* * *
“Ain’t this fun, Your Highness?” Tansy Butler giggled, stomping on a divot while trying to be careful not to slosh her drink all over her Chanel suit. Lexie was quite sure Tansy was well on her way to her fourth glass of champagne.
Beside her, Blair rolled her eyes. Lexie kept her protocol smile in place while some photographers took shots of her getting into the spirit of divot stomping. Stefan was in the VIP tent, apparently way above getting his handmade Italian shoes accidentally dirtied by horse dung. Theia was beside him, as well as Stefan’s own Press Secretary, the ancient and formidable Leonardo.
“Not as much fun as banging the whole team, I bet,” Blair quipped flippantly. “Speaking of team banging, what happened to you and,” she paused delicately, “er, Nic?”
Lexie startled at hearing Nic’s name. “Would you keep your voice down?” she hissed out the side of her mouth, glancing about for any lurking reporter.
“You are a healthy twenty-five year-old woman. There is no shame in experiencing the occasional, although in my case, frequent, sexual urges−oww!” Lexie clamped a hand around Blair’s forearm and marched her off towards the direction of the VIP tent.
“Oh, Your Highness, wait up,” trilled Tansy, trying to keep up with them on her ridiculous stiletto heels.
“I bet he was great in the sack. I can tell with those smoldering eyes and−“
“Shut up!” Lexie said in a fierce whisper, pushing Blair violently onto the seat. She was so close to braining her cousin. Tansy took the empty one beside her. She caught Stefan frowning at her questioningly several seats down.
Lexie refused to dwell on what had happened with her and Nic. She had been tempted to call his room several times for the past two days, but it was better to sever the tie quickly. A clean cut. Less complicated.
“Polo players are so sexy,” Blair rattled on, uncaring of her admonition. “And the white jeans? You can totally check out the package before sampling the goods.”
Tansy decided then to add her two cents’ worth to the conversation. “An’ them powerful thighs? Lord a’mercy,” she practically hyperventilated. “You haven’t been ridden until you’ve had sex with them polo players,” she added with a lascivious faraway look in her eyes.
Players. As in plural. Lexie feared Tansy would smack her artificially plumped lips next. “Why in the world are we talking about polo players?” Lexie was bewildered by the turn in conversation.
Blair looked at her as if she had grown two heads. “You don’t know?”
Lexie shook her head. “I don’t know what?”
“You really don’t know?” Blair repeated incredulously, her dark brown eyes growing wide.
Tansy had turned to the waiter for another champagne refill. “Don’t be stingy, darlin’!”
Blair was still, eyebrows drawn together, then after a few seconds, she burst into hysterical laughter, as if finally getting the punch line of a hilarious joke. Lexie watched her cousin in consternation. Stefan frowned at Blair. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
“What is?” Tansy turned back to the conversation, made bubblier by the bubbly.
“God, I hope Team Arion wins,” her cousin said with fervor. Lexie looked at Blair with suspicion. She had never cared for polo or any of the teams, only the players she deemed “hot”.
“Of course they’ll win,” Tansy stoutly declared. “An’ Your Royal Highness is going to award my Rupert the Cup, just you wait an’ see.”
“Believe me,” Blair said with utmost glee, “I can’t wait.”
This time it was Lexie’s turn to frown. She slid her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and turned to the polo field resolutely. With their helmets and protective eye gear, it was hard to distinguish the players except by their jersey numbers. The announcer boomed in a well-modulated voice that the team captain for Arion, Nicolas Fernandez, had scored another goal. Tansy cheered, almost spilling her drink, but Lexie’s attention was a million miles away from the game.
* * *
It was a close fight. Team Arion won the championship by just one goal over the Black Cavalier. At the last chukker, Nic rode off the opposing team’s seasoned non-professional player, a British aristocrat who was also the team Patron, Julian Walkden, the Duke of Blackmoore. He had gotten into Walkden’s line of the ball and with a backhand swing had served the ball to Butler, who ran up field and finished it off with a powerful forehand swing to score.
