know if this is normal for you highfalutin, proper folk, but it’s not my jam.”
Completely unfazed, James said, “Just watching out for my sister.”
“I don’t know Ele very well, which makes this conversation even stranger, but I am fairly certain she would not be okay with this.”
James continued to watch Tristan, his demeanor unflappable. As Tristan’s agitation gathered steam, James took a draw from his glass, peering over the edge of it, icy-blue eyes intent.
“The thing is, Your Highness,” Tristan began with some derision, “if you think about the fear she must carry with her wherever she goes, knowing she could end up in the throes of a panic attack”—he shook his head—“the strength she shows every time she steps outside is greater than anything I have to come up against. Probably you too.”
