The Princess and the Player

by J Santiago

  “Robert,” she murmured.

  Tristan smiled. He was tempted to tell her everything Jamie had revealed during their elevator meeting, about his role in exposing Ele to the press, but he knew Jamie wouldn’t be able to keep it from her once she was back home, and Ele would take it better, forgive him quicker, if her twin told her of his stupid, stupid plan.

  “Of course. It doesn’t sound like you feel lonely, and I’m damn happy about it and all the healing you have managed. But know you’re not alone. Not there. And not when you finally come home.”

  34

  22 November

  Chicago

  America’s Thanksgiving holiday rolled around, and the stores and streets reminded everyone of Christmas’s impending arrival. Ele knew her days were numbered. At any moment, she would be summoned home, and her feelings about that inevitable event were conflicted.

  Over the last four weeks, Ele and Tristan had spoken daily. His schedule and the time zones challenged their opportunities on some days, but they never failed to connect. Sometimes, it was only for a quick check-in, and other times were meandering conversations, floating through subjects like a car out for a Sunday drive—no hurry, no point, so they followed every twist and turn until the ride came to its natural end.

  So, she was surprised when Millie called. The moment she answered the phone, Ele knew something was different. Bracing for the blow, she hurried to her garden oasis. Even with the colder weather, she loved the serenity of the space.

  “How are you?” she asked instead of the what’s wrong sitting on the tip of her tongue.

  “Fine,” Millie clipped. “Did you talk to Tristan today?”

  Of course, Ele had confided in Millie. Without the touchstone of Robert and with her continued anger with Jamie, her little troupe had dwindled.

  “It’s still early.”

  Ele heard Millie’s deep inhale, followed by an emphasized exhale. “Has he mentioned anything about a photo shoot?”

  “No.”

  They’d discussed his endorsements in a cursory manner.

  “Things have exploded a bit since the win this summer,” he’d said. No details.

  She dreaded the day his body was displayed on a billboard with his abs screaming, Lick me, to the whole country. She might be able to pull off dating a footballer, but she was quite sure the queen would frown on any underwear modeling.

  “Do you want me to let him tell you?” Millie asked.

  Ele’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t think of anything bad enough for Millie to be acting so strange. Fairly certain he wouldn’t advertise clubbing baby seals, she decided to let this one go. “Sure. I’ll ask him about it today.”

  “I have other news.”

  “Let me guess. I need to make my way home.”

  “The gala is a fortnight away. Beatrix is already lamenting about how much bad makeup detoxing she is going to have to do.”

  Ele smiled. She missed Beatrix. Being away from her life in the palace, she inventoried the things she could live without and the things she missed. She longed for her friend, but she was not looking forward to always having to be dressed and done up.

  She absently ran her hand through her ponytail. “When am I due there?”

  “I assume you don’t want to fly commercial.”

  Sometimes, she daydreamed of an alternate reality. In it, she arrived at the National Airport. She took her time leaving the plane, but her stomach was rioting with anticipation of who was waiting for her when she walked out of the terminal. She passed the restroom and decided to stop to touch up her makeup. In an effort to calm her nerves, she took a couple of deep breaths. Then, she headed to the baggage claim, where everyone was waiting for the plane to disembark. She spotted him leaning against a pillar. Without heeding anyone or anything, she flew across the baggage claim lobby and launched herself into his arms. He caught her and spun her around, like that iconic picture of the two of them from the awards ceremony this summer. But because she was just a normal girl, her lips latched on to his. They would fulfill that promise from the summer, the unspoken one between them, the stuff of dreams for the masses.

  “Ele?”

  Ele snapped back to the present. “Sorry. No, definitely not commercial.” Traveling was another pro for her life.

  “Do you feel ready? I mean, I know why you are there, and I don’t want to rush you, but it’s not really the same around here without you. And I’m actually tired of the woefully sad looks Jamie throws my way whenever we run into each other.”

  Ele grinned. “Yes, I suppose I have to deal with Jamie when I get back. Among other things. But to answer your question, I think I’m ready. I’m not sure I’ll really know until I know. I have tools. That’s what my therapist calls it. But it’s almost like being an addict. You can think you are recovered, but you really don’t know until there’s a pint in front of you and you are able to resist. Or perhaps that’s too simple an explanation for both addicts and anxiety disorders.”

  “Is it all right if I give you a week?”

  “Yes. That’s plenty sufficient.”

  They spoke about details for her departure and for the gala before wrapping up.

  Ele was left to wonder about the inciting incident with Tristan. She hadn’t wanted to hear it from Millie. The judgment had already seeped into Millie’s tone and words. But now that Ele was alone in her tiny garden, the curiosity was overwhelming.

  She turned around and strode into her office space. Without giving any thought to her actions, she Googled T-Dav—something she hadn’t done since they’d spoken on the phone all those weeks ago. She’d been expecting game stats, images of him on the pitch. He’d had a great game the day before, so when a link for a photo shoot was the first to populate the page, she pursed her lips. With one hand rubbing her thigh, she clicked the link with her other one.