Butler’s elation at being able to clinch the winning goal had temporarily overridden his ill temper at the way the game had transpired. He had been expecting an easy victory and in the ensuing neck-to-neck battle had grown increasingly foul-mouthed and abusive with his team. Only a penalty had shut him up, and even then he was so tense that his volatile mood had made the rest of the team edgy.
Now climbing up on stage for the awarding of the Gallagher Cup, Butler was all Mr. Congeniality. Lined up in a row with the other team members on the dais, Nic dimly registered the announcer calling on the presence of His Royal Highness Prince Stefan and Her Royal Highness Princess Alexandria of Seirenada to award the prestigious 100th Gallagher Polo Cup. Nic tallied his injuries – lacerated lip, some pulled muscles on the shoulder, and probable bruising on his thighs. Not bad for a championship game.
Some commotion took place by the VIP tent as the bodyguards and entourage of the royals flanked the couple, who were now making their way to the stage. Absently, Nic recalled reading somewhere that the royal siblings were descendants of Charles Gallagher, the shipping magnate and polo enthusiast who was one of the first to introduce the sport to the U.S. Wasn’t there a scandal several years ago about the Princess…?
The entourage had neared the stage. Nic wasn’t a very avid reader of the news or gossip magazines so he had a very vague idea of what these royals looked like. He remembered skimming the pages of a newspaper and reading about a new mineral being discovered in Seirenada that had everyone all stirred up because of its potential to be made into flexible glass. It could be used to make a new generation of handheld devices lighter, thinner, and sturdier. Butler had gone into apoplexy with the news and apparently wanted first dibs, so winning the championship was like hitting two polo balls with one mallet. He would win the Cup and get to be chummy with the Prince at the after-party.
Nic studied the Prince first. He was younger than he had thought. He was tall and lean and had an ascetic air about him. His face was devoid of any expression. Beside him was the Princess, who was wearing a cream-colored dress suit and wearing sunglasses. She looked a lot younger than the Prince. Nic stiffened at the familiar way she moved, her long, stockinged legs gliding over the grass. She paused to remove her shades and handed it to a hovering woman beside her. Her profile was burned into Nic’s mind that even before she had turned to the organizer who was handing her the Cup, Nic knew it was her.
His breath seized momentarily. He felt like he had been kicked on the chest by a horse. What the fuck! His sweet Lexie was Princess Alexandria? His eyes never left her as she made her way to the far end of the stage. It was a crime how her beautiful red hair was tightly bundled up. Nic longed to let it loose and run his fingers through the tresses. He had found her, he thought as mind-blowing relief surged through him. Just as swiftly, anger flooded him at her duplicity and the bitter realization that she in all likelihood didn’t want to be found. She knew where he had been staying. She could have called but had remained silent, fucking with his concentration ever since she had left him standing like a fool at the hotel lobby. And fool that he was, he had pestered the operator several times to check if anybody had called for him.
He was nothing but a casual dalliance for her, a spur-of-the-moment hook-up on her wild night in Las Vegas. He felt acid seeping into his stomach at her dismissal of what could have been something profound. He watched her smiling at the crowd, a fake one, the one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He felt something close to disgust that even though he had only known her for a few hour
s, he could already distinguish the façade she presented to the world. Was the connection that night just pretense on her part as well?
“This way, Your Highnesses.” The announcer and master of ceremonies positioned the royals in the middle of the two opposing teams. Facing the audience comprised of the media, corporate sponsors, relatives, supporters, and a handful of spectators who had stayed after the game, Nic stared straight ahead, his blood churning. The Black Cavalier players were presented with their corporate prizes first, which included several champagne bottles and luxury watches from a major sponsor.
