by J Santiago
Ele’s focus was solely on Tristan until the camera cut away to the unobstructed side of the field. It was then Ele tuned into the low-level commotion around her. Michael stood to the right of her chair, and Robert stepped out of the room. Noah ducked out after Robert. Ele looked up at Michael, but his gaze remained fixed on the TV, and she knew she wouldn’t get any information out of him.
Juliana met Ele’s gaze when she turned to her. She shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. I mean, the announcers aren’t talking about it.”
“I’m not sure what just happened.”
“Sounded like some kind of explosion or something. Then, some people ran on the field.”
“How …” Ele swung her head back to the TV, but the game had gone to the break. Commercials ran instead of the game or halftime show. “I hardly noticed anything was wrong.”
Juliana tossed her ponytail before grabbing her bottle of beer and taking a long swig. “I’m sure Jamie is fine.”
Ele leaped to her feet. She’d forgotten about Jamie’s attendance at the game. Rushing from the room, she scanned the foyer for Robert. When she didn’t see him, she moved quickly to the door. Before she could open it, Michael stepped in front of her.
“Your Highness,” he warned, “Robert will report back when he has news for you. But until then, you are to remain here.”
She leveled her deadliest stare at Michael. While it typically bounced off Robert, Michael wasn’t quite as immune to it. He held his ground, but Ele could see his discomfort. Ele didn’t feel the familiar stirrings of an impending attack, but her nerves bounced healthily.
Juliana tucked her feet under her and traded her beer for her phone. With everyone around her appearing calm, Ele was forced to push her panic down. She returned to her chair and tried to sit in a relaxed manner, but she was confident it looked like she had a steel rod stuck up her ass.
Juliana walked to where Ele sat and knelt down next to the chair. Holding out her phone, she scrolled through tweets from the game.
Fans on the field.
Women will do anything to get to T-Dav.
Look out, Rowan. Fans a-comin’.
Ele pointed to the last one. “Did someone think they were rhyming?”
Juliana laughed. “Well, both words end with an N.”
Ele laughed with her. Relieved, she relaxed for real and picked up her drink.
As Juliana stood, Ele grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Thanks.”
Juliana nodded.
When Robert entered the room, the fears Juliana had assuaged returned. Needing answers and assurances, she pulled him into the foyer.
“Is Jamie okay?”
“He’s fine. We have more men on him anyway. They don’t think the incident had anything to do with either team specifically. He’s going to stay for the remainder of the game. No need to worry.”
Ele nodded. She needed to know about Tristan also, but she didn’t know how to ask. It felt disloyal to be concerned about anyone other than her brother, her future king. She stood in front of Robert, fidgeting but reluctant to either leave or voice her question.
Robert watched her, brow raised, waiting. He could be a wanker sometimes.
“Anything else?” he asked, the picture of innocence.
She frowned and narrowed her eyes. “I still have influence with the queen, you know.”
Robert’s lips twitched. “Oh, the queen is safe too.”
Ele almost stomped her foot in frustration. But then Robert took pity on her.
“All of the players are safe.”
“Thank you,” she muttered. “I’m going to need to go out tonight.”
“It’s already on the schedule.”
16
3 July
Denver, Colorado
“Glass Slipper?”
Tristan’s head snapped up. Meeting Sheena’s gaze, he pretended ignorance. “Huh?”
Sheena was sprawled in the middle of the bed, two pillows shoved under her head. Her knees were bent, and her attention had returned to the phone in her hands. His phone.
“You just got a text from Glass Slipper.”
Tristan cursed silently. He punched his arm through his jacket, and then he dipped back into the bathroom, as if he’d forgotten to do something. Running the water for cover, he placed his hands on the counter and peered into the mirror. He should have been prepared to answer questions from his nosy sister. Should have had some ready excuses. But instead, he was speechless, a gaping guppy, with no snappy comeback, zero plausible explanations.
“Tris, come on!” Sheena yelled.
He turned off the faucet. He meandered back to the room and held out his hand for the phone.
“Does Glass Slipper have anything to do with the picture of you and the Ice Princess?”
“What the hell, Sheena?”
She tossed him his phone, and he snatched it out of the air.
“You really should change your password. I was shocked it’d worked.”
“Why are you looking through my phone?”
“I didn’t charge mine, and I couldn’t find your charger. I was bored.”
“Fine, surf the internet or Facebook or Insta, but why are you reading my shit?”
“I didn’t read anything. A text came through. I didn’t read it even though I really wanted to.” Her eyes cut away from him and then returned quickly. “But in the interest of full disclosure, I did scroll through your pictures. Thankfully, you didn’t have any inappropriate snaps.”
He shook his head. “Really, Sheena?”
She shrugged. “Guys do stupid things. Dick pics, et cetera.”
Tristan shook his head. “You’re cracked.” He picked up his ID and money clip, shoving them in his pocket. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t you want to read your text?”
“Shut up, Sheena.”
