“Right. So, Robert burst in, and Tristan wasn’t very happy about that.”
“Were you”—he cleared his throat—“naked?”
“Not naked per se,” she mumbled as a picture of her in her bra and panties flashed. She would have been completely indisposed if Tristan hadn’t decided to take things slow. She bit her lip, totally embarrassed to be having this conversation with her brother, of all people. “Tristan, bless him, was quick. He pulled the blanket over me. Robert didn’t see anything. But after I assured him I was okay, Tristan might have told him to leave the room.”
Jamie snickered. “Showdown among the alphas.”
“It’s not funny at all,” Ele said, indignant.
“It’s bloody classic. I might have paid.”
“I was half-naked.”
“I take it back. There’s not enough money in the world.”
“Right.”
“Let me pick up from there,” Jamie said. “You explained to Tristan what Robert’s job entailed, and he was not pleased with the explanation.”
“The explanation”—her face scrunched up—“and maybe the tone.” Shrugging, she said, “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps indeed.”
“He left shortly after.”
Jamie was quiet, contemplative. “I’m sure that’s all true, but let me offer some more perspective.”
“What?”
“You were naked, in bed, and another man walked in.”
“Not all the way naked,” she clarified, her cheeks heating. It didn’t matter how many times she went over it; she got embarrassed every time.
“It might have been more proprietary than anything.”
“How’s that?”
“Some men are possessive, love. They don’t want any other man to see the woman they’ve been with while she’s naked—or almost naked. Maybe he was angry on your behalf. Inner caveman and all.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve spoken to your footballer.”
“Yes, so he informed me. What were you about with that?”
“Eleanor, if there were ever anyone who had spun me on my head like he’s obviously done to you, wouldn’t you have a go at that person?”
She would have enjoyed being able to say no. But it would be a lie. “Probably,” she answered with as much dignity as possible.
Jamie smiled knowingly. “I wanted to get a feel for him. Our lives withstanding.”
“And?”
“I quite liked him. I mean, he’s all wrong for you on paper.”
She nodded. He was utterly wrong for her. There wasn’t one thing about them that made any sense. Not one. His background, his occupation, his pesky obsession with social media, his inner caveman. But damn if he didn’t make her feel alive. Truly alive. Like the world was open to her in a way it hadn’t been in way too long. For someone who took life too seriously and had difficulty opening up, his lightheartedness, energy, and love of life was refreshing and rejuvenating.
“There aren’t many men who could handle you, this life.” Jamie shrugged. “I think he might be one of them.”
“Yes, well, it might be over before it’s really begun after last night.”
“I wouldn’t count him out. He’s got the heart of a champion.”
“You are letting your inner Hartesfield fanboy rule your emotions,” Ele teased.
Jamie laughed, the sound of it warming Ele, making her miss him. “If this were the olden days, Tristan Davenport would be a white knight, riding to your rescue.”
Ele sobered. “But don’t you know, Jamie?”
“Know what?”
“I’m the only one who can save me.”
“Right. But he can be the spoils of war.”
Tristan Davenport, the prize?
Yes, he was definitely worth fighting for.
“But, Robert, please?”
Ele, Robert, and Michael rode along in the Range Rover on their way back from the consulate. Dressed for the state dinner in a floor-length gown, complete with one of her tiaras, Ele continued to plead with Robert, as she had been doing all evening. She rubbed her temple. No matter which one she wore, the crown on her head always made her ache, like she had to pay some price for the beauty of it.
Not a bad metaphor for my life.
“Ma’am, you know how impossible something like this is. I can’t march down to the front desk and request permission to do a security check on the National Team.”
“Now, you’re lying. You can do and have access to whatever you want.” She rarely abused the power at her disposal, but for Robert to pretend he wouldn’t do anything to secure her safety was true rubbish.
She watched as Robert and Michael exchanged guarded glances.
“Give me your phone,” she demanded.
He turned in his seat to look at her. There was no question who would win the argument; they both knew it, but as a way to display his displeasure, he would be obstinate.
She held out her hand. “Now.”
He grunted but reached into his suit pocket and extracted his phone. “You are just going to make yourself miserable,” he announced as he unlocked it and handed it over.
Ele didn’t have a smartphone. She had a burner flip phone she carried for emergencies, but after the palace accounts had been hacked, she’d gladly given up her smartphone. She didn’t have social media either. The palace public relations department manned all of the accounts associated with her name. She wasn’t sure how Juliana was managing both a smartphone and social media, but Ele refused to capitulate. However, since Tristan had entered her life, she’d found ways to follow him. First through Millie and then, after much begging, through Robert. She knew Tristan was with Caleb and Caleb’s parents today, and she also knew he wouldn’t be able to resist documenting his adventures. She just wanted to lay eyes on him.
She opened the app and began to scroll. The first pictures were of their postgame workout earlier in the day. Then, there was a lunch with the four of them and a trip to Navy Pier. Tristan smiled at her from what looked like a fun house. Another photo captured him and Caleb racing remote control boats. He took a selfie with the giant swing ride in the background with a caption of: Caleb swings … and misses. She had no idea what it meant, but his wide smile indicated his delight. The last picture came from high above in a Ferris wheel: Caleb is scared of heights. Had to find a new friend. It was Tristan with a woman. Ele’s heart dropped.
Sighing, she jerked the phone in Robert’s direction. “What is this supposed to mean?” she asked.
Tristan stood, with his hands raised, in the end zone of an American football stadium.
Robert cleared his throat. “American football goalposts.”
Ele’s brow furrowed.
With a sigh, Robert gently took the phone from her and returned it to his pocket. “TD—Tristan Davenport. TD—here in America, a touchdown, ma’am.”
Confused, she continued to stare at him, waiting for an explanation.
“A goal in American football is called a TD.”
She rolled her eyes. “He can be so juvenile.”
“Quite,” Robert agreed.