The master of ceremonies then announced Team Arion as the official winner of this year’s Gallagher Cup. Tansy drunk-screamed excitedly, her voice rising above the applause, and Nic spotted her pink, wide-brimmed hat bobbing in the crowd. “That’s my fuckin’ team, you assholes!”
Tansy’s fuckin’ team alright, Nic thought sardonically, and good thing he was spared that distinction.
He saw Lexie, assisted by an event organizer, handing the miniature gold cups to each of the players. She was smiling and shaking each of the team member’s hands, followed by the Prince, who was engaging in small talk with each of the players.
Beside him, Rupert Butler whispered with a leer, “She’s one fine-looking filly, if you ask me. With all the inbreeding among the royals, it’s a wonder she’s a beauty. ” Nic’s jaw clenched and his hands tightened into fists. “Guess she takes after her mother. Colleen Gallagher was a flake, but you can’t deny she was something in the looks department.”
A small breeze wafted on stage, and Nic was assailed by a familiar hint of lavender before he heard her lilting contralto congratulating Butler on that last deciding goal. She sure knew how to charm them, he thought with some bitterness. The Prince then admired Butler’s pony, purchased from Nic’s farm, which had won Best Horse.
“May I present to Your Highnesses the team captain of Arion?” the announcer introduced, sounding self-important, “Ten-goal handicap player and winner of the Triple Argentine Open, Mr. Nicolas Fernandez.”
She was already reaching her hand out to shake his, a smile plastered on her lips, when she lifted her cat eyes and they intersected with his. All hope that he had imagined her effect on him two nights ago vanished like a polo ball in the middle of the high goal Argentine Open. She froze, her smile died, and her extended hand remained extended. A few awkward seconds ticked by. The announcer cleared his throat.
Slowly, as if almost leisurely, Nic finally stuck his hand out and grasped hers, not breaking eye contact. He held on a bit longer than was polite until Lexie was forced to step back and pull her hand away discreetly.
“Congratulations, Mr. Fernandez,” she murmured, her voice composed. Shite. He could have left it at that. And he would have had if she hadn’t flashed him her bloody ice princess smile.
That did it. He said nonchalantly, in an insultingly familiar manner, a bit loud enough for several people nearby to hear, “Have we met, Your Highness?”
Off to the side, the Prince’s brows drew together. He swore Butler’s ears perked up.
It was juvenile but savagely gratifying the way her blush stole all over her cheeks and down her graceful neck, exposed by her upswept hairstyle. He almost felt a tinge of regret for making her feel awkward, but her next words wiped them out.
“No, we haven’t,” she said in an emotionless tone, her eyes not meeting his. “Have a good day, Mr. Fernandez.” And she walked away, leaving him stupidly staring after her once more.
Chapter Five
Crap! Crap! Crap! Other languages were beyond her linguistic ability at this moment. Lexie wanted to play sick and stay holed up in her hotel suite, but she was as robust as a horse. Her nonna had witheringly said that this was due to an infusion of peasant blood from Colleen Gallagher. She had never had anything more serious than the common flu, and Stefan might come up and investigate her disappearance from tonight’s championship after party.
She took a surreptitious peek at her reflection in the ballroom mirror. Her color was a bit high but other than that, she looked normal. Theia had looked at her askance when she insisted on wearing a shrug earlier while dressing up, as it required covering the fabulous beadwork of her off-shoulder gown.
“I might get cold,” she said defensively, and did she imagine it, or did a certain spot on her shoulder blade tingle just a little a bit with her lie? It was just probably from getting raw with the vigorous scrubbing she had been doing in an attempt to erase her souvenir from that night. Thankfully, her Press Secretary’s job description didn’t include styling her clothes, so she didn’t inquire any further. Nor argue. Although Theia occasionally slipped and called her by her title, which Lexie insisted she use only when they were in public, she and her secretary had formed a relationship that was more than employer and employee. Theia had become much like a sister to her.
