by J Santiago
“You manipulated me.” She wanted to scream the accusation, but it came out whisper-soft, a caress instead of a sledgehammer.
“No. I provided an opening. You’re the one who ran through it.”
“And now that your plan has worked so perfectly, you’re mad?”
“I’m not mad, Ele. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I put you in a position that is now going to hurt you. You have to see that Tristan is entirely wrong for you.”
Ele couldn’t even respond to Jamie’s statement. Hadn’t she spent the last month delineating the reasons she couldn’t be with Tristan? But she wasn’t saying she wanted to marry him, for Queen’s sake. She just wanted to be able to spend time with him, to bask in all the wonderful glow of his presence. That impulsivity she’d claimed to hate about him was also endearing. As was his smile and how he made her laugh. He lit her up inside, so she forgot about all the things that scared her. He touched her and let her touch him. Ele recalled so many reasons that she forgot why she shouldn’t want to see him.
“I won’t know if he’s entirely wrong for me if I don’t get to see him.”
“Technically, you are engaged.”
Ele merely rolled her eyes, not even bothering to address the engagement.
“He’s a professional footballer. Do you think he’s prepared to give up his career for you?”
Ele’s eyes widened. Of course, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. “He can choose to not take a title.”
“And you are willing to give up your place in the line of succession by marrying a commoner?”
Ele sputtered, “What are you talking about?”
“You are further willing to leave the crown without an heir?”
“Jamie …” she pleaded.
“You know the chances of me being able to father a child are slim. And we vowed, long ago, to protect Juliana’s secrets. Illegitimacy is far from the scandal it used to be but for her, to be exposed like that – “
“I know,” Ele reassured him.
“If you marry Tristan, the continuation of the line will become more complicated.”
“You are getting ahead of yourself.”
“Ele”—she could hear the pity in his voice, and she averted her gaze in an attempt to lessen the blow of his words—“his family is from Nava. One half of his family is from a part of our country that threatens to succeed from us on an annual basis, who is building a government to oppose us, who is even now pushing a vote on succession. And … he’s a footballer.”
“You love football,” she said plaintively, a terrible defense but a defense.
“Yes. And for what it’s worth, I like him. And I like you with him. But even if none of these things stood in the way, he relishes media attention. Thrives on it in fact. How would you handle it, day in and day out?”
She shrugged.
He picked up the tablet and handed it to her. Before she looked, she knew what she would see. Endless selfies of Tristan, some with random people, some with friends. Some with elaborate captions, some with simple titles.
Of all the reasons, this perhaps was the most difficult for her. The other stuff, she knew were issues, but truth be told, none of that had crossed her mind. Ele wasn’t sure she could handle Tristan’s pace. If she really considered it, she figured Tristan would get bored with her quickly. She was too much. Too much history, too much baggage, too much worry. Ele wanted to carve out more time for herself with Tristan. She longed for those carefree hours, and she wasn’t ready for it to be over. She knew if she wanted that, she would have to figure out a way to navigate the media. Or at least survive it.
“If …” Jamie cleared his throat. “If there were a way, I would find it for you.”
She studied her twin, appreciating and resenting him all at once. Standing from the chair, some resolution straightened her spine. “The thing is, Jamie, I don’t need you to find a way for me. I wasn’t asking you to aid and abet. I was asking if you believed in the possibility. You don’t, and that’s actually okay. I don’t need your approval.”
She walked to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. In her mind, Tristan was standing across the way, enjoying her tiara moment. It was appropriate.
Jamie looked up at her, the crown prince in supplication to his twin, and she glimpsed his pride and appreciation.
“I can find my own way.”
27
4 August
Celebration Gala
Tristan unzipped the garment bag and removed his tuxedo. He held it up, inspecting it for stray lint.
“Chap, are you sure it fits you? Looks like my fifteen-year-old cousin could wear it,” Rowan remarked dryly.
“You’re just jealous because your thunder thighs can’t pull off the skinny look.”
“Right. I want to wear tapered pants and a skinny tie.”
