Tristan took in all of what Robert had said. He’d never been a royal-watcher. But he was pretty damn certain Princess Eleanor’s panic attacks were a well-kept secret.
“No one knows, except her immediate family and her staff. I’m sure Prince James’s staff knows something is going on, but they have no idea what. I share this only to give you some context for the way she acted that day.”
Robert shuffled the folder to his other hand, drawing Tristan’s gaze. He was curious about her even though he pretended disinterest with Robert and with Rowan when he asked. Ele seemed like a distant memory most days. But some days, his fingertips itched to smooth over the soft skin of her face, to tangle in and mess up the prissy braid in her hair, to rub up and down the nape of her neck. His lips craved the warmth of hers, and his tongue wanted to dip back into the depths of her mouth, to taste every single part of her. He wanted to muss up her perfect clothes. He longed to kneel before her as a subject before his queen and then to worship her as a man would a woman. And holy fuck, did he want her to kneel before him. He shifted, uncomfortable with the nefarious thoughts of Ele while in the presence of her bodyguard. He would like to survive to play in the World Championship Cup.
“I guessed most of that on my own,” Tristan said.
“Of course,” Robert responded. “I figured as much. But what you probably have no idea about is, her immediate comfort with you is rare. And maybe more helpful than any of us imagined. She’d been quite the loner for years. But since then, she’s allowed herself to get out more.”
Tristan had noticed. Because the magazines he’d inadvertently looked at now showed her more than they had previously, and the press seemed to be warming to her, if the headlines were any indication.
“The Ice Princess Thaws!”
“Is Global Warming Responsible for the Thaw?”
“The Ice Melts!”
He’d seen them all. And the pictures of her out and looking happy had pissed him off. But now, with Robert’s explanation ringing in his ears, his ire faded. If he’d helped her in any way, he was glad.
“She’s also become somewhat of a Hartesfield United fan.”
Tristan couldn’t contain his smile. “Really?”
“Yes, but if you tell her that, I will hurt you. And since I owe you one, it won’t be pleasant.”
Tristan laughed. “Fair enough.”
“Will you see her?” The timing of the question was impeccable.
When the conversation had begun, Tristan had been sure he would refuse. But now, he didn’t want to fight the urge to spend some more time with her—whatever that meant.
He nodded. “How’s it going to work?”
“We’ll be staying at the same hotel. We have the penthouse suite with private access. At the designated time, you’ll take the elevator from your floor to the lobby. There is another elevator that goes to the parking garage. You’ll take that to the valet floor, which is marked with a V. Michael, my second-in-command”—Robert stopped and pointed to his right, where Michael had stepped into the open—“will meet you and take you up the private elevator to the penthouse.”
Tristan felt like he was being briefed for a mission. He nodded because it was expected.
“Do not bring your cell phone. Do not share with your mates. You’ll have to figure that part out on your own.”
Tristan nodded again but knew ditching Rowan and Caleb would present problems. It wasn’t like they didn’t leave each other’s side, but their schedule was tight, and it would be difficult to disappear.
“Are you up for this, Mr. Davenport?” The question was asked casually, that how’s the weather vibe, but Tristan sensed the weight of it and the implications of his answer.
“I am.” It wasn’t the promise he thought Robert wanted, but it was the best he could do.
Robert scrutinized him. He made some internal decision and held the folder out for Tristan. “You should read this.”
“Will it self-destruct afterward?”
“No, but the ink will disappear in twenty-four hours.” He was stone-faced and serious.
“Really, Mr. Bond?” Tristan asked, his voice incredulous, even as he tried to modulate it.
Robert nodded and said, “No,” at the same time.
Tristan cackled. “Good one.”
Robert smiled. “Seriously, nothing in there is top-secret, but it’s all condensed for you. Take care of our girl, Mr. Davenport.”
As quick as Ele’s security detail had appeared, they cleared out of the room. But Tristan stayed where he was, leaning up against the wall, wondering what the hell he had just agreed to.
6
9 June
The Michigan Inn
Ele gazed out at the vastness of Lake Michigan. Although the hotel didn’t boast the opulence Ele was accustomed to, the view and beach below were spectacular. The isolation of the location allowed for easy security, which Robert liked. But it was also close enough to the major airports to make travel to and from convenient. The delegation for the National Football Federation had chosen wisely. The setting was ideal for the meeting Ele had requested, but her nerves were shot. From the moment she’d asked Robert to arrange this meeting, she’d fought both her nervous anticipation and her fascinated dread.
Ele could hold her own in a room full of dignitaries. She engaged in conversations with kings and queens, presidents and prime ministers. She traveled much of the world, albeit on private planes and with escorts, but she’d seen a lot. She’d also experienced a heartbreak most people would struggle to live through. What she didn’t have much experience with were the ordinary rites of passage. She’d never been on a first date. She’d never entered a clothing store to find the perfect outfit. Her car had never broken down, and she’d never been caught in the rain.
Since Tristan Davenport had charmed her into the national team training gear, the predictability of her life had changed. For weeks after her visit to St. Peter’s, she’d been in a bit of a daze, at once elated and surprised by her comfort and boldness with Tristan. He made her feel safe and brave. Although she had destroyed the camaraderie between them with her awkward and rude behavior, she couldn’t help but long for a return to the person she had been in his presence.
Despite the queen’s heavy-handed decrees, Ele was determined to run with the opportunity she’d been given. The queen did nothing without forethought and deliberation, and while Ele wanted to second-guess the orders that had brought her to America, she refused. There was something else at play, she was sure, but for once, she was going to use it to her advantage.
A practiced knock sounded from the door, and Ele sucked in a breath.
This is it.
Smoothing her hands down her legs, she practically ran to let him in. As her hand landed on the elaborate knob, she let herself hope for something she was too afraid to name and then turned the handle.
Her cyberstalking had prepared her for the blond-tipped hair, the slim-fitting jeans, the classic Adidas, and the gray hoodie. What she was unprepared for was the pleasant disassociation, the familiar warmth, the unearned happiness she experienced. Like a heliotropic flower turning toward the sun, Ele blossomed right there. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what attracted her to Tristan Davenport—his normally infectious smile, the mischievous gleam in his eye, the aura of confidence surrounding him. But even now, as he stood before her, unsmiling, Ele was so happy to see him that it was like someone had shoved sunshine up her ass.