  At first, she thought it was the picture of Tristan and her, the fantasy one where he whimsically spun her around. The snapshot of her summer. She’d spent stupid hours captioning it. Summer lovin’—not very original or hip. Pure romance—because it was. Look, Mom, I won—because he had just won. I love this girl—her personal favorite. She studied him in a blissful haze. One hand was clasped around her back while the other stayed buried in her hair. The heat of his hand made her hot, and the tug of her hair made her want to drop to the ground with him looming all around her.

  Blinking away the sudden burst of lust, she began to notice the differences. The woman in the photo was a brunette. And his hands weren’t quite right. While the provocative image conjured up just the right amount of sweet and sexy, it missed the mark on re-creating a moment so incredibly spontaneous and natural.

  She shouldn’t be mad and hurt. But she was totally mad and hurt.

  Those feelings shadowed her while she waited to hear from Tristan. To occupy her mind, she began to pack up her clothes. She had a week, but there were things she’d brought with her still hanging forlornly in the closet, clothes from a life separate from the one she’d been experiencing here. She’d expected the queen to insist she attend to some duty while abroad, but for some reason, Ele had been left alone. Musing over her reception when she returned home, she almost missed the call.

  “Hello?” She still didn’t know how to handle the situation with Tristan, but the remoteness of her greeting was apparent.

  “E,” he practically gushed.

  His perennial joviality was both a blessing and a curse. He didn’t seem to take to the world like other people. She would call him a total optimist, but the descriptor didn’t quite hit the mark. He saw obstacles and problems; he just refused to let them faze him. He was the perfect foil for a girl who struggled to see the end because she got caught up in the treacherous middle.

  “You good?”

  It was never how are you with Tristan. He refused to allow her the opportunity to use the word fine.

  “Been better.” She toyed with a pen on the desk, still not quite sure how to launch in
to her concerns. She was complete rubbish at relationships. As a person whose every need was met before putting voice to it, she was used to expressing her displeasure with a scowl, a look, or a direct cut.

  “Have the summons come then?”

  “Yes,” she said distractedly.

  The quiet from his side of the line was unexpected. Her homecoming was one of those things they didn’t discuss. A line they didn’t cross. He probed for her thoughts and opinions on everything, except her real life. Or maybe she avoided mentioning what waited for her because there were battles she would have to fight, and she wasn’t sure she was ready.

  Tristan cleared his throat after the silence lingered a bit too long. Silences were few for them. “We need to talk about something,” he began.

  “Oh?”

  Before Millie’s call, Ele might have wondered if he was finally going to broach the subject of what was going to happen when she came back—if they would be together, be friends. What would they be? She knew what she wanted them to be, and she sensed he was patiently waiting for her decision.

  “It’s not a big issue. Well, maybe it is. I’m not sure. It felt like it when it happened, and now, I don’t really know.”

  Ele was charmed. Tristan Davenport was actually rambling. She couldn’t think of an experience in this life to rattle him, but something obviously had. And damn if she didn’t find herself smiling, her anger fading away.

  Ele dropped into the desk chair. “Go on.”

  He sighed audibly. “Bloody hell,” he muttered so softly that Ele thought she might have imagined it.

  She smiled. It was bad for their future if she couldn’t stay mad at him.

  “Look, when we returned from the World Championship Cup this summer, we, all of us, were bombarded with requests for endorsements. Every day, there was something new to do. Some were requests from the Federation and others from my agent. I didn’t vet them as I should have. Mostly because, I mean, I’m me, and I love that shit.”

  He sounded chagrined, and Ele’s smile stretched.

  This guy. There was something so sexy about someone so self-aware.

  “I was at this shoot for a bloody cologne—which I don’t even wear, by the by. And the photographer asked the model and me to re-create the World Cup ‘swing hug.’ Did you know it has its own hashtag? Hashtag swing hug. What?” His voice rose a little, and she imagined him talking to Rowan and Caleb. “Anyway, we did. The model and me.”

  “Of course. What else would you have done?” Her voice might have sounded a little sarcastic because, yes, he was ridiculously adorable, but he also could have said no.

  “If I’d had any notice, I would have said no. But it seemed spur of the moment, and I didn’t want to be an ass.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t want to capitalize on the spotlight?”

  “No.”

  Ele flinched. “No, you aren’t sure, or no, you didn’t want to capitalize?”

  Another sigh. “Look, I’m always going to be honest with you, even when it makes me look like a wanker. I want to be able to say that I didn’t want to take advantage of the limelight, but I can’t do it. Which makes me a complete shit and reinforces all of your doubts about wanting to be in a relationship with me.”

  Startled quiet rained down on them.

  Isn’t that my worst fear? Tristan using their relationship as a means to be in the public eye constantly. Tristan taking their most private, touching times and wanting to share them with his fans. Or exploiting their spontaneity with canned, preplanned imposters available for public consumption. Ele shuddered. They hadn’t gone there—purposefully, she thought now. Confronting this fundamental issue between them could negate all the good stuff—the friendship, the camaraderie, the sex, the warmth, her safety. Ele had endured some heart-wrenching therapy over the last twelve weeks, delved into all of the fears she’d previously refused to name, worked on ways to combat her paranoia about media exposure.