Sheena pushed him in the shoulder. He glared at her before he shoved her back. She flicked him in the ear.
“Why was I excited to see you?” he asked as he reached out and pulled a lock of her hair.
“You love me.”
“Not right at this moment. But, aye.” He held the door open for her. “Room 812,” he directed.
“Are you going to tell me?” Sheena asked.
“No.”
“You should have made something up,” she said thoughtfully. “Now, I know whatever it is you’re withholding is a big deal.”
“You know nothing,” he countered confidently.
If he showed weakness to his siblings, Sheena especially, it was like inviting the big bad wolf into your house. Big eyes, big ears, big, sharp teeth in a big, loud mouth.
“Mom loved the picture. She said—”
Tristan pulled up so abruptly that Sheena took several steps before she noticed. His face must have registered some horror because she walked back to him, looking contrite.
“You did not send that picture to Mom.” A statement.
Sheena’s perfectly tended eyebrows furrowed. “I did.”
“Sheena.” His voice was plaintive and whiny. “Bloody hell,” he swore. He leaned against the wall and hung his head. “What were you thinking?”
“Have you seen that picture of the two of you?”
He had. Over the last week, he’d studied it, smiling every single time. His chin resting on her shoulder, their heads tilted together, her ice-blue eyes sparkling, even in the dim light from the bonfire.
“It’s cute as hell,” she continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture of her smiling, let alone on the verge of laughter. And you … you look like you were just awarded that trophy for the best footballer.”
“Ballon d’Or,” he responded absentmindedly.
“Right, that. I wasn’t thinking anything other than Mom would get a kick out of seeing it.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Ya know, if you posted that picture on your social media, the Ice Princess would have a whole new image.”
He grunted.
“I’m
serious. No one could look at the two of you and think, She’s a stuck-up prig.”
Against his will, he smiled. He agreed with his sister. If the palace, if Ele, wanted to overhaul her image, it wouldn’t be hard. He couldn’t help thinking about Ele at the bonfire. She had been so open and carefree. Every time he’d stolen a glimpse of her, she was smiling. But he understood his lack of understanding also. He remembered her at St. Peter’s. The woman he’d met on that day was different than the woman he knew now.
“You have to text Mom and tell her to keep that photo to herself. If she shows the rest of the family, the photo will go viral by morning.”
Sheena held up her phone. “Dead, remember?”
“So, how’d you send the photo?”
She looked at him like he was stupid. “From your phone.”
“As me or as you?”
Guilty, she said, “You.”
Tristan whipped out his phone. He opened his text messages. There were too many from his friends and family, congratulating him and the team on their victory. He scrolled past the unopened text from Ele, not trusting himself to read it in front of his sister. He found his outgoing text to his mom and read it.
“Seriously?”
Sheena smirked. “It sounded like a caption you would write, and I included emojis.”
“I cannot believe you sent this to Mom. I don’t ever send her my posts, and I don’t text her like I’m posting.”
“Then, what are you worried about? She’ll probably know it’s not from you.”
“I don’t want anyone else to think I wrote, Global warming is not just a theory. And that was stupid.”
“Ice melting. Global warming. Makes total sense.”
“I don’t like you right now.”
“It’s because you’re hungry. You know you don’t like anyone when you’re hungry.”
He banged his head against the wall. Once. Twice. Then, he shot off a quick text to his mom. It was the middle of the night at home, so he had that going for him.
“Come on. Let’s get to Rowan’s, so we can eat.”
His friends greeted Sheena like a long-lost sister with big hugs and affection, but it took no time for them to trade insults and verbal spars with her. It was what made Sheena the closest of his siblings. He loved his other sisters just as much, but Sheena was who he hung out with. They had contemplated living together, but when she asked him if he could handle it if she brought a man or a woman home, his immediate response had been no. Instead, they each had their own flat in the same building.
After they ate, they got the cards out. Tristan’s mobile burned a hole in his pocket, his hand itching to retrieve it, his mind dying to know what the text said. But it was an hour before Sheena ducked into the washroom. Tristan stood on the pretense of getting drinks and pulled out his phone. He found the text from Glass Slipper.
Congratulations on the win! So happy for you. Want to know you are okay. Can I see you?
It took a moment for him to make the connection with the fan incident and her concern for him. It was a blip on the match. The loud crash, the fan running onto the pitch, had hardly even registered. But he could imagine it would have bothered Ele. He had an hour until he had to be in his room. It wasn’t a hard curfew, but with every successive win, he got a bit more caught up in keeping things the same.
Can you come to me?
Her text had come in over two hours ago, but her response to his came in seconds. Before he returned to the card game, he knew he only had to wait an hour to see her. The whole of the game, his mind was on what would happen when it was over. With the people he was closest to surrounding him, he fought to stay engaged.
“We have an open session in the morning,” Rowan reminded them as they got up to go. “The press will be allowed there for the first fifteen minutes. Should be a light practice.” He turned to Sheena. “We have time in the afternoon.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can entertain myself and hook up with you later.”