Blair, looking very sexy in a bias-cut turquoise gown, materialized at her side with an equally sexy young man in tow. Lexie recognized him as one of the players of Arion.
“All alone?” Blair arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow. Her grin spelled trouble.
Lexie kept her tone polite for the sake of the other guest. “Theia had to go to the ladies’ room.” Then, as she couldn’t contain it any longer, demanded in a fierce whisper, still keeping her expression neutral. “How could you not have told me who he was?”
They both knew who he was.
Blair appeared unrepentant. “It was much more interesting that way.” She kept her arm on the polo player with the sultry mouth. “Besides, it wasn’t my fault that you didn’t share life stories after your wham-bang. Honestly Lexie, I can’t believe you didn’t recognize Nic Fernandez. Don’t you read People magazine?” She rolled her eyes, as if not believing how much of a provincial hick her cousin was, royalty or not.
Lexie never read the tabloids. It was the only way she could avoid inadvertently running across photos of Peter. “Keep your voice down.”
After the awarding ceremony, Lexie had isolated herself back in her hotel suite and clicked on the Internet for information about Nicolas Fernandez. As images of him filled her computer screen, she recalled the shock and panic she felt earlier, as if she had conjured the reality of the man who had filled her every waking minute since she had left him standing at the lobby. Her mind had gone momentarily numb and she went on autopilot. It was only after several minutes, slowly emerging from the shock, and ensconced in the car that would whisk her back to the hotel, that she recalled what she had answered to his question.
She remembered Stefan standing stiffly beside her, all the cameras aimed at her and Nic. “No, we haven’t met.” She had denied him, and in doing so had negated that precious, wonderful time they had spent together.
“Don’t mind Angel,” Blair replied without concern, cutting into her thoughts. She turned to her date, glancing at him from lowered lids. “He doesn’t understand much English.” Poor Angel responded with a besotted smile. “Gotta scram. Stefan is heading this way. Drat, but he is bringing the Delicious Duke with him.” Blair appeared torn between staying for an introduction or getting a lecture from her cousin. Avoiding the sermon won. “See ya.” She disappeared into the crowd with current boy toy.
“You’re looking very lovely tonight, Lexie.” Julian Walkden a.k.a the Delicious Duke planted a friendly kiss on her cheek. Tall, blond, and tanned, he was an avid sportsman and frequently caught on camera without his shirt while engaging in athletic pursuits. Lexie had been subjected to Blair drooling over his photos in tabloid magazines that had shown him surfing in Hawaii, so she had a pretty good idea what lay beneath the tux.
“Thank you, kind stranger.” A year ago, his long hair had been tied back. Now he had settled for the debonair, clean-cut look.
Julian smiled at her. “Missed me, poppet?”
As her brother’s closest friend since their boarding school days, Julian had spent several summers in Seirenada. ”I’ve been languishing while you
were gone.”
Julian chuckled. “Impertinent miss.”
Lexie smiled, deliberately falling into their old bantering. “How is Maggie?”
“Oh, you know my sister,” Julian nicked a champagne glass from a circulating waiter. “Unhappy until she is in some godforsaken place without water or electricity, mucking in the mud for her precious artifacts.”
“Julian is coming over to Seirenada for a visit.” Stefan looked at her expectantly.
“How wonderful,” Lexie replied, injecting enthusiasm into her tone. It wasn’t enough for Stefan. He frowned.
“You can show Julian around.” It was a command.
Yeah. Right. Like the Duke hadn’t motored around the island all those summers he had spent there when he was younger, his shirt off, obliging the village girls with an eyeful of his broad, manly chest.
Stefan spoke again. “If you’ll excuse me, I see Rupert Butler heading this way, and I refuse to discuss alledramite unofficially.”
Stefan took the arm of her surprised PA, who had just come back and was now being dragged away, albeit with finesse. Theia shot Lexie a perplexed look.
The Princess Finds Her Match Page 7
