Kismet: A Royal Romance

by Dee Lagasse

  Chapter 3

  Sutton

  “I’m sorry?” The strikingly handsome man who approached me minutes before the reporters did and I ask in unison.

  “Neither one of you had any idea who you were talking to, did you?” He laughs in response. “I’ll tell you what. I won’t print that in a story if you give us an exclusive image of the two of you with the Commissioner’s Trophy.”

  “Sounds fair to me. What do you say, hometown hero?” I ask, playfully repeating the term the reporter had used a moment before.

  “I’m game,” he shrugs as he flashes a smile at me.

  Turning to the reporter and photographer who seem captivated by our banter, I point toward the room behind them that holds the gold flagged World Series trophy.

  “After you, gentlemen.”

  As we walk in a single file line to the small space being used for photographs, it hits me.

  Oh, my goodness. His comment about liking the last name on the back of my jersey.

  I had been too dumbstruck by his perfectly chiseled face to give what he was saying too much thought. When his light blue eyes found mine, I found it hard to concentrate on anything other than not falling off the stool I was sitting on and keeping the drool contained within my mouth.

  After what very little interaction we had and the moment of epiphany for both of us, I assume that the next few minutes will be full of awkward poses and small talk to fill the silence. But as Bodie and I pose for a dozen or so photographs, we find ourselves taking silent cues from each other, effortlessly moving into different poses. There isn’t much said between us, but it’s surprisingly comforting just being in his presence.

  Turning my back to the photographer and the reporter, without needing to vocalize what I’m thinking, Bodie takes a few steps closer to me and points to his last name. Instead of looking at the trophy or at the photographer, I smile and look directly at Bodie. Like a peacock showcasing its bright, beautiful feathers, a proud smirk spreads across his lips.

  “I’m going to need a copy of that one,” Bodie chuckles, glancing back and forth between the two men standing just a few feet away from us before turning to me and winking.

  For some reason, I’ve always tied together the act of winking with creepy men trying to make themselves seem less creepy, but when Bodie does it? Whoa. A quick, three-second closure of one eyelid somehow transferred into something the equivalent to Bodie and I sharing a secret moment. And, that is sexy.

  Without skipping a beat, he gives his email address to the reporter and a sinking, sudden disappointment washes over me. While I didn’t know anyone except Estelle, and Luke who is sitting downstairs on-call, Bodie was sure to know most of the guests here and would no doubt have to go mingle with the hundred or so people around the room.

  Lost in my thoughts, I barely hear the reporter thank us for our time as we walk out of the room. My “out in public” smile is plastered across my face, so to everyone in this room, I’m just fine. No one knows that internally, I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out how to get more time with the hometown hero himself.

  “So, a princess, huh?” Bodie asks once the reporter is out of earshot. “You didn’t think that was important information when introducing yourself?”

  “Right,” I scoff. “Says the guy who was making comments about the last name on my jersey without actually divulging that it’s his.”

  “Fair enough,” he chuckles. “So, full disclosure, I’ve never met anyone of royalty. How should I address you from now on? Princess? Her Majesty? Her Highness?”

  “Sutton.” I shake my head. “Just Sutton is just fine, hometown hero.”

  “If you keep calling me that, I’m going to be forced to live up to the hero hype and ask you to dance.” He smiles, nodding to the open space slowly filling on the other side of the room.

  “Well, if that turns out to be the case, I guess I would have no choice but to say yes,” I tease. “I wouldn’t want to be rude to the hometown hero.”

  “If that’s the case,” he starts, leaning in closer as he offers his hand to me. “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, Princess Sutton?”

  “The honor would be all mine, Bodie.”

  As I say his name aloud for the first time, I feel my cheeks rise as the smile spreads across my face. Instead of taking this moment as his cue to lead us to the dance floor, he stays put, his eyes narrowing as if he’s studying me. The longer his eyes are on me, the more unsettled I feel. And not because he makes me feel uncomfortable or because I don’t want him to look at me, but the exact opposite.