“You could come to practice,” Tristan offered.
“Right. Maybe.” Sheena kissed Rowan and Caleb.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” Tristan offered.
When they were alone, Sheena said, “I’m sorry about the picture.”
Tristan shrugged. He never understood the point of holding a grudge. Too much negative energy to exert. He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “It’s all good.”
“Can you tell me about it?” she asked.
“About what?”
“Don’t be daft. The picture, the girl.”
He trusted Sheena and could probably tell her some of it. Maybe explain the friendship between him and Ele. She already knew Ele had come to St. Peter’s. Hell, the whole country knew that part. It was an easy explanation and not necessarily a lie even if it wasn’t the whole truth.
“We became friends when she came to St. Peter’s.” He thought about the term and the trust involved in calling someone a friend. “She was at the team party, and we snapped a picture together.”
“And that’s all?”
“Of course. What else could it be?”
Sheena was quiet. The oldest sibling, Sheena was a caretaker by nature, ballbuster by trade. She also had the innate mothering quality—a bullshit detector—when it came to her little ducklings. So that she questioned his half-truths didn’t surprise him.
“You know that saying, A picture is worth a thousand words?”
Tristan knew he wouldn’t like where this was going. Funny, if the woman in the picture wasn’t Ele or Ele wasn’t royalty or their relationship wasn’t temporary, he would have spilled his guts to Sheena. As much as she mothered, she wasn’t a judger. To him, she was the ultimate person. She didn’t see people as a color, a gender, a religion. He wasn’t a kiss-and-tell bloke, but he’d shared more of his sexual history with his sister than anyone else. Not in over-the-top, explicit detail, obviously—she was his sister. But he didn’t shy away from her questions. And as he was the only boy among women—not to mention, his fame—she’d been very vocal about his responsibility when dealing with women.
“Yeah, of course.”
“That snapshot of the two of you says a lot to me.” She had more to say, so he waited her out. “She’s comfortable with you. You have your hand around her waist, your fingers splayed. It’s a possessive grip.”
Tristan thought about her statement. It was true. He was possessive of Ele. So, he didn’t comment.
“I already told you I’ve never seen her smile like that—wide, open, like she has nothing to hide and is not ashamed of anything.”
“What’s she have to be ashamed of?” he asked, curious.
“Well, she always looks so guarded. Makes me wonder what it is she doesn’t want anyone to know.”
He didn’t think Ele’s secrets were dark. Again, the dossier called out to him, tempting him to read it. But still, he wanted her to feel comfortable enough to tell him. Maybe. Shit, he didn’t know for sure. If she told him, what exactly would that imply? What would his obligations be at that point?
They arrived at her room, and she stopped, leaning on the wall next to the door. Tristan propped himself next to her, feet crossed. He turned his head, so he was looking in her direction, and she did the same.
“But it’s you in that picture that tells me the most.”
“Oh, yeah?” She waited for him, and he anted up. “What do you see, oh wise one?”
“More than you’re ready for.”
Tristan startled, his head moving back, away from her and her declarations. Then, he smirked. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She sighed. “It means, do you have any idea what it means to fall in love with Princess Eleanor?”
He scoffed. “I’m not in love with her. I’ve spent, like, five minutes with her.”
“It’s not your smile in that picture. That smile is just shy of your posting smile. A little bit real, a little bit fake. It’s the look in
your eyes. All that wild yearning is absent. You look content, settled, fulfilled.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’d just made it to the knockout stage. How else would I look?”
Sheena studied him, and he saw the disappointment in her gaze.
When they were younger, they’d frequented a corner store that carried single candy you could buy for change. One day, Tristan slipped a piece of candy inside his pocket. When the clerk confronted him, he denied it. His sister, offended on his behalf, scolded the guy. But when they left the store, she pulled Tristan around the corner and made him confess. In a fit of embarrassment and anger, Tristan had thrown the candy in the road.
The look on Sheena’s face at this moment mirrored the look she’d shot him that day.
“Just be careful.”
“I’m not going to hurt her.”
Sheena shrugged. “I’m not worried about her getting hurt. I’m worried about you.”
17
3 July
Denver, Colorado
With Sheena’s ominous words ringing in his ears, Tristan headed back to his room. Sheena could be both the devil or the angel perched on his shoulder. And as he parked his ass on the couch, it was doubly true. He wanted to shut out all of her theories and questions, wanted to just continue to enjoy whatever this was between him and Ele. He was having fun, and he was fairly certain she was having fun. Why did he need to think about what it was or wasn’t?
When the knock finally sounded on his door, he was more than ready. Ele and Robert slipped into the room. Ele walked directly to him and slid her hands around his neck. He pulled her close. Holding her against him, he closed his eyes, breathing her in. She was dressed casually—for her—in a pair of navy slacks, a navy silk shirt, and a yellow jacket. He liked her in the national colors, but he had an image of her wearing Hartesfield colors, and his pulse quickened.
One day.