Tristan snickered. “If you could pull off a tapered suit, you’d look like something that belonged on a foosball table.”
Every once in a great while, Tristan could lob a zinger in Rowan’s direction, and it would break the serious Skipper. Rowan cracked up, probably picturing a stiff foosball player with wide shoulders but ramrod straight and ultimately stone-faced. Tristan made a mental note to try and buy an individual one and stow it in Rowan’s locker.
The light moment helped. Tristan needed the levity. He was locked up tighter than the moment before the World Championship Cup kickoff. He knew Rowan sensed it, knew it was the reason his stoic friend had unexpectedly shown up to get ready tonight. Claiming he had business not far from Tristan’s flat, Rowan announced he would ride with Tristan to the meeting place to catch the bus to the palace. Tristan would never admit his appreciation, mostly because Rowan would hate the sentimentally of it. So, he’d played it off.
“Good one,” Rowan said on the end of his chuckling. He shook his head, throwing off the smile. “We’d better hurry. Still need to fetch Alicia.”
Tristan’s brow crept up his forehead. “She forgive you?”
Rowan’s girlfriend was no one’s favorite. Tristan had hoped the Juliana fiasco would force Alicia to dump Rowan. No such luck.
Rowan spared one measly nod and disappeared into Tristan’s extra room to get ready. It was amazing Tristan considered Rowan one of his closest friends. They hardly swapped details. But, like today, Rowan seemed to know when he was needed even if he didn’t want to know the why.
Tris grabbed his clothes and slid into his room. He picked his phone up from the dressing table and shot a quick text to Sheena, his date for tonight. He’d thought carefully about going to the palace alone, but he needed the backup, and Sheena always had his six. Unfortunately, she had probed for details and feelings. He’d painfully borne her interrogation while giving away as little as possible. Because quite frankly, he couldn’t get a handle on his wants.
Big, fat lie.
Tristan knew exactly what he wanted, but he also knew the impossibility of it. There were a million reasons Tristan Davenport could not have Princess Eleanor Ann-Juliet Josephine—he’d had to look up her full name. When he started to list them, he got overwhelmed by the obstacles. And there were probably things he hadn’t thought about because he didn’t really know much about political machinations. He was as apolitical as they came. He just wanted to play football, and since politics had little sway over the national pastime, Tristan had never bothered. Just the obvious things were enough to be daunting. But damn if it didn’t stop him from wanting her.
When he’d arrived home, he’d thought he might struggle with the separation. She’d gotten under his skin, burrowed into his heart. He relied on the press-shy princess to retreat behind the palace walls, continuing to hide behind her brother’s charm and her sister’s beauty. And he’d been grateful for her antisocial proclivities. Unfortunately, the Ice Princess, as she had been so fondly thought of in the press, had thawed.
Bloody headlines.
In the time since the Cup, Princess Ele had been busy. And popular. It was like t
here was a princess tracker on her, some drone following her to every appearance and capturing her smile and sincere expression. She’d even been photographed with the damn philatelic society. Who cared about stamp collectors? Another thing he had to look up. No one had cared until Princess Ele graced them with her damn radiant presence.
He couldn’t escape her image. And at night, he couldn’t escape his dreams of her.
He replayed every interaction, every touch, every kiss. At night, he was plagued by the Ele the papers couldn’t capture. The woman who had charmed his heart out of his chest, who unknowingly held it in her hands.
It was pretty damn simple. Stripped down to the most basic truth, Tristan was in love with Ele.
Of course, there was another side of the truth. He wondered if his feelings were rooted in the knowledge that he couldn’t actually have her. Or if given the opportunity to be with her, he might find he couldn’t handle the weight of her need. He loved drawing her out, challenging her to allow herself to want more, to be more. He loved how she responded, how she opened up in front of him. Like he was the key to a mysterious lock or the boy who had pulled the sword from the stone. He loved how powerful he felt when she came alive under him or around him. How her raw sexuality seemed to continually surprise her.