  For the first time in my life, I don’t want someone to stop looking at me. The idea of him taking his eyes off me to focus on someone else leaves me, once again, feeling irrationally disappointed.

  The band begins a rendition of “La Vie En Rose,” and a tingling sensation of nerves and excitement fill me as we walk hand in hand to the dance floor. Completely contradicting the casual tone of the fundraiser, the music is slow and jazzy. By the time the second verse has started, we’ve secured our spot on the dance floor.

  While the male and female singers go back and forth singing in English and French, Bodie lifts our already joined hands and wraps his other arm around my waist. As he settles on the small of my back, my fingers find their place on the back of his neck.

  Recognizing the introduction to the next song immediately, I have no doubt there’s some universal forces hard at work right now. It’s too coincidental that the band would play my favorite song followed immediately by a song by my favorite musician. Knowing the pace of “Save The Last Dance” by Michael Bublé, I brace myself for Bodie’s excuse to leave the dance floor.

  “I think they’re playing this one for us,” Bodie whispers, putting his head on to the side of mine. Looking around, I see everyone that had been on the dance floor with us has left and there’s a room full of people watching us. Normally, I would pull away, not wanting the attention, but I’m not ready to be out of Bodie’s arms.

  “I think we owe them a dance then,” I whisper back.

  The next few minutes are like a dream. I’m fully aware, but my subconscious is acting on its own accord. With one hand on my hip and the other one in my hand, our fingers are laced together as Bodie moves me across the dance floor. Even if I hadn’t the slightest idea of what I was doing, with Bodie’s lead, I could have easily still pulled off this dance. His reassuring grip on me is somehow both gentle and firm.

  Bodie Cambridge is a walking, talking contradiction.

  The applause that fills the room when the band and Bodie and I stop simultaneously causes my cheeks to warm. Without so much as a look or a word spoken between us, as Bodie lets go of the grasp he has on my hip, we both turn outwardly. While he gives a little bow, I curtsy and then we both look over to the band, joining in the applause.

  “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole plays us off the dance floor, but there’s no attempt on either of our behalves to separate just yet. In complete synchrony, we walk up, claiming two high stools at the bar.

  “I’m impressed,” I say as we wait for one of the bartenders to make their way over to us.

  “So am I.” He grins, looking down to my footwear. “It’s one thing to dance, but you did it in heels.”

  Over the course of the next hour, we sit together at the bar talking about everything and nothing at all.

  I told you, contradiction.

  As I sip on my go-to concoction of cranberry, lime, and soda water, Bodie orders another “ginger ale on the rocks.” Every now and then, someone comes over to us and places themselves in our conversation. And though I am aware of the fact we are both public figures at an event with hundreds of other people, I have never felt more selfish about wanting to give my time away to anyone other than Bodie.

  When one of his teammates leaves the space that he’d been standing in between our two stools, Bodie glances around and leans in closer to me, just enough so I can feel the shift without making it b
latantly obvious to everyone else.

  “At the risk of being completely out of line, would you like to continue this conversation somewhere else?” he asks lowly.

  “Yes,” I answer quickly, not needing any time to think on his question.

  It only takes a second for me to remember that I can’t. All it would take is one person with a camera to spot us for the press to have a field day with assumptions. My shoulders slump in disappointment when I realize I need to retract my instinctual response.

  “I know the perfect place,” Bodie starts before I can tell him I can’t go with him. “It’s about a half hour out of the city. It’s closed now, but I can get us in. If you want, I can give you the address and you can meet me there in a little bit? You know, just so it doesn’t look like we’re leaving together?”

  Oh, so he can also read minds. Good to know.

  “That sounds perfect,” I agree, thankful my thoughts can’t be heard outside of my own head. “I need to let a couple people know I’m leaving anyway, so that’ll give you some time to leave before I do.”

  Hopping off the bar stool, like a perfect gentleman he extends his hand for me to take. Instinctively, I reach for it, pausing mid-air in a moment of panic, looking around the room.

