Instead of a shift, an ambiguous movement, Ele boldly hastened closer. Tristan grinned. Her opposite hand landed on his neck and circled his nape, her fingers spreading along the graduated cut of his hair. She glanced up at the dyed tips and smiled.
“Nice hair,” she remarked.
He chuckled, his shoulders shaking with the motion. “Championship cut,” he explained in such a routine manner that she imagined he’d been defending his decision quite often. “Just a little more, Ele,” he whispered.
His use of her name—finally—was the last bit of incentive she needed. She pulled him forward, and his hands were on her. His warm grip squeezed her hip while his other hand settled in the small of her back. Their bodies, like magnets, fused together. Ele would have thought kissing him was what she’d want at this moment, but she found herself just staring at him, taking him in. Her hand was stark against the brown of his skin. His catlike eyes were warm with approval and twinkling with pride. She got lost, and she had a shocking thought of being able to look into his eyes forever. She shook it off, knowing the impossibility of it. But she was with him now, and she was going to savor it.
“Little bit more to go,” he reminded her with a smirk.
She was happy to meet the challenge. She leaned forward, softly brushing his lips. Just the light touch sent shivers down her spine. It was all the time she got. Like her mouth on his sparked something in him, too, he pressed forward, molding his mouth to hers. Their lips parted, and she received her first taste of him. It was heaven. Deep and warm, their tongues tangled. He swallowed her up, demanding she give him everything. What had started light and sweet was suddenly consuming and tangy. Two months’ worth of daydreams and night musings merging in one intoxicating kiss. Her hand dug into his nape, and the other tightened on his jaw as she tried to get closer, to fall into him. For a woman who lived a controlled life, she was now unleashed, and she only wanted more.
Tristan slowly pulled back, trading short, tender kisses with her. She enjoyed the familiar intimacy of his withdrawal, like he knew it wouldn’t be long until they kissed again. It was then she heard the well-known cadence of Robert’s knock on the door, Tristan’s withdrawal making sense.
“Does that mean you have to go?” she asked when she could actually speak.
He squeezed her hip and dropped another kiss on her lips. “I do.”
Ele nodded, disappointed.
“How does this work?” Tristan asked, his hands gentle on her back.
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.
The door opened, and they broke apart. Robert waited patiently by the entrance, his eyes averted.
“But we can figure it out, right?” he said.
She nodded. “Yes. We will definitely figure it out.”
7
11 June
The Michigan Inn
Tristan wasn’t one of those blokes who hated to get dressed up. He was sure Rowan was already calling him a dandy or some old-school shit like that, but Tristan didn’t care. He looked damn good in a tuxedo. Sue him. Tonight, there was an added bonus. He was going to get to see Ele for the first time since he’d cleared out of her hotel room two days ago. With his training schedule, finding time to sneak away was more difficult than he’d originally thought. Robert had been in touch with him, and Tristan knew he would get to see her soon. It was a bit daunting to be so excited about a girl—princess or not.
He slid the jacket over his shoulders and fastened the buttons. Smoothing his hands down the coat, he looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror. The tips of his hair caught his eye, and for the first time, he regretted his impetuous decision to dye it. It might look badass with his uniform on the pitch, but in his Armani tuxedo, he looked a bit like the wanker Rowan had called him at the Skydeck. Since it was too late to do anything about it, he shrugged and headed out.
With his quick rap on Caleb’s and then Rowan’s door, the three of them made their way to the reception. The sprawling hotel housed one hundred rooms, a state-of-the-art training room, and an Olympic-sized indoor pool. Following the signs for the ballroom, their group of three grew as they forged their way to the party.
Nico waited for them at the entrance to the ballroom. He looked agitated and flustered, which was unusual. “There is a receiving line with the delegation and the crown prince and princess. Then, you are free to eat and mingle,” the gaffer instructed.
Tristan, somewhat anxious to see Ele, started forward. He went down the line, shaking hands. At the end of it, he saw the royal blue and gold colors of the Altamirano house. Like he was about to step onto the pitch, his excited anticipation built.
A bald man with an official-looking sash and regal bearing paused Tristan before he could move further down the line.
“Your name, please,” he said.
“Tristan Davenport.”
The man looked to his right and announced, “Tristan Davenport, Your Highnesses.”
Tristan bowed before Princess Juliana. She smiled, obviously recognizing him from their earlier meeting. Then, she winked at him, and he knew the wink meant more than recognition.
“Mr. Davenport. It’s good to see you again.”
As one of seven children, Tristan knew siblings didn’t share the same traits. He was his own person, as were his sisters. But he found it hard to reconcile the wicked, mischievous girl with the knowing glint in her eye to the reserved, practical Ele.
“You too, Your Highness.”
Whereas Ele recoiled with the moniker, he could tell Juliana reveled in the inherent power wrapped up in the title. She was in her element. She didn’t wear a crown, but like the name announcer, her outfit was fitted with a sash of royal colors.
She leaned in close. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other, Mr. Davenport.” Straightening, she said for everyone close to hear, “Good luck.”
Then, he was being introduced to the crown prince. James looked a lot like Ele with his icy-blue eyes and dark hair. He’d never seen the prince in person, but there was something both regal and inviting in his bearing.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davenport,” James said before Tristan could greet him.
They shook hands. Tristan scrutinized the man in front of him. He might be paranoid, but he could swear the prince shot him a knowing glint.
Tristan looked beyond Jamie, searching for Ele, but the prince was the end of the line.
A softly spoken, “She’s not coming,” sounded next to him.
He looked back to James, but the prince’s attention had moved on to Rowan.
Disappointed, he continued walking to the bar where he ordered a seltzer water. He masked his letdown in false smiles and idle conversation. It was easier to pretend he was fine than admit disappointment, even to himself. With his opportunity to see Ele fading, he just wanted the night to be over.
“Why so glum, mate?” Rowan asked as Tristan attempted to slink out the side door an hour later.
“Just tired,” Tristan responded.
“All dressed up and no princess to impress, huh?” Rowan stated.
Tristan feigned indifference with a shake of his head. “When are you going to stop with the princess jokes?”
“When it stops bothering you, of course.”