But he hadn’t been able to reap any of the rewards of her outing. He’d hardly spoken to her, he hadn’t gotten to touch her, and he certainly hadn’t gotten to put his mouth on hers. Hence the unfulfilled emptiness in the aftermath.
When he glanced up, he found Rowan’s gaze locked on him. He quirked an eyebrow, a silent question he knew he would get no answer to. Rowan knew what was going on—not the extent of it maybe—but he hadn’t asked for any clarification, and Tristan hadn’t offered any. Rowan was his closest friend, but they were guys. Feeling all sad because he couldn’t spend time with a girl was not something he was going to admit to anyone—even or especially with Rowan. His buddy had some beef with the palace, and although they avoided politics as much as they avoided gushy feelings, Rowan’s stance on the aristocracy of their country was not positive.
Rowan merely shook his head and then turned his gaze to the elevator doors.
“Football tournament?” Caleb asked as the car stopped.
“Not tonight, Junior,” Ro responded. “We have to be up and on the plane early tomorrow. Curfew observed.”
Rowan stepped out first and didn’t see Caleb bring his hand up to his forehead in a mock salute. Tristan snickered but filed out.
“Aye, aye, Skipper,” Caleb joked.
Rowan walked to his room.
Caleb and Tristan exchanged a confused look, and Caleb mouthed, What the fuck?
Tristan shrugged, hoping he wasn’t the cause of Rowan’s worried face and dictatorial demeanor.
Caleb stopped at his door and whispered to Tristan, “You up for it?”
But Tristan found he really wasn’t. He was stupidly sulky and wasn’t up for the barb-and-jab, shit-talking company tonight. He would either be too snippy to Caleb or too easy a target. Neither outcome sounded like a particularly good idea.
“Nah, I’m kind of tired. And we have to pack. We should probably get all of our stuff ready, so we aren’t scrambling in the morning. Based on Ro’s mood, it’d be better to not piss him off.”
Caleb’s disappointment was obvious, but he didn’t make note of it. He shrugged, too, and walked into his room. “Don’t forget my wake-up call, Tris,” he said before the door closed behind him.
Tristan shook his head but knew he’d bang on Caleb’s door thirty minutes before departure to make sure he was up and moving. “But pack tonight,” Tristan reminded. Loudly.
“Yeah, yeah,” he heard Caleb’s response, muffled by the walls and door.
Smiling, he opened the door to his room. He kicked off his shoes when he entered and then started the arduous task of packing. He pulled out his suitcase when a knock sounded at the door.
“Come on, C. I told you I’d—” He opened it to find Robert standing there.
“Cinderella’s chariot hasn’t turned into a pumpkin yet,” Robert said.
Tristan’s eyes narrowed, and he looked down the hall, first in one direction and then the other. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
Ever stoic, Robert said, “Fancy a walk on the beach?”
He leaned against the jamb and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked Robert up and down. “You’re not really my type.”
“I know three hundred fifty-seven different ways to kill a man,” Robert returned, deadpan.
“I’ll just get my shoes.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
Tristan grabbed his trainers and slipped them on, even as Robert started walking down the hall without him. He hurried to catch up and followed him down the stairwell. They didn’t talk down the five flights of stairs, through the lobby, or out onto the boardwalk. When they reached the beach, Robert stopped and waved his hand, indicating the way he should go.
Tristan stepped into the sand but turned to Robert. “I was just kidding, you know.”
“I wasn’t.”
Tristan laughed. “Of course you weren’t.”
Then, he left Robert and his dry humor behind to go find Ele.
There were two people sitting at the now-abandoned firepit. Ele and her second bodyguard, who Tristan hardly interacted with.
“Hey,” he said into the night, trying to catch her attention.
She turned right away and then spoke softly to her companion. He nodded and walked to Tristan. Stepping aside, they passed each other, and Tristan strode on, the disappointment from earlier trampled by excitement.
He didn’t even speak, just pulled her to her feet and into his arms. He held on to her, loving the feel of her in his embrace. Her hat was gone, and her hair hung loose down her back. She ducked her head, so it rested on his chest.
“Cinderella, huh?” he teased.
“What?” Confused, she leaned back, so she could see him. But then it must have registered because she smiled. “Is that how Robert got you down here?”
“He made some mention of it. Right before he told me how many ways he knew to kill a man.”
She laughed. “What did you say for him to feel he had to enumerate for you?”
“I might have told him he wasn’t my type.”
“You’re playing with fire, Davenport.”
“I got that.”
“Do you feel like walking? I know you’re probably tired, but I’m strangely not.”
He reached out and grabbed one of her hands, interlocking their fingers. She turned, and they meandered down toward the water. They walked aimlessly along the shoreline, content with the quiet company.
“You surprised me tonight,” he finally said.
“Good surprise?”
“Of course. It would have been better if I could have acknowledged you or spent any time with you or … I don’t know … touched you.”
“I wanted all of those things.”
“No panic attacks?”
He hadn’t asked her about them. Because every moment he’d been with her recently, he’d been more interested in getting inside of her. Bringing up the painful things she carried was like asking to help with the burden, and he wasn’t sure they were there. The dossier Robert had given him lay unopened, stuffed away in the tiny safe in his room.
Ele missed a step in her walking, the easy pace momentarily interrupted.
When she didn’t answer, Tristan said, “Should I have not asked?”
She stopped, and when he pulled up, she turned to face him. “I haven’t had one since the changing room at St. Peter’s.”
“Really? What’s normal for you?”
She chewed on her bottom lip, biding time. “I don’t know if there is a normal.”
“Does it happen often?”
“Enough that it feels like it. I used to count the days in between. Every day without one seemed like a victory. It was like a mind game. At the end of the day, when I didn’t have one, I would have a one-person party or, if Jamie was around, a two-person party.”
He thought telling her about the file, seeing if it would get her to talk to him. But he stopped himself. This thing between them had an expiration date. They started walking again, by some silent, mutual agreement.
“We leave for Colorado Springs in the morning.”
“Oh? That’s a change in the plan, right?”
“It is. Even though this is our home base for the duration of the tournament, Nico wants to train at altitude since our next game is in Denver.”