  “I’m just helping you off your bar stool, Sutton,” he smiles reassuringly. “No one’s going to think anything more of it.”

  Get out of my head, Bodie Cambridge.

  Once my hand is in his, I allow myself to use him as balance. Not anticipating the sudden shakiness of my legs, I find myself crashing into his chest once I’m up on my two feet again.

  “Oh hi,” he laughs, as he lets go of me and places both his hands on my upper arms steadying me. “You okay? A little too much lime in that cranberry soda tonight, ma’am?”

  “I’m fine.” I roll my eyes, shaking my head. The smile plastered across my face painting a different picture than the attitude and tone in my voice. “I’m a princess, not a damsel in distress.”

  “Noted,” he says as he holds out his hand. “Where’s your phone, Princess Sutton? I’ll give you the address of the secure location.”

  “Calm down, James Bond,” I tease, breaking every rule I’ve been taught by handing him my phone. A few seconds later, he hands it back and turns and walks in the direction of the door. He’s stopped quite a few times before he makes it to the doorway leading to the first floor.

  Just before he steps over the threshold, he glances back and our eyes lock. Offering me the tiniest smile, he disappears into the doorway. Once he’s out of my line of sight, I look down to my phone and smile when I see the new “The Hometown Hero” contact that wasn’t there before I handed Bodie my phone. Underneath the name is a phone number and an address in the “Notes” section.

  Glancing around, I quickly find Estelle across the room, surrounded by a group of men that are all laughing at something she said. Up until now, I honestly hadn’t given my cousin much thought. She could have been dancing on top of the tables naked for the last hour for all I knew. Way to be a slacker, Sutton.

  As soon as I squeeze my way through them, my cousin’s face twists into disdain because she thinks I’m here to tell her that it’s time to go.

  As she opens her mouth to argue the fact, I pull her into a hug and whisper, “Please be safe. I’m going to have Luke stay here with you, but I’m leaving.”

  Not wanting her attitude to put a damper on the night, I turn to walk away before she can respond with a snide comment.

  “Sutton, wait.”

  Freezing in place, I turn back around, to find my cousin with her head tilted on the outside of the group, watching to see if I stop. When she realizes I’m not moving, she excuses herself and links her arm in mine.

  “I think I’m ready to go back to the hotel,” she says. “Luke told me I’m going home tomorrow instead of going with you to California. I need to think of a plan.”

  “A plan?” I ask as we begin to make our way down the same stairs Bodie used a few minutes ago.

  “Yeah,” she starts. “Like, you have Africa and this reading thing. Simone and Jameson have the mental health program. My brothers have their programs. I need to figure out ‘my thing.’ I need to do my part. I want to walk in and be able to tell Granny that I know what my next step is.”

  Pride fills me as the words leave her mouth. She finally understands. I’m not sure where her sudden change of heart is coming from, and in the fear of making the moment less than it is, I don’t say anything.

  “And thank you,” she continues. “Thank you for putting up with me and for not being afraid to kick me in the ass when I need it. I know I’ve been a pain, but I really hope that once I get my shit together, we can start hanging out again.”

  “Anytime, Stelle Belle,” I say, calling her the endearment most of my family calls her, a name I haven’t used in years. “I’m always here, okay?”

  Without much effort, I find Luke immersed deep in conversation with the same reporter that had taken the quote from Bodie and me earlier in the night. As I lead Estelle over to the high-top table they’re at, the reporter glances up and beams at me.

  “I hate to interrupt and steal you away Luke, but Estelle and I are ready to call it a night,” I tell him before turning to the Boston Globe reporter. “Hello again.”

  “Of course, ma’am,” Luke says, standing up, pushing in his stool. “Paul was just showing me the pictures of you and Bodie Cambridge. He’s going to send them all to me tonight.”

  “Did he tell you that I had no idea who Bodie was, despite wearing his jersey?” I groan, covering my face with my free hand, embarrassed as I recall the moment in my head.