  Only to realize she was in love with a man who lived for public adulation.

  “You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did I hurt you?” Sorrow laced itself around the question.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.” She did know. She could almost feel his apology and regret.

  “Here’s the thing, E. I can’t make what I did better. Even when we were in the middle of it, I knew it would hurt you. The fundamental difference is, I think of that moment with fucking joy. I’d just won the Cup, and there you were, presenting me with the medal. I don’t think I can even describe my feelings. It should be the picture definition of rightness. I wasn’t just happy I’d won; my whole world was right when I lifted you up and spun you around. It wasn’t any of the affection I wanted to shower you with. If you were just a girl and I were just a guy, I would have spun you around and then kissed you until the stadium emptied and we were the only two people left. It would have been the most public claiming to have ever occurred in the history of the world. If experts were to study the picture and our body language, they would know. So, I don’t know … if re-creating it makes other people happy, if it’s a feeling others aspire to, what’s it matter?

  “We’ve avoided the issue of us for the last four weeks. Hell, since the second we met, we’ve avoided it. Maybe we both thought it was too soon, too crazy, that there were too many differences between us. But you’re about to come home. And I want … I want … bloody, bloody hell,” he whispered. “I want you in the most public way. I don’t want to hide; I don’t want to pretend. I want the whole of the world to know that T-Dav has fallen for Princess Eleanor. And I want you, Ele, to know that I have fallen for you. I am yours.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes and then spilled over, coasting down her cheeks, unchecked. She wanted to be brave more than anything in the world.

  “I am willing to give up the social media thing. I’ve discovered the acceptance of one woman trumps the whole world’s adoration. But it wouldn’t make you immune. Being with me will be public. And me being with you will be public. We cannot escape it. This is the part that will be hard for you to accept right now, but I need you to hear me. Ready?”

  She sniffled.

  “Fuck, you’re crying.” He groaned, but she knew it was directed inwardly, not at her. “Are you ready to hear this?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will protect you. Your safety and peace of mind will always come first.”

  More than anything, this was what she’d wanted to hear. And that he knew that … well, of course he did. But she didn’t speak. She didn’t tell him anything.

  “Okay, you know where I stand. I am so sorry about the photo. Take some time. Come home.”

  At her murmured understanding, Tristan disconnected. Ele sat with her head in her hands, tears still leaking from her eyes. She knew where she wanted to stand. She just wasn’t sure her legs were sturdy enough.

  35

  29 November

  Chicago

  Ele placed the last of her clothes in the suitcase and shut the lid. The click of the buckle fastening echoed in her mostly empty apartment. She was so conflicted over her impending trip. Undoubtedly, Ele was looking forward to going home. No matter the cock-up awaiting her, her future included, she missed the familiarity of her country, and she missed her family. But there were so many decisions waiting for her too.

  Going home meant facing Robert’s absence in real time. Here, she could just pretend he wasn’t with her because of other obligations to the crown. But when she walked back into the palace she shared with Jamie, she would be smacked with his abandonment.

  And then there was Tristan. Over the last few weeks, he’d become her confidant, her closest friend. In America, she could keep him in the safe little box, tucked away without any chance of succumbing to her infinite desire for him. But now, she needed to come to some decision about being with him, and currently, her fears were winning.

  She
sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Rubbing her hands down the soft denim, she almost startled. Rising, she walked to the full-length mirror and stared. Then, she laughed, her hand across her mouth as she tried to hold it in. But she couldn’t. There was no way she could board a plane, headed for home, dressed as she was. Her hair was swept up in a high ponytail. The purple tips had faded gradually, so they were hardly visible. Her eyes were lined with a brown pencil Beatrix would likely break in half and stomp on when Ele placed her accessories bag back into Beatrix’s hand. She’d covered her freckles with a foundation she’d purchased at a local CVS. Mirth filled her expression, and she was struck suddenly by the person reflected back at her. The lower half of her body was encased in jeans, which would have been fine, except for the dozens of rips up and down her legs. And while she was wearing a perfectly acceptable white oxford shirt, she’d tied it up when she was packing. On her feet were a pair of white Chucks because, apparently, in Chicago, they were her thing.

  She returned to her suitcase, opened it, and rummaged through it for something more princess-like. Locating a pair of trousers and a cashmere V-neck sweater, she started to change.

  A knock at her door confused her. Glancing at her watch, she paused. The car service was still an hour out. Immediately on guard, she placed her clothes on the bed and stepped to the door of her room. Maybe whoever it was had made a mistake.

  When a second knock sounded, Ele walked carefully through the small hallway and then stopped next to the phone on the desk. Picking it up, she crept closer to the door. She peered through the peephole, and with a jolt, she stepped away. Her hand flew to her heart, and tears gathered in her eyes.

  “Ele, Your Highness, open the door.” Robert’s voice washed over her as her heart fluttered unevenly in her chest.

  She missed him so much. She wanted to fling open the door and throw herself into his arms, but she was also mad as hell. She let the tears fall unevenly with no meter or rhythm.