He needed time with her. For the first time since his social media persona had exploded on the wires, he wished for anonymity. He wished Ele were merely a girl he’d met somewhere inconspicuous, so he could explore these crazy, unexpected feelings.
It was his mission for the night. He needed to get her alone for a time, so he could speak to her frankly. He thought they could pull it off, especially with Robert’s approval. There were ways they could fly under the radar. Of course, they couldn’t go anywhere public. In America, they could blend. But home, there was no way to be invisible.
There was another reason he needed to get her alone. He had to talk to her before she saw the new ad campaign he’d filmed the day before. If he’d known before he showed up, he would have insisted on a different script. But his laissez-faire approach to publicity had burned him. It had felt sacrilegious, cashing in on a heartfelt moment. Even without seeing or talking to Ele for the last month, he knew she would be hurt. It was the absolute surety of her reaction that weighed on Tristan. There was a connection between them that hadn’t been severed when she left him in the anteroom in Chicago. It was a live, sentient being. Of course, without the nutrients of togetherness, it would wither and die. But he knew, he was forever branded by it.
Tristan slipped into his jacket. After a quick perusal in the mirror, he grabbed his phone, taking a picture.
Ready for the royal treatment.
Not his most original, but it would do. He thought of Ele seeing it, and he hesitated for a split second. But he posted it anyway. People would expect it, and he wasn’t one to disappoint his fans. It tasted like defiance, but it was more about self-preservation. His nerves strung tight, he knew he was going to put his heart on the line tonight, and the anticipation was starting to wear.
“Tris, mate, we need to go.”
Tristan grabbed his keys, his ID. “On it.”
“I’ll drive,” Rowan announced, which only made Tristan roll his eyes.
“Control freak,” he proclaimed.
Rowan grunted.
The next couple of hours passed in a blur. Between the stops to get Alicia and Sheena, the transfer to the bus, the security check at the palace, Tristan allowed himself to get caught up in the magic. Seeing his teammates again, ribbing Caleb, introducing everyone to Sheena, he was in his element. Loose, gregarious, carefree.
He offered Sheena his arm, and they swept up the palatial front steps of Shuffington Palace. As Sheena’s heels clicked along the ivory marble floor, Tristan took in the lavish entryway, the imposing staircase, and the painted ceiling. His eyes bulged at the opulent surroundings. He immediately tried to picture Ele cavorting up and down the stairs as a kid or gracing the hallowed halls now. It was an uneasy reconciliation. He knew it was her home, knew she’d grown up here, but all he could picture was Ele as she loomed over him, straddling him. He shook off the wildly inappropriate image. His head was fucking with him because it was so much easier to imagine her with him than living in this damn castle.
Sheena squeezed his arm. “You okay?”
He offered her his most cavalier smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Okay, tough guy,” she said, calling bullshit. “How about a drink?”
“Yes,” he breathed, relief coursing through him. He needed something to divert his attention from his impending meeting. He followed the herd up the grand staircase and down a hall lined with portraits of Ele’s family dating back to Christ, he was fairly certain. He leaned into Sheena. “How many generations back can we trace our family?”
She snickered. “Maybe our parents’ parents.” With a shrug, she took in the paintings, judging Tristan’s thought. “Thank fuck you can’t trace our crazy.”
Tristan laughed, releasing the rest of his anxiety. He dropped a kiss on her head, whispering, “Thank you.” Then, he really looked at her. “And you look amazing.” She did; he just hadn’t been in a place to notice.
She was dressed in a stunning white dress, probably by a designer he should know. Her hair was natural, the curls wild, spiraling away from her face and down her back. She long ago had stopped trying to tame the hair that had plagued her as a child.
She gave his arm another squeeze. “Well, Tris, I owe you one.”
“You do.”
“I’m going to have to snap some pictures. Mom and the girls will be pissed if I don’t.”
“Their fangirling is over the top.”
“Says the man who is hounded by fans.” Sheena looked around. “Can you believe this place?”