  “No?” Luke laughs. “That must have made for an interesting conversation afterward.”

  Yeah, and that’s kind of why we need to leave.

  After politely saying goodbye to the Boston Globe reporter, Estelle, Luke and I pick up our jackets from coat check. As we wait for our driver to pull the car up, I tell them that I will not be following them into the hotel. While trying to give them the minimal details of my interaction with Bodie, I notice Estelle hanging on every word with raised eyebrows.

  “Bodie was the bloke you were dancing with, right?” my cousin asks quietly as she slides into the backseat of the black SUV that has pulled up in front of us.

  Grinning and nodding, I follow behind her, closing the door behind us.

  “Randolph,” Luke starts as he takes his seat in the front of the car. “How would you feel about making a little extra money tonight?”

  Randolph has been part-driver and part-security for the last week. Despite having a security team that traveled with us, Randolph took it upon himself to make sure that me, Estelle, and even Clementine were watched over during our time in Massachusetts.

  “Whatever you need, boss,” Randolph says as we pull down the street the hotel is on. His Boston accent makes me smile every time he says something ending in an “r” or anything with a short “o” sound. After being here in Boston for a day, I quickly caught onto the fact that the letter “r” was pretty much non-existent.

  “Whatevah you need, boss.”

  Luke gives him specific instructions to drive around to the back of the building if the option is available and under no circumstances can he just leave me alone there. I can be in the building by myself, but he is to stay parked out front, easily accessible if I need him.

  “Keep your cell phone on, Sutton,” Luke instructs. “I will call you forty-five minutes after you arrive and if you need an excuse to get out of there without being rude, you can say—”

  “I need you,” Estelle finishes for him.

  “Perfect,” Luke agrees, nodding his head in approval.

  “Look at you two being my wing-man and wing-woman,” I laugh as we pull up to the front of the hotel.

  “Well, I hope you don’t need us.” Estelle smiles coyly. “And you better meet me for coffee in the morning before I leave to tell me every little deta
il.”

  As she slides off the black leather seat and out the open door, she wiggles her fingers in a form of goodbye. Just as I’m about to give Randolph the address, Luke sticks his head down into the door frame.

  “Be safe, Sutton,” he says sternly. “If anything feels off to you, you hightail it out of there. And keep your phone on so we can get ahold of you.”

  “Okay, Daaaaad,” I chuckle, quickly wiping the smirk from my face when I see the perplexed look full of uncertainty spreading across his face as he stands there looking at me. It really does resemble a face my father would be giving me if he was standing here instead of Luke. “I’ll be okay, Luke. If I get a bad feeling, I’ll leave. And I promise I will answer my phone when you call.”

  Satisfied with my answer, he shuts the door and pats the roof of the car three times. Leaning forward, I read the address off my phone to Randolph, who simply nods after he puts it into the GPS built into the dashboard of his car.

  As we drive out of the city, the flutters in my stomach multiply. I keep myself busy by putting Bodie’s name into Google and scrolling through a few pages of search results until I pause, finding an article about his divorce. I combat my curiosity with willpower and keep scrolling. Despite being someone who so often finds her life plastered on the evening news, something about reading something so personal in an online article seems wrong.

  An unrecognizable amount of anxiousness begins to rise when we pull off the highway into a town called Willoughby about twenty minutes later. As we drive down the road, I’m completely captivated by quaint shops that line the streets. They’re all dark and closed at this hour, the only lights coming from the street lamps placed every hundred feet.

  Pausing at a flashing yellow light, Randolph drives ahead a few feet before pulling off in front of the only lit building on the street.

  “This must be it. I don’t see a back entrance, ma’am, so I’m going to let you out here,” he starts, looking at me from the rear-view mirror. “I’m not going anywhere. You can call me if you need me too. And please answer when Luke calls. If you don’t, I think he might have me barreling in there, and we both don’t want that.”