Tristan hadn’t noticed. A vast openness spread out around them, the wood floor sparkling, reflecting the light thrown by the massive crystal chandeliers evenly spaced throughout the room. He envisioned one falling, shaking the foundation of the palace. He didn’t even think it would be possible to count the pieces of crystal strung together. Columns and arches fanned out around the edges, all ornately decorated with gold so they shimmered.
Tristan, who was comfortable in any and all situations, was decidedly uncomfortable. Being here illustrated the gulf between him and Ele. Here, she was Princess Eleanor, and all his thoughts of trying to steal some time away with her wavered.
“I’m ready for that drink,” he said.
Sheena was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. She ushered him toward one of the four bars assembled in the space. She didn’t need to ask him what he wanted. She shoved a drink into his hand just as Caleb bounded up to them.
“Can you believe this place?” he asked, eyes and smile wide. “Fucking insane. People actually live here. Dude, if I lived here, I’d have parties in this room every night.”
Caleb’s ridiculousness snapped Tristan out of his funk. Rarely melancholy, Tristan didn’t really know how to pull off a mood. But being around Caleb was a sure way to remain upbeat. Nothing got the kid down. Part of it was just C’s obliviousness, but a greater part was his refusal to be bothered by anything. Rowan and Caleb were complete opposites, balancing the scales of Tristan’s life. Even concerned about what the night would bring, Tristan found himself smiling.
Caleb looked around, obviously searching for something. Then, he leaned in close to Tristan and Sheena. “But that hallway with all those pictures of those ancient people, it was fucking freaky, right? I felt like their eyes were following me, and their spirits were saying, What is this black bloke doing in my house?”
Tristan and Sheena hooted with laughter.
“Already getting out of hand?” Rowan asked as he clapped a hand on Tristan’s shoulder.
With wide eyes, Caleb explained, “I was telling them about those creepy portraits.”
Rowan almost smiled but then morphed into Skipper mode. “The procession and ceremony a
re about to start. We have to assemble by the east door.”
“You know a house is too big when you use north, south, east, and west to explain what door to go to,” Caleb remarked.
Tristan tried to contain his laughter. But then Rowan smiled, and Tristan forgot about holding back.
“Come on,” Rowan commanded as he began to shepherd the men to the east door.
“I’m sure you read the email sent from the palace,” Rowan said to the assembled team, “but in case you missed it, Miss Millie is going to give us the rundown.”
Tristan’s head snapped up, and his eyes met Millie’s. Millie went wherever Ele traveled. If there were six degrees of separation between everyone on Earth, Millie meant Ele was only one degree away. Tristan’s heart kick-started, thumping in anticipation. Millie gave him a brief smile before running through the expectation of meeting the royal family. There were instructions on acknowledging the two princesses, the crown prince, and the queen. Lots of ceremonial actions, both outdated and potentially absurd. He had no qualms with kneeling before his princess; he just preferred for both of them to be naked.
Millie finished. Rowan ushered the group out of the ballroom, down a hall, and toward the great room. He was just about to step into the fray when a hand stopped him. He looked over to see Millie. He stepped out of line and ducked his head to her.
“There’s a hallway off the ballroom, on the west side.”
Tristan snickered.
“At eight thirty, take it and follow it around to a turn. Go left and enter the first door you get to. She’ll be waiting for you.”
She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she melted into the crowd.
And it was a crowd. He hadn’t been sure what to expect. But the room in front of him was adorned with television screens that appeared to be running clips of the greatest plays from their run at the Cup. And there were fans. They didn’t appear to be the wealthy aristocracy Tristan had envisioned. Instead, the room was filled with a variety of people, all sporting blue and gold, cheering. There were kids and moms, elderly grandparents and young men. There was a collection of fans to celebrate with them. It was so unanticipated that Tristan found himself smiling. And then taking selfies with anyone who asked. He was prolonging the moment, the anticipation. He could feel Ele’s presence on some molecular level, and he knew if he saw her, he wouldn’t be able to look away, might be pulled toward her like a ship caught in a tractor beam. So, he continued mixing and mingling, hiding behind his T-Dav persona.
